Road to DEFCON By S. Baker Author’s note in the form of a poem, explaining my inspiration and situation: Caged Eagle By S. Baker Trapped. A neon-lit cyber paradise in the desert calls my name in ones and zeroes. "Write to me," it sings like a siren, "If you're good enough, I'll let you in." Trapped. Masyaf Castle with its flashing signs beckons to all cyberpunk rogues. I hear the call for the warriors to assemble in August I yearn for my ceremonial Leap of Faith into cyberspace. Trapped. My pouch slit by multiple stabs in the back, thrice traitors sunk their swords into my spine, gold spilling out like blood-- two wounds by lying tongues, the third by the dark of our kind. I can't afford to answer the call-- I want to anyways--   Even if it takes every last dinar I have. Trapped. The iron horse doesn't water here, the Greyhound ran away, all that remains is unobtainable flight-- but we rogues can always find a way. Trapped. A fledgling eagle in a cage with wings clipped. I hear the call of flock and castle resonating throughout cyberspace I cry out, hoping for my piercing voice to be heard, though I can't fly-- but I will try, if I can escape. Trapped. Limousine dreams and five-star hopes as I hope and pray that my tale will open the castle gates. My heart is gilded and jeweled, my mind knows it is not to be-- I'll be sleeping in a haystack and begging for a student discount at ramen counters      --if my song wins the Council's hearts-- Such is the price for paradise when options are few. Trapped. Four golden keys are just out of reach, many hands grasp for one-- mine are among them. It is my only hope of entering the neon-lit courtyard, the one where I am beginning to belong. This Novice wishes to learn from the masters and Mentors who easily make the journey to paradise year after year-- But I must fight like Altair for even one time-- I am trapped. End author’s note. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. I walked into my favorite place in all of Orange Beach, Seaside Electronics and Radio. It was a small store akin to what RadioShack once was--only upgraded--nestled in a nondescript strip mall between a comic book store and a Chinese takeout place. The door chimed as I walked in, and “Roam” by the B-52s was playing over the speakers to the store. There was a small electronics makerspace at the back of the store, filling whole place with the purr of whirring machinery and tools and the smell of melting solder, scorched wood from the laser cutters, and 3-D printer exhaust--the sound and scent of curiosity and imagination at work. Tux, the shop’s elderly beagle, named after the Linux penguin, trotted up to me. “Hey, Tux,” I said, taking a knee to pet him. I stood up and continued into the store. I knew what I was here for. I’d already ordered the parts for my latest project, as well as emptied a tin of Altoids. The last things I needed were another spool of soldering wire and a Raspberry Pi Zero W. I knew where these items were, and picked them out then brought them to the glass counter, in which was showcased vintage electronics like monitorless 80’s computers that plugged into one’s TV and, stomach-churningly, the now-vintage “hockey puck” Apple mice that I remembered using in elementary school. At 24, I should have been moved out and done with college, but I felt I didn’t need a cybersecurity degree and could teach myself. Isadore, the shop owner, sitting behind the counter on a cushioned stool, looked up from his Batman comic book, which contrasted with his Dr. Strange snapback hat, as I approached the counter. I placed the items on the counter and he said, “Just these today, Odessa?” “Yep,” I said. “What are you making?” he said. “A MintyPi. It’s a gift for my brother because his birthday is coming up. I’ve got everything else in my backpack. I just needed this.” “Oh, nice!” Isadore said. “Tell him I said happy birthday.” He paused for a moment, then said, “You know what, since it is his birthday, I’ll throw in something extra for a gift.” He took a Cryptex flash drive off the back wall and put it in the bag. “He’s been needing a flash drive for college,” I said. “That’s perfect.” “Yeah, I remember you saying he’s moving away for college soon,” Isadore said. “Yeah,” I said. “He’s annoying, but I’m going to miss him.” “That’s normal for siblings when one moves away,” Isadore said. “By the way, we’re running a sweepstakes in partnership with Offensive Security that might net you a free VIP trip to DEFCON. It’s being run by independent electronics stores all over the nation.” He gestured to a sign on the counter, an acrylic standing frame holding a sheet of paper with a background of the Kali Linux dragon and reading “OFFENSIVE SECURITY PRESENTS: DEFCON VIP SWEEPSTAKES!” and detailed the package being offered and how to enter. All I had to do was tell him my name and email, and it was free to enter. “Woah,” I said. “That sounds nice.” A realization hit