Part 9 (2/2)
”Team, I'd like you to meet our new probationer,” Jaggard said in a voice that filled the whole of the large room. ”This is Sam.”
He heard a voice somewhere behind him mutter, ”Fresh meat.”
Another voice, from across the room, called out, ”Two weeks.”
”Ten days.”
”I give him a month.”
Jaggard rolled his eyes. ”Sam is the one who pulled off the Telecomerica hack a few weeks ago.”
There was a sudden, emphatic silence in the room.
Dodge jumped up from his console and bounded over. He shook Sam's hand. ”Welcome aboard,” he said, and smiled, creasing the biohazard tattoo on his forehead.
He wore denim shorts, raggedly ripped off at the knees from a pair of jeans; steel chains crisscrossing a tight tartan T-s.h.i.+rt; and a skull on a leather strap around his neck.
Jaggard said, ”You'll be working closely with Dodge. You've also met Vienna.”
Vienna was a short-haired girl with a fierce gleam in her eye. She wore a leather miniskirt and a black T-s.h.i.+rt that read WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU READING MY T-s.h.i.+RT? WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU READING MY T-s.h.i.+RT? But it was the intertwined dragons tattooed on her arm that gave it away. But it was the intertwined dragons tattooed on her arm that gave it away. Rock Chick Bride! Rock Chick Bride!
A succession of others came over to meet him.
”This is Socks, Zombie, Bashful, Gummi Bear.” Jaggard introduced each of them in turn.
Sam didn't hear the door open behind him, but he noticed Jaggard's glance.
”You're late,” Jaggard said.
”A few problems with the paperwork,” said a voice Sam well recognized.
Sam half turned, his mouth gaping.
”G'day, mate,” Kiwi said.
13
LAST LINE OF DEFENSE
Sam settled down into the chair and looked at the three large monitors in front of him.
An ergonomic keyboard, one of those oddly angled ones that were supposed to be better for your wrists, and a wireless wheel mouse were the only things on the desk in front of him, although a standard microphone headset hung on the side of the central monitor.
He had never got the hang of that style of keyboard and wondered if he could get it changed. It crossed his mind that a neuro-headset could be useful, but it was a little early for that. It was only his first day.
He looked at Dodge, seated to his right. Not so much seated as embedded in the soft leather of the high-backed chair. He looked like a part of the furniture. Like he belonged.
Sam shuffled his backside around a bit, getting used to the chair, which was larger and more comfortable than he was accustomed to. No doubt he was going to end up spending long periods of time in it.
To his left and to Dodge's right, fabric-covered part.i.tions separated them from the teams on either side. Dodge's was adorned with stubs from rock concert tickets, including a few backstage pa.s.ses, while Sam's was empty, although several pinholes and indentations in the fabric showed that some items had recently been removed. He wondered who had owned this seat before him.
”Fire 'er up, and we'll go for a dive,” Dodge said, glancing over at him. ”I'll show you around.”
Dodge put on his headset, and Sam followed suit, adjusting the microphone to the level of his mouth. A feeling of trepidation-would he be up to this?-was balanced by tremendous excitement at the thought of a whole new world that was about to be revealed to him.
Dodge's voice sounded strong and clear in his ear. ”Everything you say is recorded and monitored by both our guys and Swamp Witch in the middle there.” He nodded at the raised octagonal office with the reflective windows in the center of the room.
”Swamp Witch?”
Dodge laughed. ”She's got a proper handle, but n.o.body ever uses it. Just hope that you don't get to meet her. Official-like, that is.”
”Swamp Witch?” Sam asked again.
”Oversight officer. Permanent representative of the Congressional Oversight Committee. The sort of power we have around here, someone's got to make sure we don't abuse it. Know what I mean?”
Sam glanced up at the office, wondering if he was being watched right now.
”Right, follow me,” Dodge said. ”We'll head out on a short patrol, just to give you the feel of things. I'm on your left screen. Everything I see, you'll see there. Center screen is you, and your right screen is your overview-your 'navigation map,' some like to call it. Also has most of your scanners, scopes, and weapons systems. We're going to head over to the Pentagon, run a sweep through their networks. It's serious stuff over there, so no mucking about, right?”
”We're going to hack into the Pentagon?” Sam raised his eyebrows.
”Hack?” Dodge laughed. ”You're on the other team now, mate. We've got a backstage pa.s.s. Access all areas.”
Sam looked at his row of monitors, then back at Dodge. ”Before we start, Dodge.” He hesitated. ”I don't want to sound stupid, but I don't even know what my job is yet. What do I do here?”
Dodge raised an eyebrow. ”Sorry, Sam, mate. I thought Jaggard had already run through that with you. You're my new wingman.”
”Wingman,” Sam said, nodding as if he understood.
”I'm on point. You back me up. I go after the bad guys, and you stop them from going after me. Got it?”
Sam nodded again.
”After three months, if it works out, then we'll pair up officially until you move on to take point and get your own wingman.” Dodge grinned and continued, ”Or until one of us burns out. Whichever comes first.”
That sounded a little ominous, but Sam didn't pursue it.
”So my only job is to protect you,” he said for confirmation.
”I'm the quarterback; you're the lineman. It's your job to keep the bogeys off my a.r.s.e while I make the play. Okay?”
”Okay...,” Sam said cautiously. ”I'll try my best. What about training?”
”This is the training,” Dodge said. ”On the job. Let's head over to the Pentagon. I'll explain more as we go.”
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