His screen flashed and Bellarbi touched the headline to bring up the details. Information was still sketchy, but it appeared that a nanotech production plant had been shut down due to corruption in the growth process.
Bellarbi tapped the comm patch and the boyish face of his secretary expanded to dominate the screen. "Myles? Is there any more on the Rekhavi case?"
"Only anecdotal reports so far, Commissioner." The secretary's voice held its usual practiced indifference. "Routine monitoring uncovered evidence that the materials were flawed and might interact with the environment in potentially dangerous, though as yet, undetermined ways."
"Why wasn't it discovered and corrected before becoming dangerous?"
"Presumably the correct monitoring procedures weren't followed. The plant operators claim otherwise, of course. Would you-"
Bellarbi flinched as a deafening blast of music came from the speakers while the screen displayed a surreal abstract of jangling colors and shapes. "I didn't catch that Myles, these damn spikes get worse every day."
Myles reappeared. "I asked if I should assign a follow-up team."
A follow-up audit would be expensive and, as always, budgets were tight. Bellarbi's fingers drummed softly on the heavy polished desk. It would be hard to justify another intervention without clear evidence of damage or inappropriate behavior.
"Wait for the routine analysis." Bellarbi was about to cut off the transmission when he noticed something in Myles expression. "What is it?"
Myles paused, his mouth half open before speaking."There've been large street protests in London, New York, Madrid, Yokohama and Karachi, among others. I know you don't want to-
"You're right. I don't."
Bellarbi switched back to the summary view and brought up the monthly statistics. Incidents were up seventeen percent across the board on the previous month: communications, traffic control, industrial processing, and data systems. None seemed immune. Regardless of the origin, the infrastructure of society was being affected with an ever greater frequency and with it came an increase in social tensions. People were flooding the streets to protest what they saw of as signs of an uncaring bureaucracy content to let vital services and jobs be lost and he knew it wouldn't be long before there were public calls for his replacement.
The screen flashed again. "She's here, Commissioner."
Bellarbi felt a mix of relief and awe, but knew he couldn't let himself be intimidated. That would be a disaster given her reputation. "How... how is she?"
"That's hard to say," Myles glanced over his shoulder. "I don't think I've met anyone like her before."
***
"Pleased to meet you." Bellarbi jumped up as she entered, cursing silently at his graceless rush. "I hope you had a pleasant journey."
"Don't waste your breath on nonsense. I don't have the time at my age."
Maryum Casteneda bore scant resemblance to the pictures Bellarbi had seen. Generally she was depicted in severely efficient middle age, but the years since had thinned and sharpened her features. Despite that, her hair was still as carbon black as her piercing eyes.
"I assume something is wrong. I can't imagine anyone here being 'pleased' to see me otherwise." Casteneda perched on the unoccupied seat without waiting to be asked.
"Why would you say that? ISIA wouldn't exist without you. You're an honored guest and always welcome."
Casteneda glared at Bellarbi. "I'm an ancient crone who accidentally talked herself into a difficult job because no-one else had the intelligence to ask the right questions, or the nerve to deal with the answers. The Information Systems Investigation Authority was created for purely political motives."
Bellarbi drew a sharp breath. "The Authority is charged with the investigation of all inter-dependent systems-"
"'All inter-dependent systems in the light of failure or disruption, whether through accident, poor design or as a result of malicious human activity.' I know, I wrote it—now tell me something I don't know. Such as why it was necessary to drag an old woman away from her death bed."
"You're..?" Bellarbi couldn't finish.
"I have advanced lung cancer. The doctors have given me six months. I think less."
"What about regen-therapy? I'm sure you'd qualify with your background." Bellarbi shifted uneasily. He'd never been so close to someone seriously ill.
"Save the fake concern. That's not why you called me." Casteneda didn't bother to mention she'd checked herself out of the hospital because she couldn't stand the busy-bodying. "You have a problem you can't handle or you wouldn't need me. Give me the details."
