The Second Ship (The Rho Agenda #1)(49)
“Mom, I know that. We’ll try to get on top of things earlier next time. Believe me, I think we learned our lesson.”
Her father chuckled as he sipped his coffee. “I seem to recall making that same statement myself. At least a couple hundred times.”
Heather rose from the table, kissed her mom and dad, and then headed for the door, grabbing her backpack on the way.
“See you after school,” she yelled as the door slammed behind her.
If she looked bad, Jennifer looked terrible. “I see you didn’t sleep either,” Heather said as she walked up to the twins.
“Sure I did,” said Mark, who indeed looked disgustingly bright-eyed and cheery.
Jennifer rolled her eyes. “No, I didn’t. I just got finished a half hour ago. I barely had time to shower and grab a bagel on my way out the door. I got the virus copied to my PDA, but the thing is completely untested.”
“You can test it after school,” said Heather.
At that moment the bright yellow school bus arrived amidst a squeal of brakes. Only after they were on board and the doors snicked closed behind them did Heather realize how cold the wind outside had been. She had been so distracted that she had forgotten to put her headband over her ears. Now, the heat inside the bus started her ears tingling so violently it felt like a horde of biting insects had descended on them, intent on gnawing the appendages from the sides of her head.
An itch was also building inside her nostrils. One thing she could always count on. Having acquired a critical mass of young passengers, the odors within the school bus became capable of reaching inside her nostrils and tugging on her nose hairs until her eyes watered.
From a loving mother’s carefully packed roast beef sandwich, complete with horseradish, to the partially burned gasoline fumes, to the young men, generously splashed with TAG Body Spray, this morning's odiferous warriors were engaged in an all-out charge into Heather’s sinuses.
While some people howled out a hurricane-force sneeze and were done, Heather’s came out as tiny little “chi” sounds that seemed to go on forever. Although she tried desperately to hold it back, when the sneezes started, they kept coming until everyone around her was laughing.
Fortunately the bus pulled to a halt in front of the high school before Heather had to endure a second attack. By the time she, Mark, and Jennifer had made their way to Ms. Gorsky’s first-period history class, Heather’s sinuses actually felt clear again.
As she pulled out her history book, Heather’s PDA spilled out, hitting the floor hard enough that Heather grabbed for it in a panic, turning it over in her hands to see if it had broken. She pressed the tiny “on” switch, holding her breath as she waited to see if it would respond.
If it was broken, she wouldn’t get another for the rest of the year. Five hundred dollars was a lot of money, and this little handheld computer had been a highly anticipated birthday present from her dad.
To her relief, the screen came to life, responding normally as she cycled through the program screens. Just as she was about to switch it off, Heather stopped, a sudden constriction clamping her chest. The PDA had made a wireless connection to the school's WIFI network and the trace-tracking program finished updating.
As Heather’s eyes scanned the data, it was clear that the NSA had drastically accelerated their progress since the last time Heather had checked. Entire branches of their network of agent programs had ceased reporting. The new trace rate leaped into her head with the force of a charging buffalo.
Heather signaled to Jennifer across the room, catching her eye and pointing to the PDA.
“Two hours!” Heather mouthed the words with increasing desperation, holding up two fingers, pointing to the PDA and then making a slashing motion across her own throat.
Jennifer looked confused, but then pulled out her own PDA computer. After several seconds, a look of horror crept onto her face.
Thank God, Heather thought as Jennifer began typing on her own PDA. At least Jennifer could send the launch command that would go across the network and uplink the Counter Trace Virus. Once that was complete, she could activate it. It hadn’t been tested, but it would have to do. They were out of time.
“You two!” Ms. Gorsky’s voice brayed like a kicked mule. “Heather McFarland and Jennifer Smythe. Bring those devices to my desk. Now! You know cell phones and PDAs are not allowed in the classroom.
“Come on. Switch them off and drop them right up here on my desk, young ladies. Then you can just waddle your little fannies down to Principal Zumwalt’s waiting room until I get a chance to get down there.”
Heather felt as if she had been slapped across the face. A glance at Jennifer’s terrified eyes gave her all the answer she needed. Jennifer wasn’t done.
Ms. Gorsky smacked her hand down on her desk. “I didn’t say for you to come up here when you got around to it. I said now.”
Heather and Jennifer scrambled to respond. Ms. Gorsky’s meaty hand reached out and snatched the PDA from Heather and then from Jennifer before either had a chance to lay them on her desk. She dropped them unceremoniously into a lime green bag bulging with homework papers.
“Now move it.”
As they made their way out into the hallway and the door closed behind them, Jennifer mumbled something that Heather couldn’t quite make out. Before she could ask Jennifer what she had said, though, Jennifer repeated it, then repeated it again, then again, all the way to the office. A single, three-word phrase.