me. “What about getting there? It says nothing about airfare.” Isadore drew in a sharp breath. “That, I’m afraid, is up to you.” “Dang,” I said. “I’m not sure I can afford a flight to Vegas.” “Greyhound?” he said. “I wish,” I said. “I’ve looked into it for other trips. Nearest station is in Mobile, and I don’t drive to get there. No one has the time to teach me between my parents running the coffee shop and my IRL friends who do drive being busy. And I’m not riding my bike to Mobile.” “What about Ubering to Mobile?” Isadore said. “That is an option,” I said. “But I’ve heard horror stories about Greyhound.” “It’s not too bad,” Isadore said. “I took it all the time when I was in college. No worse than a city bus most of the time.” “Most of the time?” “Yeah, it can get…” he trailed off. “Interesting, we’ll say, but I survived.” “That it gets ‘interesting’ isn’t exactly reassuring,” I said. “You’ll be fine, trust,” he said with a smile. “If you say so,” I said, not believing him. “So you going to enter or not?” Isadore said. “Yeah,” I said. “Awesome!” he said. “Full name is Odessa Hajaly,” I said. “And for the email, falconess at falconess.com.” “Got your own domain,” Isadore said, looking very impressed. “Nice.” “Yeah I just set it up,” I said. “Well, I hope you win, Falconess,” Isadore said with a warm smile. “Good luck.” JUNE 24 My phone played the notification sound for my email with the custom domain, snapping me back to reality from working on a box on TryHackMe. I looked at the notification. My stomach flipped at the sender. Offensive Security. I opened it. To Odessa Hajaly, We at Offensive Security are proud to announce that you are the winner of our DEFCON VIP sweepstakes. You have won one Human+ pass, a Grand One Bedroom Suite at The Venetian from August 6th through 10th, an H2 Hummer limousine from Vegas VIP Limousine on call to be your transportation during this time, five hundred dollars for meals and expenses, and promotional gifts from DEFCON and Offensive Security. Your vouchers for your pass, hotel room, and instructions for redeeming the monetary prize are attached. If you have any questions, concerns, or need to transfer this prize, please reply to this email. We hope you enjoy your trip to DEFCON, Ning Wang CEO, Offensive Security I double-checked the email it came from and looked for signs of phishing. None that I could spot. I’d won. I’d really won. My room started to spin. I’d never been farther than Destin. My family couldn’t afford it. The coffee shop was our only source of income. Even I worked there. But there were six days of hacking and partying and luxury beyond what I could imagine awaiting me in Las Vegas. If I went, this would likely be one of the highlights of my life. All I had to do was get there. I fell out of my chair, knocking over a stack of boxes next to my desk with a crash. I laid there under them, so dazed from the email that I barely felt them fall on top of me. I heard hurried footsteps coming down the hallway, then my mother’s voice from the doorway. “Odessa?” she said. “Are you alright?” I pushed the boxes off of me and sat up. “Yeah...yeah, I’m alright.” I paused for a moment. “I won.” My mother looked confused. “Won what?” “I entered a sweepstakes about a month ago at Seaside Electronics that the prize was a VIP trip to DEFCON,” I said. “I just got the email that I’d won. It’s legit.” “‘DEFCON?’” my mother said. “What’s that?” “It’s a hacker conference in Las Vegas,” I said. “The biggest one in the world. All the big names in cybersecurity on both sides of the coin are going to be there. And the sweepstakes is giving me a VIP experience. A suite at a five-star hotel, a Hummer limo for the time I’m there, a premium pass to the con, a monetary prize, and more.” “You entered a sweepstakes to go to a hacker conference in Las Vegas?” she said. “Yeah…” I said. “I guess I should have told you, but I didn’t think I’d win. If it makes you feel any better, it was free to enter.” “How are you getting to Vegas?” she said. “My current plan? Uber to Mobile to catch the Greyhound. I can’t afford a flight,” I said. My mother sighed. “No one in this family can afford a flight to Vegas.” She then seemed upset. “I can’t believe you didn’t talk to me before you signed up for this!” “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t think I’d win!” She seemed to debate on something. “I don’t want you going to Las Vegas unsupervised, but I can’t afford to go with you.” “Are you kidding?!” I said. “Mom, I’m 24! I can handle myself in Vegas.” “It’s a big city known for debauchery,” she said. “You’ve never been anywhere like it before. Then there’s the whole hacker aspect...” She wasn’t going to let me go. Admittedly, I was scared witless by the thought of traveling so far, but at the same time, extremely excited. