below me, flickering light splashed from the windows of the enlisted men’s club, throwing trapezoids of changing color onto the porch and the rocky ground outside. Men’s laughter and excited cheers spilled into the air—the sounds of a large, boisterous crowd inside.
Crouched on the rooftop, careful not to be seen, I held the iPhone in my teeth and connected the last wires by its light. Then I pulled a high-powered laser pointer from my pocket and aimed it at the corner of the lab building’s roof, a half mile away and five stories up.
The pencil-thin beam of bright green light would be visible from much of the base, so I worked as fast as I could, adjusting the small dish antenna I had mounted alongside the larger satellite TV receiver, visually aligning it with the laser beam.
Fifteen minutes later, the green laser skewered the dark sky again, going in the opposite direction. The storm over the lake was headed toward the base, closing fast. The angry rumble of thunder echoed overhead. I stood on the roof of the lab building now, aiming a matching mounted dish down at the enlisted men’s club. I flicked off the laser and used a handheld link tester to fine-tune the dish position until I had a strong point-to-point network link.
I hadn’t lied to the Navy kid behind the bar. The premium satellite package I’d bought them did have all the channels—the adult ones, too.
It also included high-speed Internet access.
The electromagnetic streams of bits were invisible, but I could imagine them now: bright green high-bandwidth beams of ones and zeroes streaming back and forth, from satellites in the sky down to the larger dish on the enlisted men’s club, and then across the base to the small dish atop the lab building where I stood.
Lightning exploded directly overhead, lighting the rooftop around me. Droplets spattered down in a ferocious downpour, drenching my hair and hoodie. I stood up and threw my arms wide, tilted my face up into the rain, and laughed.
Security would shit if they knew what I had done. But they would never figure it out.
I tried to stop laughing, but I couldn’t.
“It’s live,” I shouted to the angry sky. “It’s live .”
The Trevornet was live.
CHAPTER 24
S itting in the backless ergonomic chair, Cassie stretched her arms upward, making fists and rotating her wrists. She jammed her knuckles into the small of her back and twisted her waist, stretching. She yawned.
I watched her until she noticed me.
“Oh, good, you’re back,” she said, and did a double take. “You’re soaked.”
“It’s raining now,” I said.
She checked her watch. “…and it’s almost one a.m. You can review my changes before I check them in.”
I leaned over her shoulder and tapped the keyboard, scrolling down. Her code looked good. Clean.
She pushed me away. “You’re dripping on me, Trevor.”
“Check ’em in,” I said. “I see you used your favorite convex dual solver for the predictor.”
“I thought I caught you reading my papers,” she said.
“Next, we port the Bayesian filter library code onto the Jaguar processor.”
“Don’t you ever sleep?” she asked.
“No.”
“Well, I do.” She stood up and stretched again, like a long, lean cat. Pushing up onto her toes, she was taller than me. “I need a couple hours. I’m fried.”
I felt a moment’s panic. Was she leaving? We had so much to do still, and only a few short days left.
But Cassie only walked to the other side of the sanctum. She folded into the beanbag chair and rolled onto her side, tucked her long legs under her, and curled up. A moment later, her eyes were closed.
She was staying.
I felt a burst of irrational gratitude. Even though she didn’t know it, she was helping my little girl. A lump hardened in my throat. She was helping Amy.
The server room was cold. I lifted Cassie’s suit coat from the loop of cable where she had hung it; her green pumps lay discarded below. I walked to the beanbag and
Crouched on the rooftop, careful not to be seen, I held the iPhone in my teeth and connected the last wires by its light. Then I pulled a high-powered laser pointer from my pocket and aimed it at the corner of the lab building’s roof, a half mile away and five stories up.
The pencil-thin beam of bright green light would be visible from much of the base, so I worked as fast as I could, adjusting the small dish antenna I had mounted alongside the larger satellite TV receiver, visually aligning it with the laser beam.
Fifteen minutes later, the green laser skewered the dark sky again, going in the opposite direction. The storm over the lake was headed toward the base, closing fast. The angry rumble of thunder echoed overhead. I stood on the roof of the lab building now, aiming a matching mounted dish down at the enlisted men’s club. I flicked off the laser and used a handheld link tester to fine-tune the dish position until I had a strong point-to-point network link.
I hadn’t lied to the Navy kid behind the bar. The premium satellite package I’d bought them did have all the channels—the adult ones, too.
It also included high-speed Internet access.
The electromagnetic streams of bits were invisible, but I could imagine them now: bright green high-bandwidth beams of ones and zeroes streaming back and forth, from satellites in the sky down to the larger dish on the enlisted men’s club, and then across the base to the small dish atop the lab building where I stood.
Lightning exploded directly overhead, lighting the rooftop around me. Droplets spattered down in a ferocious downpour, drenching my hair and hoodie. I stood up and threw my arms wide, tilted my face up into the rain, and laughed.
Security would shit if they knew what I had done. But they would never figure it out.
I tried to stop laughing, but I couldn’t.
“It’s live,” I shouted to the angry sky. “It’s live .”
The Trevornet was live.
CHAPTER 24
S itting in the backless ergonomic chair, Cassie stretched her arms upward, making fists and rotating her wrists. She jammed her knuckles into the small of her back and twisted her waist, stretching. She yawned.
I watched her until she noticed me.
“Oh, good, you’re back,” she said, and did a double take. “You’re soaked.”
“It’s raining now,” I said.
She checked her watch. “…and it’s almost one a.m. You can review my changes before I check them in.”
I leaned over her shoulder and tapped the keyboard, scrolling down. Her code looked good. Clean.
She pushed me away. “You’re dripping on me, Trevor.”
“Check ’em in,” I said. “I see you used your favorite convex dual solver for the predictor.”
“I thought I caught you reading my papers,” she said.
“Next, we port the Bayesian filter library code onto the Jaguar processor.”
“Don’t you ever sleep?” she asked.
“No.”
“Well, I do.” She stood up and stretched again, like a long, lean cat. Pushing up onto her toes, she was taller than me. “I need a couple hours. I’m fried.”
I felt a moment’s panic. Was she leaving? We had so much to do still, and only a few short days left.
But Cassie only walked to the other side of the sanctum. She folded into the beanbag chair and rolled onto her side, tucked her long legs under her, and curled up. A moment later, her eyes were closed.
She was staying.
I felt a burst of irrational gratitude. Even though she didn’t know it, she was helping my little girl. A lump hardened in my throat. She was helping Amy.
The server room was cold. I lifted Cassie’s suit coat from the loop of cable where she had hung it; her green pumps lay discarded below. I walked to the beanbag and
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