Daemon

power.’
    Numerous television monitors mounted above the workbench filled with information. The scientists looked pleased. ‘Good. The computer belt has established a secure link to a nearby WiMax transmitter. Let’s get a fix on its location.’
    Another scientist called out, ‘An encrypted link has been established between the glasses and the computer belt.’
    ‘Retinal scanning in progress. Stand by …’
    Philips took a deep breath. ‘Cross your fingers, people.’
    They all stared at the glasses, but nothing obvious was happening. They waited.
    The lead scientist smiled and turned toward them. ‘We’re receiving data. I believe we just fooled the Daemon.’
    A cheer went up and high fives were exchanged at the lab benches. The Major was impassive, as always.
    Philips, Ross, Merritt, and The Major moved to join the scientists crowding around video monitors. The screens displayed images being beamed onto the lenses of the HUD glasses. The Major squinted. ‘What are we looking at?’
    Philips answered. ‘It’s a graphical user interface of some type – local time, GPS coordinates, power level, shield … Shield, that’s interesting …’
    Ross pointed at the screen. ‘It looks like one of Sobol’s game interfaces. A menu of options. Like a first-person shooter.’
    The Major scowled. ‘But what’s this tell us?’
    Ross read through the visible menus. ‘There’s no obvious way to navigate the UI. How do they work it?’
    The lead scientist nodded. ‘The glasses have a built-in bone-conduction microphone. Could it be voice-activated?’
    ‘We don’t have a voice pattern for this Daemon operative.’
    Philips pointed at a small blue square glowing near the right side of the screen. ‘What’s this?’ Barely legible textappeared just above the box, reading:
AAW-9393G28
. It was connected to the box by a glowing line.
    Ross concentrated on the screen. ‘I’d say it’s a call-out. Looks like there’s an object still active in our captured equipment collection.’
    ‘You mean like the name call-outs hovering over characters in Sobol’s online games?’
    ‘One way to find out …’ Ross approached the armature holding the HUD glasses.
    ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘I’m going to turn these glasses. If that glowing box moves on-screen as I move the glasses, then we know the glasses are showing us a virtual Daemon object that’s bolted to an external coordinate system – most likely the GPS grid.’
    Merritt looked from Philips to Ross. ‘Why would it create virtual objects on the GPS grid?’
    Ross called over from the rig as he turned it. ‘In Sobol’s online games, players and significant objects in the 3-D environment are denoted by virtual call-outs – pop-up menus that hover in space, providing information. I believe Sobol created the same system using the GPS grid.’ He turned to Philips. ‘How’s that?’
    The group looked stunned. ‘Oh my God …’
    ‘What is it?’ Ross moved over to the monitor.
    The tiny glowing box paled in significance. Hovering eerily in virtual space beyond the real walls of the lab was a towering red call-out box ringed with a dozen mysterious and dangerous-looking symbols – skulls, X’s, and crosses. Beneath that was a line reading
40 – Sorcerer
. At the top of the call-out was a rolling row of letters, like tumblers cycling endlessly next to the word
Stormbringer
.
    ‘What the hell is that, Jon?’
    Ross studied the video feed. ‘That’s the call-out of a fortieth-level sorcerer – we’ve been infiltrated.’
    The Major leaned in toward the screen. ‘Where is he?’
    ‘In this building …’ Ross moved side to side to get some parallax on the call-out. ‘He’s in the gaming pit.’ Ross turned to The Major. ‘Call security – NOW!’
    The Major shouted to a nearby guard. ‘Notify Secom that we have a highly dangerous intruder in the gaming pit. Activate silent lockdown.’
    The guard reached for his radio, but The Major put his hand over it and pointed to the nearby phone. ‘Use a landline, you idiot!’
    The guard nodded. ‘Sorry, Major.’
    Ross pointed at the screen. ‘We’ve got half the talent on the task force in that room.’
    Philips turned on The Major. ‘Just how the hell did he get in here, Major?’
    ‘Let’s worry about that once we have the mole in custody. I’ll tell you this much: Britlin is going to have hell to pay.’
    ‘Britlin. Who is Britlin?’
    ‘The company that clears task force