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” I said. “And you know I want to be a pentester. This will catapult me closer to getting that career big time. I’m going to learn a lot when I’m there. Please, you have to let me go.” I could see it in her eyes. She didn’t want to let me do this. “Please,” I said with a shudder. She sighed. “You know what,” she said. “If it will help get you a job. I just don’t want to get a phone call saying you’re in jail and need me to bail you out.” I was taken aback by that. “You seriously have that little faith in me?” I said. “All I know is that hackers are criminals for the most part,” she said. That also offended me. “That’s not true,” I said. “I’ve tried to tell you that for a long time.” “If you think you can handle yourself, I’ll give you a chance,” she said, “but if I see anything that tells me you’ve done something like gotten so drunk you can’t walk, or done anything illegal in terms of hacking, or otherwise reenacted The Hangover, you’re in big trouble. But you’re on your own for getting there and back.” I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I said. AUGUST 4TH My Spotify alarm clock went off, playing “Glamorous” by Fergie. When I heard it, I smiled. Survive the Greyhound trip, and that would be my theme song in the nerdiest way for the following five days. But for right now, that steel hellhound I had to ride to get there was standing in my way. I tried not to think about that, only how awesome things would be if I did make it there. Once I was in Vegas, my base of operations would be a five-star hotel, and I’d be riding in a limo everywhere and sipping champagne and I’d be rubbing shoulders with the elite of the cybersecurity scene. I was going to be a rock star, if only for a few days. I got up, got dressed, put my hiking backpack--a remnant of my Girl Scout days that still fit and that I’d packed in--near the front door, along with my carry-on laptop bag with all the tech I was bringing with me. I didn’t have much, but I still wanted to bring it. I’d scheduled my Uber to Mobile, and they would be picking me up at eleven o’clock AM. My first bus was scheduled to leave at 1:50 PM. I was mostly on Discord on my phone from the time I got up at 9:30 AM after preparing to leave, but I could think of nothing else but DEFCON. My Uber driver texted me that she was here. I opened the front door... and it was pouring. My mood was almost hampered by the downpour, as I was concerned for my electronics, so I put a trash bag over my laptop case and the rain fly over my backpack, then carried them out to my Uber. I sent my mother a quick text that I had left--she was working at the coffee shop--shortly after I sat down in the car. I arrived at the Greyhound station at 1:40--only ten minutes to get on the bus, but I was sure I could make it. I hurriedly grabbed my bags, and rushed to check in at the kiosk as fast as I could, and then looked at my watch. 1:45. I ran to the gate...and saw an empty bus parking space. “No,” I muttered under my breath. The second came out louder. “No!” I ran to the desk. “When did the 1:50 bus to Houston leave?! I thought it was supposed to leave at 1:50!” I asked the very disinterested desk agent. She lazily typed something on her computer, and then said, “Looks like it left two minutes ago. They run early or late sometimes.” I felt my knees start to go weak with defeat. “Can I change it to a later bus?” Clearly not sorry, she said, “Nope. You would have had to change that fifteen minutes before departure, and the tickets are non-refundable. Sorry.” A word almost slipped out of my mouth that I was glad I caught, though I had a feeling that the desk agent wouldn’t have cared. “I can’t afford another ticket,” I said. “I’m on a really tight budget.” “Well, I’d start walking,” she said, beginning to scroll on TikTok, which I wouldn’t touch after hearing horror stories about the code. As cartoonish as it was, I fell to my knees in defeat. I couldn’t afford another Greyhound ticket, let alone a flight. The word I’d caught did slip out of my mouth. That glitzy trip to DEFCON, the limo, the five-star hotel, the VIP pass...It all left with the bus about two minutes ago. I couldn’t use the five one-hundred-dollar bills in my Assassin’s Creed wallet in my back pocket to pay for another bus ticket--I’d need that for food and other things, assuming by some miracle I got there, which seemed impossible at this point short of a wormhole opening under my feet and spitting me out on the Las Vegas Strip. I called an Uber home. It was the only thing I could do at this point. I sat down in one of the seats in the lobby and began to cry, then saw that someone had left a copy of my favorite book, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, on the seat next to me. That’s how I’d get there. I’d hitchhike. It was risky, but I was certain I could afford a Greyhound ticket back, provided I survived the hitchhiking. I looked up truck stops near the Greyhound station. The nearest one was a city bus ride and then a seventeen-minute walk away. I