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SURFNETKIDS.COM TEEN BOOK CLUB
NET FORCE: Virtual Vandals by Tom Clancy
(Part 3 of 5 for Wednesday, June 20, 2001)
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Dear Reader,

This week's book is part of a series of books based on a television
mini-series that aired on ABC in 1998. If you get hooked, there are
currently fifteen books in the series. Although Tom Clancy's name
is displayed predominately in the title (because of his many bestselling
books and films), Net Force is a collaboration between two authors:
Clancy and Steve Pieczenik.

Clancy published his first novel "The Hunt for Red October"
in 1984 at the "ripe old age" of thirty-seven.
Matt recognized the symptoms. Shock. It was a common response to
physical or mental trauma. It was also a nerve problem when
something went wrong with computer implants.

Basic training in the Net Force Explorers meant a full course in
first aid. But there was nothing Matt could do to help his friend.
Leif wasn't here, he was two hundred miles away. Matt couldn't even
get a pulse through the failing veeyar link.

He dug into his back pocket, hauling out his wallet. Flipping aside
his IDs and Universal Credit Card, he came to the foilpack keypad
that came with every wallet. Matt activated the power and hit the
"phone" option. The flexible circuitry inside the tough polymer
material switched to the precoded cellular phone format.

Matt muttered a brief prayer as he held the wallet to his ear. There
was the connection tone! He'd been afraid that with the stadium
systems all fouled up, he wouldn't be able to get a line at all.

First things first. Matt punched in the area code for the East Side
of Manhattan, then Leif's home phone number. "Come on!" he muttered
as electronic noises bleeped in his ear. Then the connection was
made--but no one was home.

"Your call cannot be answered at this time," a pleasant-sounding
female voice purred in Matt's ear. It was the Andersons' computer
system, offering him a choice of voice-mail options.

Matt cut the connection, waited for the tone, and began dialing
again. This time the number was shorter--the New York municipal area
code plus 911.

"Emergency services," a computerized voice came on.

"Medical emergency," Matt said, trying to keep his words clear. He
gave Matt's address and apartment number. "Victim is alone and in
shock--possible damage to sub-dural computer implant and neural
injuries."

Matt choked. Just a few minutes ago, he'd been joking with Leif
about blowing brain cells on useless information. If whatever
happened here had caused serious damage, Leif might actually have
lost brain cells.

Leif hadn't moved or spoken. His holographic image became fuzzy,
then faded away. Matt stared in worry.

A real voice replaced the computer interface, asking for more
information. Matt tried to answer the questions, and added a fact
that might hurry any rescue. "Leif is a member of the Net Force
Explorers, and so am I." Matt then rattled off his Net Force
Explorers ID number, and the number for his wallet-phone.

At least that will get some help for Leif, he thought, cutting the
connection to New York. Then Matt punched in the local emergency
code. There were probably hundreds of people calling in this weird
virtual attack to the Baltimore police. But one more won't hurt,
Matt thought. Maybe this will be the call that convinces the local
cops that this isn't just some sort of huge prank.

Matt found himself again making a report to a computerized
voice-mail system. Sure, he thought, Emergency Services must be
getting flooded with calls. He kept his story short and to the
point, mentioned the Net Force Explorers, and cut the connection.

What had he missed while he'd been trying to get help? The Gruesome
Foursome still stood at the top of the bleachers, hosing the field
and the seats with their tommy guns. Matt got a queasy feeling as a
make-believe bullet passed through his arm, but it seemed that the
virtual attack could only harm virtual spectators tied into the
stadium's simulation system.

Armored figures suddenly appeared in the emptied bleachers.

Police spotters, Matt figured, popping up in holographic form to get
a look at what was going on.

Hadn't they been warned about the holographic bullets? Maybe they
thought their virtual armor could handle it...but they were wrong.

Several police observers went down. Then they all shimmered and
disappeared.

Matt could hear sirens converging on the stadium, and police copters
appeared overhead.

The tall gangster's laughter resounded across the nearly empty ball
field. He aimed his virtual tommy gun into the sky, but the
holographic bullets didn't harm real live police equipment.

"All right, people," the pin-striped gunman's voice blared through
the PA system. "Show's over."

His laughter, and the ratcheting roar of the machine guns, cut off
as if a knife had sliced through the air.

Most of the people around Matt crouched or lay behind the flimsy
safety of the bleachers. But Matt Hunter stood, glaring at the oddly
dressed foursome who had caused so much devastation in a few short
minutes.

Then the intruders were gone, without so much as a flash or shadow
to mark their going.

Whoever they are, Matt thought, they have an excellent system behind
them. Talk about your clean getaways....

As a strong contingent of Baltimore police entered the stadium,
Matt's wallet-phone rang. Even though the connection was staticky,
Matt recognized the voice on the other end. It was Captain James
Winters, the Explorers' liaison to Net Force. That wasn't a
public-relations job. Winters had been an active field officer when
he came up with the idea of the Net Force Explorers--and in the
captain's mind, they were his troops, just as much as the Marines
he'd commanded in the last Balkan blowup.


(continued on Thursday)

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