Bellarbi hesitated only briefly. "The first noticeable incident was the failure of Chicago City Transit: An automatic on-demand system designed to worked collaboratively with other transportation networks to ensure peak flow rates and–"
"I'm not a complete recluse. I heard the reports—for over thirty hours not a single iCab ran."
"It cost the city millions in lost revenue and compensation. Not to mention long term damage to the system’s reputation." Bellarbi noted Casteneda's pained expression and hurried on. "Since then I've monitored a worrying rise in the number of serious failures. No discernible pattern or common cause I can identify, but it is happening. It's..."
Casteneda’s tight-lipped silence made Bellarbi even more uncomfortable.
He sighed and opened his hands. "Sometimes it seems sinister, but tech-analysis always comes back negative on traces of wrongdoing. But I still feel there's some organization behind it. The Fundamentalists are always trying to stir up trouble."
"And men say women are superstitious." Casteneda snorted. "Faced with something you can't explain, you attribute it to malevolence rather than admit your limitations."
Bellarbi winced. "Perhaps you're right." He'd noticed a wheeze in her breathing and felt guilty. "There must be some explanation though; I've checked my search filter for flaws dozens of times."
"Then I better look smarter, rather than harder." Casteneda held out a metal fob. "Here's my Key. I want the highest available access on all systems."
He hesitated. With that, the old woman would be able to access every system, including information of the highest sensitivity. "I'm not sure-"
Casteneda stood abruptly and moved towards the door. "Call me when you change your mind."
"This is blackmail. I'll give you senior investigator status—you can't expect more."
"You contacted me, remember." With that she was gone.
Bellarbi gripped the edge of his heavy desk, the smooth oak cold under his hands. Casteneda had a reputation for being difficult, but he wasn't prepared for this prima donna attitude. Technical staff always had a pronounced "will do" approach and, as ex-ISIA, he'd expected her to be the same.
It had been a mistake to call her in; what could she do anyway? She was a dinosaur—a relic of a dead age that didn't really fit in the complexity of the modern world. She'd even publicly criticized the Agency when they'd dropped the requirement for traditional Information Theory skills from its recruitment program. He managed to run the department perfectly well without such a qualification.
The screen flashed as another report came in. Details were few. Monitoring systems had failed in the California vineyard complexes and, whatever the cause, the estimated cost ran into millions.
He slapped the edge of the screen, realizing he still held Casteneda's personal data Key. "Myles, get hold of that woman again; she's probably half way home by now but I don't care. Get her back, even if you have to drag her by the neck."
The secretary frowned and a few moments later the screen border flashed green indicating Myles had activated the hush shield. "I don't understand, Commissioner. Ms. Casteneda has been in the waiting room for the last ten minutes."
***
Bellarbi handed over the Key, his jaw tight. "You should have everything you need."
"I'm glad you came to your senses." Casteneda's breathing sounded more labored. "Now get out and let me work."
"I'd like to stay, if you don't mind. It's possible I can help."
"Do you have any knowledge of low-level execution threads, network trace partitioning and Q-Crypt transmission protocols?" Casteneda paused. "I thought as much, you're a political appointee like the others who came after me."
"I'll be outside. Let me know if I can help with anything." Bellarbi's last shreds of defiance crumbled.
"Wait. There is something you can do." Casteneda didn't look up as Bellarbi span back. "Fetch me a jug of coffee, at least a liter. And none of that caffeine-free dishwater."
Casteneda plugged her Key into the user port and waited a few seconds while the terminals reconfigured to her access. She had her own way of working and wouldn't have the willpower to start if she had to configure everything manually and install all her tools. Many of them had been specially written by her and refined through over fifty years of use. Popping open the main diagnostic and trace systems had a comfortable feeling to it and momentarily she forgot how long it had been. She wondered idly if they'd been used since she'd left and if anyone would use them after she died.
She smiled grimly. "They probably wouldn't understand them anyway."