canceled the Uber, grabbed my bags, and caught the city bus the point where I had to walk, and arrived at the truck stop sopping wet, freezing, realizing how stupid of an idea that was, hoping I wouldn’t catch a cold, and realizing how stupid this whole plan of hitchhiking to Las Vegas was. It was a stupid plan, but I’d see it through. It pained me to spend money here, but I bought a dry t-shirt, changed into it in the bathroom, and tied the wet one up in the plastic shopping bag I’d been given when I bought the dry t-shirt. My plan here was to find a trucker and ride with them as close to Vegas as they’d take me, and do the same thing from there. But it’s not like they all wore a shirt or a hat that read “TRUCKER.” I wish standing by the side of the road with your thumb out was still safe like it was in Douglas Adams’s time, but sadly, it wasn’t, and this was the safest way to hitchhike. I walked into the Subway, as that was the closest to a socialization area as the truck stop had. I noticed a somewhat disheveled though freshly-showered older man eating a sandwich, and I thought he might be a trucker. I approached his table and said, “Excuse me, sir, are you a trucker?” “I am,” he said, “Why?” “I missed my Greyhound and don’t have the money to buy another ticket, and I was wondering if you’re going in the direction of my destination, if I could ride with you. I really need to get there. Where are you going?” He looked at me suspiciously. “I’m headed to Los Angeles, California,” he said. Perfect. Only thing better would have been he was bound for Las Vegas itself. And then he continued, “But I’m not sure I’m willing to let you ride with me.” My heart sunk, but I didn’t give up. “I’m trying to get to a cybersecurity conference in Las Vegas,” I said. “It’s called DEFCON. I won a sweepstakes for a really nice trip there, but it didn’t include airfare.” I pulled up the email from Offensive Security on my phone and showed it to him. “This is the email telling me that I won.” He looked at the email, then said, “So you’re a computer geek?” “Well,” I said, “Not everyone who’s very tech-savvy likes that term, but yes.” “I’ve been having problems with my laptop for months. Relentless pop-ups, it’s running so slow that it’s nearly unusable, and several other problems. No clue why it’s doing that.” he said. “If you can fix it, I’ll let you ride with me to Los Angeles.” That screamed malware. “Okay, do you have it with you?” I said. “I do,” he said. He opened the messenger bag sitting next to him and brought out a beat-up Dell laptop. He unlocked it, and then turned it around to face me. “Have at it.” Not seconds after I’d seen his default desktop, a pop-up that said he had a ‘virus’ appeared with a link to click that said it would fix it. I knew better than to click the link. “Okay, it definitely looks like you’ve got malware. And some pretty obvious ones at that,” I said, pulling the computer over to me. “I don’t know what that is,” he said. Apparently I had to put it in grandpa-speak. “Your computer does indeed have viruses, probably multiple, but if you click the link that the pop-ups are telling you to, it’ll only make things worse. I can get them out though.” I searched his computer for any sort of antimalware, and found there was only the useless Windows Defender. “You also don’t have any sort of security program. That’s probably why your computer is like this. But I think the fix is quick, and when I’m done, it will improve the security of your computer. I’ll also install an ad blocker on your browser that will not only improve the security of your computer, but will allow you to watch videos and stream music without ads as long as it’s done through your browser.” “Like the sound of that,” he said. I installed Malwarebytes, then turned off the WiFi on the laptop and ran a scan. It got over twenty hits. I got it to remove the malware, then checked the task manager for anything that was using more CPU than normal. There was a single program called “Windows Process” that was, and I terminated the process and deleted it, but it came back. I booted the computer into Safe Mode, found the malicious process’s location, and deleted it. I booted the computer back into its normal mode, then ran Malwarebytes again. It came up clean, and the scan was much, much faster, and I checked the Task Manager to see if the malicious process was gone, and it was. I tested a few applications, and they all seemed to work fine. He used Edge as his browser, and I had a feeling he wouldn’t use anything else if he was this tech-illiterate even if I told him there were better options, so I cleared the browser’s cookies, then junk files, turned the WiFi back on, and installed Ublock Origin on Edge. “Okay, done. It was an easy fix, and I installed a very good antivirus called Malwarebytes, but to keep your current level of protection with it, you’ll have to subscribe to it after the fourteen-day trial, but trust