BY STEVE BATES

Here are the first few pages from my new science fiction novel “Virtual,” which is available from Barnes & Noble at this link: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/virtual-steve-bates/1150210238?ean=9781836711308

Chapter 1: The Dome

An airplane tumbled from the sky. Lucas Ahmed’s world would soon follow.

Alarms illuminated Lucas’ workstation like a Christmas tree struck by lightning. He felt like he had been swallowed by a glacial ocean that was numbing his mind and squeezing the oxygen from his body. Instinctively, he activated his aviation chatter feed.

Lucas could decipher few words and fewer meanings amid the crescendo of conversation. “Beams” emerged from the verbal pileup now and again. He raised his eyes apprehensively to the 48-by-36-foot display that dominated the Dome, a cavernous and eerie structure where 80 percent of the world’s commercial air traffic was managed. The pink swaths representing the electronic beams that guided planes on their lonely odysseys across the Atlantic Ocean had vanished from the Big Board.

He was relieved to see that lights and numbers were still indicating the positions, speeds, and headings of aircraft, which flitted like fireflies adrift in a forgotten desert. One by one, the 27 bright dots designating transatlantic flights shifted from white to yellow as pilots recognized that the beams were down and activated seldom-used manual controls.

All except European Airways Flight 2360. Flight 2360 morphed from white to red.

The crimson speck stared down the Covenant Enterprises team, an evil eye prophesying imminent disaster. As chief cybersecurity officer, Lucas knew that the failure of the Atlantic guide beams and the simultaneous loss of manual controls on Flight 2360 could not be a coincidence. Some part of him was frightened beyond description, but the rest of him was so juiced as to be almost giddy. This is it. This is the signature challenge I have been waiting for, have been preparing for, all my life. This is a sophisticated assault on an international flight. It’s up to me to stymie the hackers.

His right hand brushed the side of his head where his microchip was implanted many years ago. The scar was long healed, and Lucas could in no way feel the shiny hunk of black metal or the thin wire leads reaching out like antennae from some exotic insect. The motion was a nervous habit, perhaps a way of reminding himself that he was much more than just a normal 28-year-old trying to do a job.

“Initiating hacker protocol. European Airways Flight 2360, New York to Paris, about two hours out,” he informed all staffers on the evening shift. “See if anyone is claiming responsibility or making demands. Check with controllers outside of Covenant’s purview to determine if they have similar situations.” His words spawned ghostly echoes that sprinted around the Dome’s circular interior wall like naughty children reveling in the rush of sugary candy. Eventually, the reverberations faded to a delicate chorus that ascended toward the ornate globular ceiling and merged with the infinite.

From her dais at the center of the room, illuminated so brightly that it resembled a majestic organ risen from a time-honored orchestra pit, or perhaps the ruins of the Vatican viewed at night, Chief Operating Officer Keiko Matsuyama asked: “Are any other beams down?” Even amplified, her voice felt like a whisper battered by a stiff breeze.

“The other beams appear to be stable,” said IT Director DeShaun Young without breaking his fixation on the computer display hovering above his console. Reflections of readings splattered his angular face with pastel hues and arcane symbols from the statistics and status reports that defined his existence. He flailed his hands to manipulate his computer, as if he were playing several grand pianos at once.

Added DeShaun in an almost apologetic tone: “The managers of the Atlantic beam stations and the server gurus in the basement have no idea what’s wrong.”

Lucas flicked his right thumb repeatedly to toggle through a protracted list of active flights. He vocalized “connect” to forge a comm link with the problematic plane, taking over from whoever at Covenant had been working the flight. “Flight 2360, this is Admin 6 in Virginia. What’s your status?”

Static surged, but Lucas thought he could hear the crew breathing heavily or grunting, as if waging war with recalcitrant buttons and levers as well as frazzled nerves.

“Twenty-three sixty, report status,” Lucas demanded with more urgency. He struggled to maintain a businesslike tone.

“Admin 6 … control.” The static was not clearing up. Neither was the situation.

Lucas took a heavy breath and exhaled deliberately, attempting to expel all the doubt and fear metastasizing within him, to establish a space where intellect and training could wrest insight and solutions from chaos. “Twenty-three sixty, please repeat.”