Casteneda started checking basic large-scale indicators. Decades earlier, she'd created specialized low-level monitoring data Sinks in a number of key systems, none authorized. She hoped she'd buried them deep enough to remain hidden. If enough were still active, she should see cascade effects from the current array of problems—which might provide a back door to the cause.
While waiting for the Sinks to report, Casteneda brought up Bellarbi's incident search. Skimming through the results told her that the Commissioner had grounds for concern. Nevertheless she took nothing for granted; even the best analysis could be flawed.
The office door opened and Bellarbi skulked in, carrying a large coffee pot and a plate of assorted sweet pastries. Casteneda couldn't help but smile as he placed them in front of her. "I'm sorry to say that your search algorithm is correct." Casteneda helped herself to the strong black coffee, adding a significant amount of sugar.
Bellarbi stiffened. "Was there some doubt?"
"Yes." Casteneda glanced up when Bellarbi didn't leave. "I'm not going to find the answer in ten minutes and I don't need you hovering at my elbow. What's more, I won't protect your job, if there's incompetence behind these incidents I'll tell the world."
Bellarbi looked like he'd been slapped, but turned and trudged back through the door. Casteneda sighed. For a moment she'd thought Bellarbi would simply refuse and she'd have to put up with him. She didn't always work strictly by the book and he would only have argued with her.
A soft ping drew her attention to the screen. She was surprised; seventy-three percent of the Sinks were still intact. None had been accessed in over twenty years and the size of the audit logs meant it would take some time to catalog in her summary tools.
"You boys haven't been cleaning out the trash," she murmured.
***
Two more jugs of coffee and over thirteen hours passed before Bellarbi saw the summons flash on his secretary's screen. Myles had long since left and the Commissioner had dozed in his secretary's chair. He stood and stretched, trying to relieve the cramp in his back.
Casteneda was slumped over the console when Bellarbi entered and momentarily he wondered if she was dead. He couldn't help thinking about how inconvenient the press coverage would be and how many reports he'd have to complete.
Casteneda dragged her head up as he approached. Her dark eyes were sunken caves, but she managed a weak smile, though somehow that made her seem smaller and more helpless.
"Don't worry." Casteneda tapped the screen. "I've finished."
Bellarbi swallowed hard at his thoughts just moments before.
"You look... ill." It was a stupid response and he waited for the inevitable barbed reply.
"I feel ill too." Casteneda's laugh was more a wet choke. "It doesn't matter anymore."
"I'll call an ambulance."
"Listen." The dominant Casteneda resurfaced. "You need to understand."
Bellarbi sat down, guilt and concern smothering his objections.
"How many discrete information systems are there in the world?"
Bellarbi shook his head. "We have rough estimates. Hundreds of millions certainly, billions possibly."
"The usual presumption, but wrong." Casteneda struggled upright. "There's just one."
"But, that's imp-"
"All the systems are linked in some way; nothing is truly independent. Before retiring, I ran a Seiler topological analysis, tracing the connective complexity in the systems. I just tried to run one again and it couldn't complete in over ten hours. The results I did get back indicated that the complexity is now over a billion times higher."
"Everything, from the backbone services and core memory vats, to the smallest personal system are linked so tightly it's impossible to map all the connections. Anyone with criminal intentions can get to any system from any point world-wide. If they were sufficiently skilled, it would be virtually untraceable despite the built-in security protocols."
Bellarbi fingered the bristles on his chin. If Casteneda was right, then the potential danger was far higher than ISIA was prepared for. There was no way to know where the terrorists would strike next. "Have you isolated the source of the attacks?"
"You still don't understand." Casteneda gripped his wrist with surprising strength. "There have been no attacks. The system itself is failing. We've increased interconnections and embedded technology into everything. It's a gigantic technical tower built on foundations suitable for a wooden shack. It doesn't need outside help to fail."
Bellarbi drew back. Why, she's almost anti-tech, he thought. "Is there anything we can do?"
