The time was posted in the lower right corner of the screen: 2:32. A harried looking newsreader on one of the local stations sat at his desk, reading a press release.
"… of Homeland Security says that Jihad-four-twenty, the virus responsible for the crash of the Internet, originated from a server in Tehran. In an unprecedented step, the intelligence services of the world are uniting to hunt down the hacker or cabal of hackers or the terrorist organization responsible."
He switched to another sheet of paper.
"The DHS has also revealed that shortly after the myriad servers and routers that feed the Internet crashed, terrorists launched a well-organized and widespread attack against the Internet's physical infrastructure. All across the globe, but mostly here in the United States, explosions ripped through the fiber-optic cables that crisscross the country and the oceans, linking data centers and nations. This will make rebuilding the Internet even more difficult. Not only will the countless crashed servers and routers need to be reprogrammed, but the damaged cables that link them will have to be repaired or replaced."
Weezy hit the mute button and stepped to the window. Clearly the Internet had not rebounded, and would not for some time. Below, the traffic was still snarled. Only a few headlights remained on. Nothing moved except a rare pedestrian.
The Internet crashed… the noosphere further weakened… the Lady should be gone. But she was hanging on.
No, more than hanging on-rallying.
How? Whence was she drawing strength?
2
The clock on the wall behind the Marriott's registration desk said it was a little after six-thirty. Jack looked out the front door. The sun hadn't yet cleared the horizon, but the sky had lightened enough to make travel feasible.
He'd spent the night trying to think of a way back to Gia's place that didn't involve a six- or seven-mile walk through the cold. Even if he could fit Gia and Vicky on the motocross bike, he couldn't guarantee their safety. He couldn't rent a car because the roads-at least all the roads he could see-were still jammed. The side streets here in Queens had probably eased up, but the problem was getting to them. Enough people had abandoned their cars, at least temporarily, to create a near-permanent snarl.
The fact that it was Sunday, without millions trying to get to work, would help, but it still might take all day to untangle this mess. They couldn't wait for that. The hotel coffee shop was out of everything but coffee, and that was in short supply. He'd managed to snag a couple of cups for Gia and himself, and an OJ for Vicky.
"Are we ready for this?" he said.
Gia and Vicky nodded. They were both well bundled up. Good thing they'd been returning from Iowa instead of Florida.
Gia looked at him. "How long do you think it will take?"
Jack had borrowed a map from the concierge during the night and checked out the shortest route to the Queensboro Bridge. Gia lived in its shadow.
"If we take the Grand Central to Northern Boulevard to the bridge, it's between six and a half and seven miles. It shouldn't be too hard to move at around three miles an hour-"
He caught Gia's glance at Vicky, then at his hip.
"I'm okay. The rest has helped." True enough. He'd checked it in the men's room: big bruise, but much less painful. "And Vicks will be on my shoulders. I think we're talking two and a half hours, less if we're lucky."
Gia smiled. "Home by nine. You have no idea how good that sounds. I'll have scrambled eggs and coffee on the table by nine-thirty."
"You have no idea how good that sounds. Let's go. I'm starved."
Jack had paid the bell captain to check Gia's bag. So, unencumbered, they stepped out into the cold. Jack swung Vicky onto his shoulders and the three of them set off for Manhattan.
Vicky started singing "We're Off to See the Wizard" and Jack thought that was somehow appropriate. He would have sung along, but he feared that after last night, the Wizard's name was Rasalom.
3
"I… live?"
The Lady's voice was faint, hoarse, like a broom sweeping sand. She lay as she had before, but her eyes were open and she was conscious. Weezy had been watching her, talking to her, touching her. She'd seen her mouth move a few times, but these were the first words she'd heard her speak since last night.
She leaned closer. "Miraculously, yes. How?"
"Don't… know."
Speech seemed a war, each word a victory.
"Well, your enemies succeeded in bringing down the Net, but I guess the noosphere is stronger and more resilient than anyone imagined."
"No… not."
"But your continued survival is proof that it is."
"No… not."
"Not what?"
The Lady closed her eyes again. Weezy wanted to shake her-gently, of course-and ask her to explain, but she seemed to have slipped back into her sleep mode. The Lady had said she didn't sleep, but she was doing a convincing imitation. Except for the not-breathing part. Weezy couldn't get used to that.