me, it’s worth every penny. I also installed the ad blocker on your browser, which is free. As long as you’re not important to any sort of government and aren’t a CEO or something, you should be good,” I said. He laughed. “Do I look like I’m a CEO? Been a trucker since I flunked out of college at twenty.” “Okay, then you should be good,” I said. “Nothing in cybersecurity is ever 100-percent, but it’s rather based on risk verses likelihood and a few other factors. Since you’re not a big-game target, chances are you’re not going to get big-game-hunting viruses. It’s still a good idea to change all your passwords though. But you’re going to have to log back into all of the websites that you were logged in on beforehand. I had to erase the data from a part of your browser that not only keeps you logged into sites, but also could harbor viruses.” “That’s going to be annoying,” he said. “But at least you say my computer is fixed.” “It should be,” I said. “Again, nothing in cybersecurity is ever 100-percent, but judging from that you say you’re no one special to an attacker, you should be good after what I’ve done.” I turned the computer back around to him. “Test it out and see if you like the new features I’ve added, and make sure everything is working.” He poked around in his computer, and then said, “Wow, it is running much faster. I thought I was going to have to get a new one. And no pop-ups. Thank you. Guess I’m taking you to Los Angeles.” “Thank you, sir,” I said. “I think I saw in there that your name is John?” “Yep,” he said. “John Ripper.” I had to hide a snicker at his name. I clearly failed. John’s eyes narrowed. “What’s so funny about my name? It’s not like my first name is Jack or anything.” “It would take a very long time to explain,” I said. “Well, my name is Odessa. Odessa Hajaly.” “That’s an interesting mix of names,” John said. “Yeah,” I said. “My mother is half-Greek and very proud of her heritage, and my father is a first-generation Syrian immigrant. Our family runs a coffee shop, Morning Tide Coffee Co., in Orange Beach, which isn’t too far away, but I’m trying to do computer stuff as a career.” “Well, you’ve got quite the lineage then,” John said. “And I’ll stop by Morning Tide if I’m ever in Orange Beach.” John put his laptop back in his bag and said, “Well, I’m just about to hit the road again. I’m sorry to tell you, but I think you’re going to have to sleep on the floor of the cab if you want to lie down tonight, as I’m certainly not letting a stranger take my bed.” “Hey, I used to go camping when I was a Girl Scout,” I said. “I’ve slept on the floor before. Then again, I was a kid…” John smiled, remembering something. “I was a Boy Scout back in the day. I’ve done my fair share of camping, too. And I even earned Eagle Scout.” He then looked a bit irritated. “Lot of good that’s done me other than teach me how to tie down cargo on my truck.” “Hey, at least you can say you earned it,” I said. “That’s not easy.” “That is true,” he said. He got up and said, “Well, c’mon if you’re coming.” John was clearly an independent trucker, and his tractor was decorated on the outside to look like Optimus Prime’s semi truck mode. He unlocked the door, and we both got in out of the rain. The interior of his truck smelled like cigarettes and microwavable meals and dirty laundry, but at least I was getting closer to Vegas. I noticed several Transformers figures in a seated pose stuck to the dashboard of his truck with double-sided foam tape, alongside a bobblehead of a spotted black and white dog. “I take it you’re a Transformers fan?” I said. “Oh yeah,” he chuckled. “Ever since I was a boy in the ‘80s. When I flunked out of college studying--or rather, not studying--pre-law, I became a truck driver because I wanted a truck that looked like Optimus Prime. And because it beat a lot of other jobs you can get without a degree. I’ve been to some amazing places and seen some incredible things in this line of work. Can’t say that about slinging fast food or selling appliances.” He folded down the jumpseat against the wall of the front part of the cab and said, “That’s my seat up there, and this is yours. It’s not fancy, but it’s headed to Los Angeles faster than you can walk.” “Thank you,” I said. I set my bags down on the floor in a place they wouldn’t be in the way, sat down in the jump seat, and buckled up. John started the truck and drove it out of the parking lot and onto the road. He seemed to want to concentrate in the city, but as soon as we were on the highway, he loosened up. It was clear that he was happy to have someone to talk to on the road, as we talked nearly the whole day until nightfall about completely random things--a conversation about movies, which morphed into one about old cartoons, then he said he had a dog named Scooby as a kid, so we started talking about our pets, he said that the dog bobblehead--named Driver--was the closest he’d had to a pet in a very