Ridley Pearson - Power Play

“You gotta get us into this machine.”

“Tell me about it. Okay. Give me a minute.” He laced his fingers over his head and closed his eyes.

“I can help out,” Finn offered.

Philby sat very still for several minutes. Finn grew increasingly impatient but said nothing.

“Okay,” Philby said, standing and moving down the aisle. “Let’s assume the OTs phished for my password, stole it, and then erased it. That would explain resetting the server and my losing the data connection. That would mean they can now access the server remotely, same way as I did. But,” he said pulling, out his phone, “if I try to access it one more time remotely and I fail, any remote access will be blocked for twenty-four hours, including theirs. That’ll leave the only access from here-this keyboard. But the OTs are not the only ones who can access this server.”

“The Imagineers,” Finn said. “Engineering.”

“Yes. SOP,” he said, meaning standard operating procedure, “for an attempted raid on a server would be to send Security first and someone from Base, second. The Security guy makes sure the room’s clear. The guy from Base checks the server, runs virus-scanning software, studies and prints the log.”

“So?” Finn said.

Philby was already unplugging and collecting wires from the backs of other computer servers. Finn followed along like a lost dog.

“So we need the guy from Base to access the server,” Philby continued.

“I think we established that.”

“He has to enter a password ,” Philby said. “The system’s master password is the only thing that can override a lockout. Look for a camera.”

“What?”

“A webcam. Usually little round balls about the size of a golf ball.”

“I know what a webcam looks like,” said Finn.

“So find one.”

“Where?”

“This is a giant room devoted to computers, and only computers. Somewhere in here are Security web-cams as well as personal webcams. Just find one!”

“You’re telling me Security can see us?”

“Probably. Could be. But there are hundreds, probably thousands of cameras around the Parks. They’re not going to focus on here unless we give them reason to. Until we give them reason to. That’s why I haven’t tried the password for the third time. First, we need a camera.”

The boys split up to search.

“Is that one in the ceiling?” Finn called out.

“Yeah, probably. But it’s too hard to deal with.”

Finn kept looking, ducking down another long aisle of stacks of electronic gear.

“Somewhere here,” Philby said, “There has to be…aha! I’ve got it!”

He’d found a freestanding webcam alongside a keyboard at one of the desks. He traced the USB cord and unplugged it.

When Philby got on a roll, there was no stopping him. His actions became frantic as he hurried with the webcam back to the DHI server. He dragged a chair into place, climbed up onto it, and placed the webcam on the top shelf, wedging it between a pair of speakers.

“Run the wire down the back there,” Philby directed Finn.

Finn did as he was told. Together, they worked furiously, running wires, changing the position of the camera. Finn still didn’t know what Philby was up to.

Philby double checked his phone and said, “No cell service, but it’s a good Wi-Fi signal down here.”

Philby handed his to phone Finn. “Can you see my hands?” he said, placing them on the keyboard.

Finn viewed the phone’s screen. It was the video image from the webcam Philby had installed. It showed the keyboard and Philby’s hands.

“Unreal,” Finn said. “Yeah, your hands and the keyboard.”

He took his phone back. “Check the cold room for hiding places,” he said, referring to a second server room with which the boys were familiar. “Room for both of us. It has to be good. We can’t be found.”

Finn entered a small room crowded with big, lumbering machines. The bigger and more sensitive electronics ran more efficiently when kept extremely cool. He found space behind a computer the size of vending machine.

“I’ve got something,” he called out.

“Stand by!” Philby called back. He used his phone to make a remote connection. He then tried his password for the third time. The computer bumped the access page and warned that access would now be denied for twenty-four hours.

He glanced at his watch. Given the past history of the DHIs and this server, he gave Base five minutes to respond.

It took only three minutes. A Security woman named Joyce Brighton, who’d worked Security for eleven years, the past three in the Utilidor, entered the server room with a cup of coffee in hand.

She glanced around, well aware that false alarms outnumbered real ones 20 to 1.

She surveyed the empty room, and reached for her radio. Then she stopped.

What on Earth was that foul odor?

It smelled like a Dumpster.

Philby and Finn remained hidden behind the towering rack of servers when the door to the supercooled room opened. Over the steady sound of the air conditioning and the computer fans could be heard a nose sniffing. Philby looked down at the brown muck and pieces of food and litter adhered to his clothing. Unfortunately, he’d already grown accustomed to the foul odor. Clearly the guard had picked up on it.

The nose worked the air in short little sniffs. The sound moved toward the two boys.

“What in heaven’s name is that smell?” said a woman softly to herself.

The guard reached the towering enclosure they hid behind.

“Ah-ha!” the guard said.

She tried to squeeze herself between the two enclosures. Finn and Philby had slipped through; judging by the sounds she was making, she was not a perfect fit.

“Joyce, what’s your twenty?” a male voice said over her radio. “Fresh coffee when you’re ready.”

The woman guard stood there, basically stuck between the two metal enclosures. She was maybe two feet from Philby. Her hand shot out from the gap, and nearly touched him as she tried to get to her radio. After a second try, she backed out into the main part of the room.

“Pour me a cup. I’m on my way. Tell Base that Data Operations is clear. They can send their guy over.”

The “guy” was not a guy at all, but a woman from Maintenance who arrived from the Studios in less than fifteen minutes. Philby had Finn hold the phone while he watched the image from the webcam. A pair of delicate hands appeared in frame and typed in a sixteen-digit string alphanumeric password. Philby knew what to watch for: he had Finn study the first eight finger motions, while he took the second set. Philby had sketched out a keyboard on a piece of notepaper; he marked the finger movements with X s and numbered them.

The technician spent another twenty minutes putting the server through its paces-a full virus scan and a reboot. Apparently satisfied that there’d been no breach, she slid the keyboard back in its tray and left the server room.

“What now?” Finn asked.

“Now,” Philby answered, waving the piece of notepaper, “I do my magic and you and Maybeck get to sleep. We’re back in business.”

Maybeck sneaked out from under the cardboard boxes. The two guys had been told Base was “good.” They finally left.

His hand hovered over the STOP button.

Then he thought to send Philby a text.

want me to stop it?

Tucked in behind the plywood wall, he waited. And waited. When no text came back, he decided the reception was bad. He had to make a decision. Too much time had passed since the system had been restarted. By now, Finn and Philby had either been blown out of the system or were safe.