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Four dark walls, one door, and that mirror thing that you see on Law & Order. Great! I wonder who played my iPod and where?
If Darcy knew IT people, and she did, she would hazard a guess that they first imaged her iPod’s memory, then gave every program a good once over looking for anomalies; wormhole data, malicious software, executable programs that could launch a virus.
Darcy rubbed her nose with the flat of her palm. Yeah, all those scans would come up clean. Darcy began tapping the heel of her foot against the chair she was sitting on. She never planned to deliver her musical hijinks program into the mainframe of any of the government’s alphabet clubs. SHIELD was a member of her government’s alphabet club, right? If not, well, her conscious was clear than. But her foot just kept on tapping.
Darcy knew she was being watched. So, she had to make some decisions fast. 1) Take responsibility or not? Darcy had warned the suit, Son of Coul, that was issuing orders to the jack booted thugs not to listen to her iPod. She gave Jane and Erik the excuse that she didn’t want any of her carefully categorized and cataloged music selections disturbed; which was true enough, just not the whole truth. 2) Feign ignorance? Well, her current state of nervousness was not going to make lying about that believable. And with that lie could go any credibility Darcy may find useful later. Because why burn a useful bridge if you get nothing in return. 3) What about this room disturbed her the most, the odd three dimensional makeup of the walls, the fact that no sound was echoing in the room, or the fact that the door was slightly ajar?
Darcy decided on her answers and checked her watch for the time. She had decided to give SHIELD eight more minutes, because arbitrary much, then slip out the door to locate trouble. Because she could. With that decided, Darcy began forcing every muscle group one by one to loosen.
After Darcy managed to loosen each muscle group, and blissed out on the euphoria that followed, she checked her watch again; six minutes down, two to go. Darcy closed her eyes and cleared her mind, no reason to tighten her muscle back up with stress.
At eight minutes Darcy got up. She slipped out the door and down the hallway. There’s got to be a restroom around here somewhere. Hey, look agents. They were coming down the hallway anyway, so Darcy moved to intercept them. “Excuse me, I’m a little lost. Where’s the restroom on this level?”
The agents blinked at her a few times. Darcy held her attitude of I belong here and looked expectantly at the two men in dark fatigues.
“Keep going, next hallway to your left, maybe about 10 feet,” replied the one on Darcy’s left.
Darcy allowed her body to show relief. No more 64 once drinks, ever! “Thanks, then after that I need to go to IT; something about a glitch causing buggy activity?” The two men chuckled.
“Yeah, buggy activity. Is that what they’re calling it?” commented the one on her right.
“Elevator down, two floors,” the guy on Darcy’s left directed again. “There’s a directory sign in the hall,” this guy was being most helpful; maybe too helpful.
“Much appreciate! Excuse me now.” And with that Darcy picked up a trot to carry her to the much needed relief required in the wake of the two 64 once drinks she had treated herself to this morning. Both had been heavily caffeinated products.
After the bladder relief and the elevator ride, Darcy marched herself right on into SHIELD’s highly classified IT department and laboratory. She seized the closest technician by the arm, “Your facility has a bug. I’m here to remove it. Who do I need to see?”
The technician looked startled at being manhandled and allowed his mouth to hang wordlessly open. Darcy took note of the music playing in the background and quickly located its source as coming from one of the work stations.
Turning back to the technician, Darcy stated with a bit more force, “Bug, your system, causing glitches. I’m here to help. Where do I need to be?” Darcy locked eye contact and slowed her speech to allow the technician’s brain to catch up.
“Right over here, I think,” the youngster, “Fitz” his nametag read, turned and led Darcy toward a terminal where a few other technicians and lab coats were hovering.
“Excuse me,” Fitz’s voice broke. “Agent Walsh?” Agent Walsh had been wearing a lab coat. Jane doesn’t even wear a lab coat.
“Not now, boy,” responded Agent Walsh with a superior attitude.
Darcy’s demeanor went cold. She squeezed Fitz’s arm once before pulling him back.
“Agent Walsh,” Darcy began in a voice louder than what was necessary in doors. “Would you like to give me a rundown of how deep the program has gotten so far or would you like to be named the responsible party when I’m asked about further delays?” It was her program, dammit!
Darcy loved it when her prey just blinked at her. She had his attention. Now heel, bitch. “I need a notepad and pen, open schematics of where you’ve located the bugginess, and coffee.”
Agent Walsh looked down before looking back up to her, Oh, what the hell! “We haven’t located the code causing the issue yet.”