long time, and he did miss owning a real pet; and other small talk. In Fort Worth, John pulled off the interstate and said, “I’m not trying to pull any sort of Smokey and the Bandit stuff on this run, and I’m getting kind of tired, so I think I’m going to stop for the night. I wish I had an air mattress for you or something, but I don’t. I’ll pick one up at some point for any future passengers though.” “I’m sure they’ll thank you,” I said. “I can sleep in the jump seat, and if I can’t sleep sitting up, I have a beach towel that I can lay on or use as a blanket. It’s better than nothing at least. “Well, hey, at least you’re prepared,” John said. “In the eternal words of Douglas Adams,” I said, “‘Never travel without a towel.’” John laughed. “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy! I did enjoy that book.” “It’s my favorite book,” I said. “Is that why you’re hitchhiking?” John said. “I know you said you missed your Greyhound, and with a getaway that sweet waiting for you in Vegas, I don’t blame you for taking a page out of Arthur Dent’s book. I just hope you get there on time, and in one piece.” “Honestly...” I said, “Yeah. I had called an Uber home from the Greyhound station, but someone left a copy of it on a chair, and it gave me the idea to hitchhike. I’m honestly so desperate to get to Vegas and had previously looked into hitchhiking and how to do it semi-safely that I was willing to do it.” “I hope you’re not hitchhiking home,” John said. “One way is risky enough, but round-trip? You’re braver than I am.” “No, I’ve got enough for a one-way Greyhound ticket back to Mobile from Vegas and Uber fare back to my house, I just didn’t have enough for both the Uber back and a second round-trip ticket and meals and stuff in Vegas.” “That’s fair,” he said. “Well, I know you’re going to be busy while there, but be careful to not gamble that money away.” “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” I said. “I’ve never really been one for gambling. It’s a waste of money in my opinion.” “That’s a good opinion to have,” John said. John pulled into a truck stop and parked, then turned off the truck. “Well, I’m going to bed,” John said. “We’ll get back on the road tomorrow bright and early. Goodnight.” He walked back into the living space of his truck and pulled the curtain to. I didn’t like the idea of sleeping in the cab of a semi with a man twice my age as a roommate and nothing but a curtain separating us, but it was my current situation, so I dug my pepper spray out of my hiking backpack and put it in my pocket. He seemed friendly, but I didn’t trust him much, and I’m sure he trusted me just as little. I unbuckled my seatbelt and threw my towel over me as a blanket. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to sleep, but I at least was a couple states closer to Vegas, and once I was there, I’d be sleeping in the bed of a five-star hotel, and after sleeping in the jump seat of a big rig for a couple nights, I knew it would feel like a cloud. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine I was already lying in that bed, belly full of gourmet room service food and champagne instead of my dinner having been a few handfuls of trail mix and a warm can of Coca-Cola from my carry-on bag. I did manage to get some sleep despite John snoring like a very stereotypical trucker, and was awoken by the sun coming up through the windows. Not long after that, I heard John’s alarm clock go off, then heard him start to stir. I heard him moving around for a few minutes, then he pulled aside the curtain and stepped out into the front area of the truck, wearing the same clothes that he’d been wearing yesterday. “You’re up,” he said, seeing me awake. “Yeah,” I said. “The sun woke me up.” “Can’t really do anything about the sun,” John said. “Well, do you want breakfast before we hit the road? I’ve got some maple turkey sausage patties in the freezer I can throw in the microwave.” “Dude, I am starving,” I said. “That would be awesome. I brought the biggest bag of trail mix I could find at Walmart and a few cans of Coke and thought that would be enough for the trip. I was wrong. I’m already sick of trail mix. I’ve never done a long-haul road trip before.” John laughed. “Yeah, take it from an expert, you’ll need more than that on the open road. I’ll heat up the turkey sausage.” “Thank you,” I said. After breakfast, John started the truck back up and drove back out onto the highway. The next day elapsed much like the first, John and I talking about anything and everything as he drove, and when it seemed that we finally ran out of things to talk about, he was quieter. I put on my headphones and put on the Spotify Radio for “On the Road Again” by Willie Nelson and made a mental note to make a road trip playlist when I had more energy than what was granted to me by a few hours of sleep in a mostly vertical position in an uncomfortable seat. We arrived at a Trader Joe’s