Kiss of the Sun

Kiss of the Sun by R.K. Jackson Page A

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Authors: R.K. Jackson
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similar to the amulet. There were fifty-seven results—images of stained-glass windows, mandalas, and circular pendants and other jewelry. Slinky scrolled down the page to the end. Nothing was an exact match.
    “Hmm,” Slinky said, leaning back and folding his arms. The metal chair creaked, and Martha marveled that it didn’t collapse under the strain. “Well, let’s take this search a little deeper.”
    Slinky adjusted some of the program’s settings and ran the search again.
    “What now, Slink?” Jarrell asked.
    “Now it’s searching the deep web.”
    “Is that the same as the dark web?” Martha asked. It was something she had learned about in her digital journalism class—it was the hidden underbelly of the Internet, not indexed or searchable by conventional search engines. The domain of illegal drug and pornography markets, secret organizations, terrorist groups, and God knew what else.
    “Same difference,” Slinky said.
    In a few seconds, Fuzzy Eye displayed a fresh grid of image search results. This time there were only seven hits, and the first one was a perfect match: a metallic circle surrounding two triangles, enclosed by points.
    “Look familiar?” Slinky said with a Louis Armstrong chuckle.
    “Yeah, that’s the glyph,” Martha said.
    Jarrell leaned forward. “No question.”
    “Onward, ladies and gents.” Slinky reached for the mouse.
    Jarrell put a hand on Slinky’s arm. “Are you sure this setup is off the grid? Otherwise this could be dangerous.”
    “Does a possum have teeth? Yeah, we’re safe here. I’ve got Tor installed.”
    “Tor?” Martha asked.
    “It’s software that uses a stack of communication protocols, all nested like the layers of an onion. We use it for everything here. It protects your location and usage from anyone conducting network surveillance. Anything that happens here is untraceable.”
    “All right,” Jarrell said. “Let’s take a look.”
    Slinky clicked the thumbnail and the page loaded. A scene filled the page: The symbol, rendered in metallic 3-D, against a backdrop of stars. Floating in the sky, just like in Martha’s dream. She involuntarily took hold of Jarrell’s arm. There was nothing else on the page but the outline of two boxes asking for username and password.
    Slinky clicked around on the page. “Hmm,” he said. “This is the only match, and it looks like we’re going to need some magic words to get any further. Any ideas?”
    Jarrell looked at Martha. “None offhand.”
    Slinky placed a large hand over his chin. “We could try to brute-force it, but that might take a while.”
    “How long?” Jarrell asked.
    “Maybe twenty-four hours, maybe a century. Depends on the strength of the password.”
    Slinky tapped on the keyboard, opening a black terminal window on the screen, then entered a series of commands and hit return. The black window in front rapidly populated with lines of code that scrolled toward the top. In the window behind it, Martha could see the edge of the metal emblem as it continued to revolve.
    “Okay, I’m running Hydra. It’s my best password-cracking software.” Slinky slid the metal chair backward with a scraping sound and stood. “It will run through several hundred thousand common passwords and variations. Let’s let it cook for twenty-four hours and see if anything floats to the top. Meanwhile, shall we enjoy this lovely day in Shangri-la?”

Chapter 7
    By the time dusk fell over the marsh, a number of Slinky’s other “guests,” those staying in the other dilapidated boats and cruisers, had begun to emerge and mingle. The loud hum of the marsh insects fought with the thump of music emanating from large speakers in front of a DJ booth, where a man in a red fedora decorated with a turkey feather was spinning a mix of rap, rhythm and blues, and bebop. The lightbulbs strung between the poles that surrounded the platform glowed in the twilight, each with its own cloud of gnats, though the cool

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