“Bullshit! You’ve been staring at it, or rather listening to it. You just don’t know it,” Darcy allowed herself to imagine this guy’s skull being slammed against one of the bulkheads, she didn’t care which. “Coffee,” Darcy barked as a reminder of her demands.
Fitz called to her, “How do you take it?”
“Black, like my heart!” It was going to be a long day.
Someone handed Darcy a notepad and she began writing a file extension. “Agent Walsh, I need a high priority order to go out to every agent who has been present at this location within the past 72 hours. That order needs to include emails with attachments, uploads to cloud accounts, and links sent out containing addresses to those cloud accounts. And this needs to happen right now.”
Agent Walsh did not like how he was being addressed, but he played along, “What would you like that order to say?”
“Turn off all music, now.”
Walsh looked taken aback, “Excuse me? I’m not understanding. What does this bug have to do with music?”
Darcy’s face betrayed a small smirk. “Of course you don’t,” because didn’t he just walk himself into it, “That’s why I’m here.”
It took a minute for Agent Walsh recognized the insult.
Darcy tore off the top sheet of paper she’d been writing on and handed it to a suit standing next to Agent Walsh, “This file tag does NOT belong on any music track downloaded to any standard library. Every song with this additional tag, as is currently playing over there, is part of the now compounding problem.”
Darcy watched as the suit’s expression changed as he began to understand what she was saying. Everyone shared music.
“But the file is a music track and is treated as such by the computer," Fitz had to shout as he was heading back with Darcy's elixer of life. "It could not have initiated anything by itself,” Fitz had every right to be confused. But at least he was asking and not overlooking.
“Separate the sounds coming off the track.”
“Shouldn’t we mute the music first?” asked Fitz handing Darcy the cup of coffee.
“No,” Darcy had to play this part just right, “I don’t think you’ll be able to see it if you can’t identify what you’re looking at. Besides, the damage is done. Five more minutes won’t mean anything at this point.”
While the techs were busy transferring the tracks of music to the right workstation to accomplish the task Darcy set for them, Agent Walsh approached Darcy, “Where’s your badge?” His voice had an edge.
Darcy stared at him for a moment; then looked down at her shirt. She made sure to widen her eyes just slightly before saying, “Must have come off in the restroom. I was kind of in a hurry.” Darcy’s brain clung to the truth in that last bit. It allowed her to relax. She was almost done. If she could just show them what was going on, perhaps the SHIELD techs could take care of it themselves.
Agent Walsh began nodding his head, “I’ll just have someone go retrieve it for you then.”
Darcy smiled, “That would be appreciated.” She could have them running all over the building for a few hours if necessary.
“What is that?” Fitz exclaimed.
Oh yeah, Darcy was a genius. She caught herself admiring her little piece of art and hoped the slip was not too noticeable.
Darcy watched the screen as Fitz did some configuring at the terminal. While the room was watching, a blank text file opened on the screen. The room continued to watched as with each unheard “sound” articulated by the equalizer, the music wrote specific portions of code. Once separated, the music track actually broke down into four different tracks; one musical, and three that wrote code. As the track ended the file froze on the screen. When the next track began, more code was written. At the end of the third song, the file saved as an executable file deeper into mainframe than the last executable file with the same tag.
Once this new tag was identified, Fitz ran a program search. The number of files containing that tag was staggering. Darcy closed her eyes to the magnitude of the situation.
“Admiring your handiwork Ms. Lewis?” Darcy nearly jumped at agent Coulson’s newly announced presence.
“Good God, man!” Fitz did jump.
“Installing the program was not my handiwork, Coulson,” Darcy let out a slow breath, “Just my idea.” Darcy turned to face Coulson. “I told you not to play my music. And I would have told you why if you had simply asked.”
“We did ask, Ms. Lewis.”
“No, Coulson. Jane asked. Jane doesn’t need to know what I create in my free time.” Darcy turned back to the screens, but continued, “Besides, it wasn’t Jane or her computers illegally distributing music I legally purchased, was it?”
Coulson said nothing.
Darcy stared for a moment as Fitz’s file counter continued to increase in value, “I’d like to go home now Coulson.”
Coulson stepped into Darcy’s personal space, “We still have a few questions to go over, Ms. Lewis.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” complained Darcy as she finished her coffee in one gulp.
Two hours and counting later...
“Are you now or have you ever been a member of The Rising Tide?” Coulson and Sitwell were taking turns asking Darcy the same questions over and over again.
Darcy grumbled, “This is so boring!”
