Spirits in the Wires by Charles De Lint Page B

expertise. Using people was second nature to Aaran at this point in his life.
    They were sitting in Jackson’s home office, a room that held more computer equipment than Aaran had ever seen before outside of a computer store’s showroom. He didn’t know what half of it did, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Jackson did.
    â€œI really don’t know,” Jackson said in response to Aaran’s question. “This is a new one on me. Here, take a look at this.”
    Using his mouse, he brought the arrow on his screen up to the menu bar, clicked on “View,” then on “Source.”
    â€œSee?” he said. “There’s no code.”
    â€œAnd that means?”
    â€œI don’t know what it means. It’s impossible. There’s always code. You can’t have a Web page without code. Without code, there’s no way for your computer’s browser to translate what’s stored on the site’s ISP into something you can see on your computer. What we should have here is HTML text all over the screen.”
    â€œExcept it’s blank,” Aaran said.
    Jackson wheel his chair back from the desk to look at him. “Exactly. So what’s really going on here?”
    Aaran shrugged.
    â€œBecause I’ve heard of these ghost sites before,” Jackson said. “They’re like the big voodoo mystery of the Internet. This is the first time I’ve run across one of them, but I’ve heard enough to know that they’re trouble.”
    â€œWhat kind of trouble?”
    Jackson’s gaze returned to the screen. There was a white box in the center of the screen that doubled as a search engine and a kind of message board. Behind the box a video of a forest was displayed—very smooth streaming. You could see the leaves moving in a breeze and there was nothing jerky about their shivering movement. The resolution was crystal clear. The sound of the breeze came out of his speakers—soft and soothing. Occasionally there was movement in a tree branch—little birds and animals, though sometimes they looked like people. Or animals wearing clothes.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said. “Just trouble.”
    â€œBut it’s interesting, isn’t it?”
    Jackson regarded him. “I suppose.” He waited a beat, then asked, “What exactly is it that you want me to do if I can hack into this site— which, I’m telling you now, I don’t see happening.”
    Aaran leaned back in his own chair.
    â€œIt means a lot to someone who fucked me over,” he said. “So I want to mess around with it, let her know that it may take awhile, but Aaran Goldstein always pays you back.”
    â€œWell, I hate to rain on your parade,” Jackson told him, “but it’s not going to happen with this site.”
    â€œOkay. New plan, then. Can you shut it down?”
    Jackson took another look at the screen. “Probably. If I can get who-ever’s on the other side of its firewall to open an attachment.”
    â€œYou’re going to use a virus?”
    Jackson nodded.
    â€œThat works for me,” Aaran said. “The site gets shut down and you get to add another notch to your joystick, or however it is you guys keep score.” He smiled. “So I guess I’m doing you a favor, really. Now you’ll get to brag to your buddies about how you just took down another big bad site.”
    Jackson gave him a cold look.
    â€œNo,” he said. “All that’s happening here is you’re blackmailing me into fucking up somebody’s life and destroying a lot of hard work.”
    â€œBlackmail’s such a harsh word,” Aaran said.
    â€œOh, yeah? Then what would you call it?”
    â€œAn exchange of favors.”
    â€œYou’re not doing me a favor. I don’t get any kick out of what you’re asking me to do.”
    â€œThat’s a good line. Remember to