as he is a candidate, we’re in for an exciting four years,” Phil Fournier opened his news insert. “His ratings remained stable over the past few days, high enough to have us believe he’s the next President, but low enough to add excitement to this race. The wheel may turn at any moment.
“In Krassner’s case, the electoral campaign has been a roller coaster of controversial statements, scandals, revelations, and surprises, out of which, for the most part, he came out shining even brighter than before.
“However, the country stands divided on Krassner, and divided passionately. The issues separating his supporters from his opponents are powerful issues, leading to heated debates and strong emotions. These emotions now transcend the political party lines, becoming more and more personal for both sides. Even long-standing Democrats are won over by Krassner’s views on the economy. Even hardcore Republicans are repelled by his liberal, non-committal stance on religion and abortions.
“After last week’s debate, Krassner’s rating still holds at 46%. While he looks like he might be our next President, that’s not entirely sure. Bobby Johnson’s ratings rise slowly but surely, and Johnson may yet prove to be the proverbial tortoise that wins the race. From Flash Elections, this is Phil Fournier, wishing you a good night.”
...88
...Tuesday, September 13, 1:08AM PST (UTC-8:00 hours)
...Louie Blake’s Residence
...San Diego, California
He had spent the past week or so glued to his living room. His laptop was logged into the encrypted chat room he and his white hat friends normally used. It announced with a chime whenever any of them had questions. A week of eating canned food and delivery pizza, dozing off now and then on the sofa, and keeping track of Alex’s whereabouts via her cell phone’s tracking app. He was counting the minutes until she’d be able to get out of New Delhi and come back to safety. He was counting the minutes until the voting software they had dubbed e-vote 2.0 would be ready to deliver.
A familiar chime got him to jump off the sofa and grab his laptop. There was activity in their chat room; people were logging on.
MissMeNow: ‘Hey, baby Seal, you up still?’
SealBreaker: ‘Always.’
TheMoon: ‘Yo, Sealie, what’s up?’
Alpha: ‘May the Force be with y’all.’
SealBreaker: ‘Greetings, hats. Speak.’
Alpha: ‘We done.’
SealBreaker: ‘For real?’
MissMeNow: ‘Real as it gets. Very done.’
TheMoon: ‘We’ve been done since yesterday, but Alpha wanted v 2.0 to be delivered on the 13th.’
SealBreaker: ‘LOL. And I’ve been waiting . . . ’
Alpha: ‘Wish it were Friday the 13th.’
SealBreaker: ‘Tested?’
MissMeNow: ‘Yup.’
TheMoon: ‘Test some more, U got time.’
SealBreaker: ‘Will do. Encryption?’
Alpha: ‘Solidest I’ve seen. All hats coded that padlock.’
SealBreaker: ‘Rewrite/modify/clean? Or new?’
Alpha: ‘Entirely new. Offshore modules pure junk.’
TheMoon: ‘Pure barf.’
MissMeNow: ‘Barf + poison.’
SealBreaker: ‘Cool hats, you rock!’
Alpha: ‘You just acquired that value?’
SealBreaker: ‘Yep. The Force was with you on this.’
Alpha: ‘And with you. What next?’
SealBreaker: ‘Code transfer, shower, sleep. U?’
Alpha: ‘Same.’
MissMeNow: ‘Baby Seal, we shine, we rule, we deliver. Who needs running water over that? Just beer and Zzz . . . ’
Alpha: ‘ROFL.’
SealBreaker: ‘Can’t thank you enough, hats. Console.WriteLine(‘thank you’, 1000000000).’
That line of code, if compiled, would return the words ‘thank you’ one billion times, running down the screen in endless, streaming rows of text.
MissMeNow: ‘Compiles.’
TheMoon: ‘Be well, brother. Stay unhacked.’
SealBreaker: ‘Will execute. Signing off . . . ’
They had the replacement software, clean, secure, and elections-ready. But that was only a part of the challenge.
...89
...Wednesday, September 14, 7:19PM Local Time (UTC+5:30 hours)
...Bukhara Restaurant
...New Delhi, India
Alex waited for her Tandouri Mutton, one of the few Indian cuisine dishes her palate savored. Having dinner alone was not easy, especially in New Delhi, but she didn’t want to let herself be intimidated into ordering room service. A woman dining alone was insulting to many, but she willfully ignored any disapproving looks and managed to enjoy her dinners to some extent, evening after endless evening, reading from her iPad or browsing through a magazine. She missed having those lengthy dinner conversations with Louie, but she was still in Delhi for a precise reason, and he wasn’t, for another precise reason. The software was almost ready for sign-off, which meant she could soon go home.
Home. The word had a very different meaning now, sitting alone in the Bukhara and ignoring the gazes of countless strangers who felt she didn’t belong. More than that, she hated the inaction; there was little she could do other than wait for the damn thing to be finally ready. Every day she thought of hopping on a plane and just going home, the hell with