“Answer the question, please,” Sitwell insisted with a stick up his butt.
“Asked and answered,” replied Darcy. “Speaking of asking, did you guys ever call those numbers I gave you?”
“Acts of terrorism allows us to skip merrily all over your rights, Ms. Lewis,” Coulson was being a particular shade of douche now.
“Not my act. And I attempted to warn. I even have a written statement to that fact now, Coulson. Thank you, very much by the way.” Coulson handing over that signed statement and calling the two phone numbers Darcy recited off the top of her head got Darcy to agree to answer most questions. “And you haven’t answered my question about those phone calls.”
“No lawyer’s being brought in to help you, Ms. Lewis,” now Sitwell’s shade of ass hat was beginning to get on Darcy’s nerves.
“I never said, ‘here, call my lawyer,’ Sitwell. I said, as part of my agreement to answer less than sensitive questions, one of my two requirements was for both of those phone numbers to be called.” Darcy signed, “I’ll be shutting up now.” Darcy folded both of her arms across the table and laid her head down. Then she proceeded into her deep breathing routine. Darcy knew she would be asleep in moments.
Coulson and Sitwell left the room. The first thirty minutes were spent like this; neither agent wanted a repeat of the frustration.
Agent Hill was waiting for them in an adjacent room. She was standing in front of the window looking in on the college intern. “For not being trained in counterintelligence, she stalled you two beautifully.” Hill turned toward Coulson and Sitwell when they approached.
“I hate overlooking the smart ones,” Coulson’s initial brief on the research personnel at Puente Antiguo was incredibly light on information regarding Darcy Lewis. “What did we get from those numbers she gave us?” Coulson looked at Hill.
Agent Hill was standing erect with her arms crossed over her chest. “Hands-off orders,” Hill spoke nonchalantly but the order “hands-off” came as a slap.
Sitwell whistled and took another sip of his coffee.
Coulson for all his reserve gave Hill a startled look of surprise before collecting himself back into his bland expression. “From whom?” he asked.
“The NSA,” replied Hill.
“The NSA gave us a hands-off order,” Coulson was simultaneously impressed and put out.
Hill continued, “The first number was to Culver University,” Sitwell scoffed, “They started in with ‘What happened to Dr. Foster?’ and ‘Is Dr. Foster in any kind of trouble?’” Coulson thought Hill looked irritated. Then the day wasn’t a total loss. “After I explained why Darcy had been taken into custody, I was put on hold.” Wow, Hill must be pissed. Finally, a silver lining.
Hill held her erect stance with a purpose, “Then I was asked for number where I could be reached because somebody had to get back to me. I was told not to hurt her, supply her with coffee, and don’t touch her iPod.” That last bit came with a smile on her lips that touched her eyes. Crap.
“That second number was a direct line to her NSA handler, a Ms. Webb.” Hill’s voice was becoming shrill, “While I was explaining to Special Agent Webb why we had detained Miss Lewis, I received the call back," Hill paused, "from Special Agent Webb’s supervisor.”
Sitwell began choking on his coffee.
Coulson just stared at Hill. “Did you know that Culver University has a Mad Scientist Assistant Program?” Hill was now playing a game with Coulson. They both hated games. Hill must be livid.
“I was aware that they have a Mad Scientist Roster,” Coulson had enjoyed reading some of the antics of a couple members of that roster. One or two members of the roster were even currently employed by SHIELD. Then there was Dr. Banner's situation. Dr. Banner's particular lab accident had earn him one of the top five spots on the list. Coulson knew that Dr. Banner had been heading towards making the list anyway, but that lab accident, ouch!
“No, this is different. The Assistant Program is work-study. Her participation in and the results she’s been getting out of her assigned scientists is what has earned Miss Lewis a full ride for the duration of her education.” And the briefings failed again. Hill continued looking directly at Coulson. “Her iPod was a separate project that she volunteered for. She told the NSA that she wanted to give it a try and has been sending reports to the agency updating them with her progress.”
Coulson could tell that Hill was only pausing, so he waited.
Sitwell began grumbling about his empty coffee mug. Don’t spit it out next time.
“Her next version of the program has a specific target. What’s going on here today cannot get out under any circumstance. Director Fury doesn’t care if we scrap every piece of tech we’re currently carrying. The program is going after a high value target and SHIELD cannot afford to alienate the NSA.”
When Sitwell and Coulson walked back into the room, Darcy looked from one agent to the other a couple of times before asking, “How’s Bobby?”