"Shut it down." Casteneda whispered. "Restart everything. With luck the systems will synchronize properly as they come back on-line. I've programmed a route-trace macro that will work through every system, re-factoring and reinforcing the foundations when it's executed. Like an old style virus. But you need to do it offline." Her short laugh was harsh.
Casteneda was fading even as Bellarbi watched. He moved closer. Her eyes flickered slightly as he took her hand but her skin was cold against his.
"Wait, what do we restart? The Data Spine? The Core?"
Casteneda's breathing was a faint rasp. "Everything. Need..." her words barely audible. "...shut it all down..."
Bellarbi hit the comm patch. "I need a MedTech team—now!"
He cradled Casteneda in his arms to prevent her from falling. Shut down everything? That was impossible. It would be like... He struggled to find a suitable comparison. Like restarting the world. He stared at the flashing button on his screen. The word meant nothing to him.
"Reboot."
The End
My career background is in technology. I started out as a software developer, then moved on to systems and business analysis, then into project management. One of the issues I see is our increasing reliance on technology and the way we are—purely for convenience—linking systems that probably shouldn't be. Extrapolate that and you end up with systems so linked that they essentially become just one. Not only that, any system that grows in such an "organic" fashion is going to become increasingly and unpredictably unreliable. Imagine the entire world powered by Windows 95!
Version Control
"I didn't V-Up this week," Mel Culter whispered, before delivering another forkful of string beans to her exquisitely shaped mouth.
Dan wasn't listening closely. He slipped his hand inside his pocket and pinched the two tickets tightly, the plastic diamonds cold against his skin. "The Strones are playing at the Arena next weekend. It's nearly impossible to get tickets, but well, I have a friend and-"
"Danny Gill, you're not paying attention." Mel crossed her arms and thumped back in her chair. "That's two weeks."
"Are you crazy?" Dan finally realized what she'd said and glanced around. The only other
people in the lunch room were two tables away and had their heads down ignoring the flickering advertising surfaces that covered the walls. "You could lose your job for that."
"Only if they find out." Mel hesitated. She'd known Danny for three years ever since starting at Magleby's on the same day. They'd become friends through that need, common to new recruits, for an ally. "You wouldn't tell on me, would you?"
Dan pushed the tickets back deep in his pocket. That was the last thing he would have done. Despite his feelings, Mel often worried him. She sometimes had wild ideas and this one ended in only two ways: Career Freeze with no promotion or increment for at least five year,s or getting sent back to the Assignment Center with zero priority.
"It's stupid." Mel's fork clattered onto her plate. "Why do we have to pay to work in a job anyway? Especially one going nowhere."
"How else would you know what to do? The systems? Company policies and procedures?" Dan tapped the metal disk of the MemPlant behind his ear. "Without this you'd have to spend years learning everything. You know how things change all the time."
"Who says it would take years?"
"Everybody knows." The always slightly fetid smell in the canteen irritated his nose and he wiped it carefully with a tissue, not wanting to blow it in front of Mel. "How'd you manage it anyway?"
"That's what they tell you. I flipped digits on my account code. Listen, I was reading a book I found in my parents' stuff..."
"Yeah, right..." Dan chuckled, immediately regretting it when Mel frowned.
"Listen, Mr. Hole-In-Brain, my grandmother taught me how to read the old-fashioned way. She used to be an actual librarian."
Dan held up his hands in surrender. He should have known better, but no-one spent days or weeks trying to learn stuff from books anymore. You paid your subscription and everything you needed to know was available in a second through the MemPlant.
"The book said at one time everyone read and learned things for themselves. They didn't have MemPlants and they still got jobs and everything."
"There's lots of things people used to do. Like living in caves and hunting animals to eat. Or living in pyramids." He crumpled up the plastic cup and dropped it on his plate for disposal. "Someone once told me in olden days they used to clean their yeenies with their hands, but would you? We don't do those things now because it's not civilized." Dan cut himself off, he didn't want Mel to think he was unsympathetic.
Dead Reckoning and Other Stories Page 11