in Los Angeles in the early evening, and John said after backing the truck into the loading bay, “From here, I’m headed north to Portland. I wish I could drive you straight to the front door of The Venetian, but I hate to say it, this is where we have to part ways. It’s not often I get company on the road, so it was nice to have someone to talk to and travel with. And I’ve learned quite a bit about computers from talking to you. Maybe I’ll pick up more hitchhikers in the future. I’m interested to know their stories, and I hope theirs are as interesting as yours--a penniless good-guy hacker who had a stroke of rotten luck on a quest for the most luxe and geekiest weekend of her life.” “Thanks for everything,” I said. “It’s been great.” “Hey, don’t mention it,” John said. “And you fixed my computer, so I am grateful for that, and I said if you could do it, I’d take you to Los Angeles, and I’m a man of my word. I hope you arrive at DEFCON safely, and get back home safe too. And have fun while you’re in Vegas. But try not to live some weird crossover of The Hangover and WarGames.” I laughed. “I won’t, I promise,” I said. I unbuckled my seatbelt, put my hiking backpack on my back, and grabbed my laptop bag. “And I’ve now already got a pretty interesting story too--I can say I rode across the country with none other than John the Ripper, who was driving Optimus Prime, as part of my quest to get to DEFCON.” “I still don’t know why you find my name funny,” John said. “Long story short,” I said, “There’s a program that hackers commonly use called John the Ripper.” “That’s a weird name for a program,” John said. “Hey, I didn’t name it,” I said half-jokingly. “Just wait until you hear about Burp Suite and Dirb.” John chuckled. “Now you’re just making stuff up,” he said with a smile. “Nope, that’s their real names,” I said. “Look them up when you’re not driving. A lot of hacking programs have weird names. Anyways, you’ve got to get going, and I’ve got to figure out how I’m getting from here to Vegas, but I’m a lot closer than I was. Again, thanks for everything, John.” I opened the door of the cab as I looked over my shoulder. “Bye.” Closing the door almost pained me. I went to the front door of the Trader Joe’s and leaned against the wall just inside the doors to look up how to get to the nearest truck stop, as that would be my best bet to find a ride for the next leg of my journey. I noticed a gaggle of six very excited-looking twenty-something women wearing designer clothing walk into the Trader Joe’s, and I overheard them talking about a bachelorette party. I thought, “That might be my ride to Vegas...” I politely got their attention--they looked somewhat offput by my disheveled appearance--and explained my situation, then asked them if the party would happen to be in Vegas. “It would!” One of the women said. “Sabine--” “That would be me!” another one of the women said. The first one continued, “Is tying the knot next month, and we’re all roadtripping to Vegas to celebrate!” “Awesome,” I said. “Do you mind dropping me off at The Venetian? That’s where my hotel room that I won in the sweepstakes is.” “Sure!” the first woman said. “There’s more than enough room.” “Wait, let’s think about this,” Sabine said. “We don’t know her, and we haven’t seen proof of any of what she’s saying.” “Well,” I said, “My name is Odessa, and I’ll be happy to provide you proof.” I pulled up the email from Offensive Security saying that I’d won on my phone and showed it to Sabine. “I’ve never heard of Offensive Security or DEFCON,” she said, clearly incredulous. “DEFCON?” a third one of the women said. “That’s the big cybersecurity conference that’s going on in Vegas this weekend, the one that I told you it was a bad idea to schedule your bachelorette party during because Vegas was going to be packed with people who know a lot more about computers than all of us combined, and may not have the best intentions? I used to live in Vegas, so that’s why I know about it.” “Wait, wait, wait,” Sabine said, looking at the woman who had spoken to her, “So she’s a hacker?” “Uh, yeah,” the woman said. Sabine looked at me with a look that was half “Eww, nerd,” and half fear. “But there are several types of hackers,” I added quickly. “I’m one of the good guys. Not like the ones you see in movies. I’m one of the ones who is hired to make computer systems less vulnerable to bad hackers who are like the ones you see in movies. Or at least, that’s the career I want to go into. I’m more like a GeekSquad agent at Best Buy than Sombra from Overwatch.” “Who’s Sombra from Overwatch?” Sabine said. “Good lord, you’ve never played Overwatch?!” I said, floored. “No, not really a gamer,” Sabine said. I tried to think of a different example. The first one that came to mind made me visibly cringe. “Okay, let me put it this way, I’m more like a GeekSquad agent at Best Buy than The Hacker from Cyberchase.” Sabine’s eyes widened. “Oh, yeah! I