Son of the Morning

"Not with this baby. See, I got in through a legitimate password. Basically, I put on an electronic sheepskin, and they never knew a wolf was prowling around."

"How did you get the password?" "Snooping. No matter how coded the info, there’s always a back door. Not that your bank has very good computer security," he said with obvious disapproval. "If I were you, I’d consider moving my account."

"I’ll think about it," she assured him, with a baleful glare that had him grinning again.

"That’s just part of the program. Here’s the accounting system." He pulled up another screen and motioned Grace closer. She obligingly scooted her chair forward an inch or so, and he launched into the intricacies of his digitalized baby. Grace paid attention, because she could easily see itwas a good system, deceptively simple to execute. He had programmed it to compare the current entry against past entries in the same account, so if anyone accidentally typed in, say, "$115.00" instead of "$ 15.00," the program alerted the user that the amount wasn’t within the previously established range, and to check for an input error.

"I like that," she mused. She had always paid bills and done her bookkeeping the old-fashioned way, by hand and on paper. However, she was completely at home with computers, so there was no reason for her not to do their household finances electronically.

Kristianbeamed. "I knew you would." His long fingers stroked the keys, downloading the program into her hard disk. "Its name is Go Figure."

She groaned at the sly corniness of it, the groan changing midway into a laugh. "Do me a favor. When you get busted for playing around in the bank’s computers, don’t tell the feds that I have a copy of the program, okay?"

"I’m telling you, it’s safe, at least until the banks change all their passwords. Then you simply won’t be able to get in.I could get in," he boasted, "but most people couldn’t. Here, let me give you a list of the passwords."

"I don’t want it," she said quickly, butKristian ignored her. He rifled through a stack of papers and plucked out three sheets of closely printed material, which he stuck in her computer case.

"There. Now you’ll have it if you need it." He paused, staring at the computer with the ongoing chess game. His opponent had made a move. He studied the board, head cocked slightly to one side, then he chortled. "Aha! I know that gambit, and it won’t work." Gleefully he moved a knight and clicked the mouse.

"Who are you playing with?" "Idunno ," he said absently. "He calls himself the Fishman."

Grace blinked, staring at the screen.Naw , it couldn’t be.Kristian was playing with someone who had probably chosen that Net name with malice aforethought, to trick people into making just that assumption. The real Bobby Fischer wouldn’t be surfing the Net looking for games; he could play anyone, anywhere, and get paid huge amounts of money for doing it.

"Who usually wins?" "We’re about even. He’s good,"Kristian allowed as herehooked his other desktop.

Grace opened her purse and pulled out her checkbook. "Want a pizza?" she asked.

His head cocked as he pulled his mind back from cyberspace to check the status of his stomach. "Boy, do I ever," he declared. "I’m starving."

"Then call it in; this one’s on me." "Are you going to stay and split it with me?" She shook her head. "I can’t. I have things waiting for me at home." She barely controlled a blush. Ford would have roared with laughter if he’d heard her.

She wrote out a check for fifty dollars, then pulled out a twenty to pay for the pizza. "Thanks, buddy. You’re a lifesaver."

Kristiantook the check and tip, grinning as he looked at it. "This is going to be a good career, isn’t it?" he asked, beaming.

Grace had to laugh. "If you can stay out of jail." She placed the laptop in the case and balanced the repaired modem on top of. her unzipped purse.Kristian gallantly took the heavy case from her and carried it downstairs for her. Neither of his parents was in sight, but the sounds of gunshots and a car chase drifted from the den and pinpointed their location; both of the olderSiebers unabashedly loved Arnold Schwarzenegger’s action movies.

Kristian’sgallantry lasted only as far as the kitchen, where the proximity to food reminded him of the pizza he hadn’t yet ordered. Grace retrieved the computer case from him as he halted at the wall phone. "Thanks, Kris," she said, and left the same way she had entered, through the darkened laundry room and out the back door.

She paused for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. During the time she had been with Kristian , clouds had rolled in to block most of the starlight, though here and there was a clear patch of sky. Crickets chirped, and a cool breeze stirred around her, bringing with it the scent of rain.

The light from her kitchen window, fifty yards to the right, was like a beacon. Ford was there, waiting for her. Warmth filled her and she smiled, thinking of him. She began walking toward her home, stepping carefully in the darkness so she wouldn’t stumble over some unevenness in the ground, the soft spring grass cushioning her movements in silence.

She was in theMurchisons ‘ backyard when she saw someone in her kitchen, briefly framed by the window as he moved past it. Grace paused, frowning a little; that hadn’t looked like either Ford or Bryant.

Oh, Lord, they had company. Her frown deepened. It was probably someone interested in archaeology or associated with the Foundation. College kids pondering a career in archaeology sometimes dropped by to talk, and sometimes she was the one they wanted to see, if they were having a problem with Latin or Greek terms. It didn’t matter. She didn’t want to talk shop, she wanted to go to bed with her husband.