“No control, damn it!” the pilot reported, his astonishment yielding to panic. “We can’t … nothing works!”

“Twenty-three sixty, do you have engine power?”

“Roger. Engine batteries stable.”

 Lucas nodded reflexively. “You appear to be on course for Paris.”

After an ominous interval in which hearts and minds raced on Earth and far above it, the pilot said: “But for how long?”

Lucas knew that he needed to project confidence, even though he doubted that the feeling would grace him in this hour of need. “We’re going to get you control back. Report any anomalies in course.”

“Roger that. But hurry.”

Unrelenting adrenaline and the metallic taste of fear threatened to overwhelm Lucas as colleagues collected near his workstation like bees buzzing around a disturbed hive, their questions and comments stinging the cybersecurity prodigy relentlessly. Lucas focused his entire being on his next steps. He sought assistance from his security contacts around the world. He activated sophisticated algorithms of his own design to trace signals going to or from the plane. He searched for activity among the most vicious state-sponsored and private hackers. Moments stretched toward infinity as every keystroke, every breath, every synaptic connection passed without progress. Sweat began to trickle from his furrowed brow. Come on, you bastards, show yourselves.

Increasingly dark thoughts accosted his mind. “Flight 2360, does anyone else know about this?”

“Charles might. He came in with coffee.…”

“Get him back in the cockpit unless you want a riot.”

The response came quickly. “Roger that.”

Lucas realized that the plane was veering significantly north of its intended course, like a stubborn child harboring the unshakable belief that parental control is a myth. “Twenty-three sixty, how much battery life do you have?”

The static was still consuming conversation. “Enough if….”

Lucas kept reminding himself that he was the best, the very best, at what he did. If he couldn’t save this plane, no one could. He ordered his computer to bring up the aircraft’s schematics and maintenance history. He found nothing amiss. He reviewed case summaries of the most serious hacking incidents in recent years. They had one thing in common: a demand. No demand had been reported this evening. What’s their end game? And, if they won’t negotiate, what could break their control?

A jagged, desperately needed piece of the puzzle materialized out of nowhere and snapped into place, causing billions of bells to peal across his consciousness. Maybe it was a byproduct of all the junk that his parents crammed into his skull when he was growing up. Maybe it was dumb luck. Or maybe it was a spectacularly bad idea. No, there’s no room for doubt. This is the only way.

He lifted his chin in resolve, endeavoring to channel some other person, someone who was experienced and self-assured and built for desperate situations like this. “Flight 2360, this is Admin 6. I recommend that you cut power to both engines. And then the cockpit.”

“What the hell are you talking….”

“I’m talking about dropping 30,000 feet.”

“What in God’s name … other than killing us?”

“It might be the only way to break the hackers’ lock on your instruments,” Lucas said almost casually, as if he were discussing the weather or the best pizza joint in town. The Covenant staffers standing near him were stunned and still as they processed his instructions and their possible implications.

“Now listen here, son,” the pilot said. “If you think—”

“Wait a moment,” the copilot interjected. “Are you …  reach some other beam or reboot our instruments and gain manual control?”

“Maybe both,” said Lucas, a slight smile forming on his suddenly parched lips. “Almost no one remembers the 5,000-foot-altitude guide beams that support propeller planes across European airspace. They’re so old and wide that they’re no longer displayed on our Big Board. My guess is that by the time you drop to 5,000 feet, the hackers will assume that you’re going to crash. You’ll probably be falling too fast to sync with the beam automatically and hold on that level, but by passing through the beam—and restarting power to the cockpit at the same time—your instruments will reboot and might allow you to regain control of the aircraft.”

The pilot was back on the air: “You are suggesting … without this behemoth of a plane striking water or land? You are totally insane.”

“It’s your best chance. Unless you want to go wherever these hackers want to take you before your batteries run out.” Lucas checked his display again. “You’re already losing altitude.”

The plane’s comm was silent for a very long minute. Lucas was expecting more pushback, pondering how he could persuade the crew to try this perilous experiment. And he was wondering what he would say and do if he were seated in that cockpit. It took all of his resolve not to pepper the crew with arguments and pleas. I made my case. It’s up to them.