When neither agent so much as blinked, Darcy clarified, “Special Agent Webb’s boss, Supervisory Agent Ramirez?” Nope, nothing.
“Make nice,” was Agent Hill’s final order on the matter.
That was how the two senior agents were assigned to drive Darcy back to her little piece of paradise, Puente Antiguo, in the Land of Enchantment.
“Look guys, I hate to be a pain,” Darcy began. Her foot was tapping and she was chewing on her fingernail.
“But,” Sitwell interjected. He was driving
Darcy sighed, “I’m hungry and I need a restroom again.”
Coulson decided to make nice, “There’s a place five minutes away.”
“Thanks.” Darcy’s words were quiet with no attitude and barely audible. Coulson noted that Darcy looked exhausted.
Within the five minutes and after a quick restroom break, the three of them were seated at a dinner Coulson knew could honestly boast a decent steak. Darcy followed Coulson’s lead and ordered the steak and potatoes house special. Sitwell got their anytime breakfast special and a pot of coffee. Both Coulson and Darcy kept to water.
Coulson stared at her in surprise, “No coffee Miss Lewis?”
“Darcy, please.” She looked uncomfortable.
“Darcy, what’s wrong?” Coulson was beginning to be concerned with her behavior.
Darcy shook her head and did not meet Coulson’s eyes. Whatever else, Darcy had always challenged Coulson. This was a retreating Darcy.
The three ate mostly in silence. Sitwell was content. But Coulson tried engaging Darcy in at least commenting on her food. But, “Its fine,” was the best he got. Her eyes were looking anywhere but Coulson.
After the restuarant, Sitwell voiced a need for snacks and coffee for the remainder of the drive. Since they still had about three hours of driving ahead of them, Coulson agreed. Darcy declined all soda and coffee. She did grab a sports drink and a protein bar.
After their vehicle crossed the city limits Coulson tried again, “Darcy, what’s wrong?” He had turned around in his seat to look at her. At his words, Darcy broke down crying.
After a few moments and with Darcy showing no signs of stopping, Coulson asked Sitwell to pullover. Coulson retrieved a blanket from the trunk and offered it to her. By the time Sitwell got the vehicle back up to interstate cruising speed; Darcy had the blanket spread out in front of her, she had pulled it up to her chin, her arms tucked under it. Darcy had been scared. And the tension of the day had finally weakened the dam holding back the tears.
Culver University finally released Darcy’s academic records. Yes, she was a political science major, now. But this was also her second degree. And she was on track in their Master’s Program. Her involvement in the Mad Scientist Assistant Program had contributed to three of Culver’s resident Mad Scientists finishing several projects ahead of schedule, two of which SHIELD directly benefitted from, as well as multiple additional published works covering a range of new theories. Dr. Jane Foster was just the latest of Darcy’s assignments. Jane had made leaps forward in resolving conflicting data and solidified theories months in advance of where she originally expect to be in her project. And then there was Darcy’s own work, computer viruses, wormhole programs, watchdog kill-switches, and the like. Darcy had been content working part-time as an NSA contractor on the iPod Project. Coulson could not even see any evidence that Doctors Foster and Selvig knew what Darcy was up to.
In all honesty, Darcy was someone that SHIELD should have been tracking to recruit. Hell, she beat her way past Walsh, and let’s face it; he’s an asshole, to begin fixing the problem. Her response to why she had taken the bait and left the room was, full bladder and wasting too much time. And she was right. Sitwell and Coulson’s strategy was going to take hours, even if she had come clean as soon as they walked in through the door. The buggy glitch had been an irritant and Coulson had wanted some payback.
It had been easy to forget that Darcy was not yet 22 years old. Hell, two nights ago she had managed to drink Barton under the table. But after a falling Asgardian, a Destroyer robot from space, having Puente Antiguo mostly set afire, and SHIELD descending on to them, twice, Darcy had earned the right to cry it out. And Coulson felt a little bit ashamed. Make nice!
“Thank you,” Coulson began. Darcy looked up for the first time since Coulson and Sitwell received their dressing down. So Coulson continued, “For taking care of my men. The beginning of shift food, they appreciate the gesture. I appreciate you not actively hating them.”
Darcy’s soft sobs stopped. “Hating the need for the intrusion shouldn’t hurt the guys trying to keep us safe.” Coulson knew heads of state who should understand that, but don’t. “Besides, Barton’s too easy of the eyes to hate.”
The comment earned a moan from Sitwell. Coulson’s heart lifted a little bit. He’d still have a chat with Barton over the nature and extent of whatever relationship those two were building.