remember that show! I loved it as a kid! You’re saying not all hackers are like that?” That hurt. “Yeah, he’s actually a really, really bad representation of hackers,” I said. “On many levels. I’m nothing like him. If anything, I’m more like one of the kids that was always thwarting his plans. But I’m still learning, and that’s the reason I want to go to DEFCON so badly.” “Well,” Sabine sighed, “Judging from what’s happening in Vegas the same weekend we’re there, we’re probably going to get hacked anyways, so might as well get it over with. You can ride with us. I’m not one to turn down a charity case.” That hurt too, but beggars can’t be choosers. “Thank you,” I said. “And I swear, if you do get hacked while you’re in Vegas, it’s not because of me. In fact, if you’d like me to look at your phones and install some security apps and do other system hardening that will help you have a better chance of not getting pwned, I’d be happy to do that.” “Yeah, I’m not letting you anywhere near my phone,” Sabine said. “But we’ll take you to Vegas.” “Thank you so much,” I said. “I don’t want to get in a car with you guys for several hours looking and smelling like this, so I’m going to clean up and change clothes in the bathroom if you don’t mind.” “Yeah, we’ll meet you at the door after we’ve finished our shopping,” Sabine said. “Okay, thank you,” I said. I then walked off towards the bathrooms. I cleaned myself up as hurriedly but thoroughly as I could in the handicapped stall of the bathroom, including taking a quick sponge bath in the sink using paper towels, brushing my hair and teeth, changing into the clothing that smelled the least like cigarettes, and spraying on some of my perfume to try to cover the smell. I half-expected the preppy bachelorette party that looked like they’d walked straight out of Mean Girls but older to ditch some ragged random nerd who at least the leader of the group seemed to think she was better than, but miraculously, they showed up. “You ready?” Sabine said. “Yeah,” I said. “Again, thank you.” I followed them out to a shiny black Escalade, and after riding in the jump seat of a big rig for two days, the luxury SUV might as well have been Apollo’s chariot. Finally, some comfort. I was all too happy to sit down on the comfortable leather seat, even if I was in the middle seat in the back between two of the other women. I rested my bags on top of my Converses, and nestled down into the soft seat. Sabine started the car, the first song coming up on the sound system “This Is How We Do” by Katy Perry from an Apple Music playlist that was titled “BACHELORETTE PARTY!!!!” I noticed that the car’s key fob was a keyless entry one. “You know, Sabine,” I said, “if you’re worried about the security of this really nice car, you should keep that key fob in a faraday pouch. It’s a pouch that blocks the signal that opens the car and allows it to turn on when you’re near it. Malicious actors can capture and replicate that signal or even transmit it over long distances.” “I’ll consider that,” Sabine said, obviously not considering it. I was just trying to help, but it was clear she didn’t want my advice in any way. We arrived in Vegas several hours later, about midnight. Sabine pulled up to the curb of near The Venetian and said curtly, “Okay, Odessa, out!” like I was a dog she was commanding. While I didn’t like being ordered around like that, this was indeed my destination. I grabbed my bags, thanked the women again, and got out of the car. As the SUV drove off, I muttered sarcastically, “Geez, lucky guy...” I checked into the hotel, the receptionist clearly judging my ragged appearance, and I said when I noticed, “You would not believe what it took to get here, but I’m here, and that’s what matters.” I got to my room, practically dropped my bags on the floor, and flopped down on the bed, almost immediately passing out, and slept like a rock. And I was right. That was the softest bed I’d ever laid on. I don’t know how long I slept for, but I slept straight through my alarm on my phone. When I checked the alarm clock on the nightstand, it was noon. I took a long, hot shower, scrubbing the stench of body odor from not bathing for three days and cigarette smoke off of my body and out of my hair. I immediately sent all of my clothes to the laundry service and didn’t leave my suite until I got them back, wearing the room’s bathrobe, then changed into one of my outfits that was not the fanciest but was still nice, thought I was going to explore the hotel, but I decided to recuperate from the exhausting journey here. The following day was the pass pickup for DEFCON, LineCon. And I knew I was about to show up in style. I called Vegas VIP Limousine as I’d been instructed and had them send a limo to the hotel. I got the text that it was here, so I headed down to the pickup area. Upon seeing it, I thought with a huge grin, “Now THIS is going to be a weekend I’ll never forget.”