She leaned back. No… not. What did she mean? That the noosphere was not sustaining her? How could that be? She was a creation of the noosphere, a projection of humanity's neuromass. Weezy had come to conceptualize her as a sort of hologram. But if the hologram's projector suffered a power failure, or its light source fizzled to a point where it could no longer sustain the projection, the hologram vanished.
The noosphere had suffered two crushing blows in less than a year. The nuclear strike from the Fhinntmanchca should have been a knockout punch. And would have been if not for the Internet. The Net had been swelling the noosphere with a massive, ongoing infusion of sentient interactions that had cushioned the blow, allowing it to continue supporting the Lady's existence. The Fhinntmanchca had knocked it down, but not out. It was regrouping but still had a long way to go before it regained its former depth and breadth. It needed the Internet input for recovery. Loss of that would put it on the critical list. It could never die-so long as humans existed and interacted, there would always be a noosphere-but what had happened last night should have reduced it to a shell of its former self, to Stone Age level, unable to maintain its avatar, its beacon, the Lady.
The Lady should have vanished. Yet she persisted.
And her persistence meant that this corner of reality was still perceived as sentient, and valuable-a worthy marble in the Ally's collection, and thus still under its protection.
Somehow, against all odds, Rasalom and the Order had succeeded in bringing down the Internet yet failed to bring down the Lady.
Weezy wandered out to the front room. She wished Jack were here. Even more, she wished Mr. Veilleur were. He might be able to explain. But he hadn't returned from wherever he'd gone off to. She'd checked upstairs but the nurse he'd hired to watch over his wife said she hadn't heard from him.
She went to the window and looked out at the bright winter day.
"What's going on!"
4
Hank Thompson couldn't sit still, so he left his office in the Lodge and strode down the hall toward Drexler's. Along the way he passed the grinning faces of his Kickers. They assumed their leader had been behind the fall of the Internet and they were digging it.
"Nice work, boss!" someone called.
"I didn't do anything. It was those crazy Muslims."
"Sure thing, boss." Then a laugh.
He stepped into Drexler's office without knocking because he knew it drove the uptight prick crazy.
"Well?" he said. "When does it start?"
Drexler sat behind his desk, hands steepled, tips of his index fingers against his lips. His tie was loose, and he looked uncharacteristically disheveled, as if he hadn't slept all night. Hank had slept like the proverbial baby.
As Drexler, seemingly lost in thought, looked up, his eyes focused. "What?"
He didn't even seem annoyed at Hank's intrusion. What was on his mind?
"The Change." Hank stepped to the window and gazed at the jammed traffic below. "Look at it out there. Chaos! W
e've brought the whole damn city to a halt. We did our part, now your pal's got to do his."
Drexler gave him a long look. " 'Got to'? You're going to tell the One what he's 'got' to do?"
"Well, not to his face. But the Net is down, and that means he's got a clear field to bring the Others back."
"Not unless the Lady is down as well."
"The Lady? Who's the Lady?"
Drexler looked like a kid who'd blurted something he shouldn't have.
"Nothing. Just a figure of speech."
"Yeah? Why don't I believe you?"
"What you believe is not my concern."
"You said all that was standing between the One and the Change was the Internet. Now you're talking about some lady. I think I got a right to know what gives."
"A figure of speech. Like the expression, 'It's not over until the fat lady sings.' There is no fat lady. It's just an expression."
"Like hell."
"Mister Thompson, I find you especially vexing today. Please leave. Now."
Hank was tempted to tell him to shove it, but he reminded himself, once again, that this building he and the Kickers occupied belonged to the Order, and Drexler was the Order's guy. Yeah, he'd leave, but not without a parting shot.
"Sure. I was leaving anyway. But you know what, I don't particularly care whether your fat lady sings or not. We killed the Internet. If that's all that happens, if it doesn't lead to the Change, fine. That's enough for me and Kickerdom." He'd come up with that word recently and loved it. "Because it pushes people one step closer to dissimilation. It forces them to realize that too much interconnectedness is a trap."
"Leave," Drexler said.
Hank left. He had things to do. Hadn't made any plans for cashing in on the Internet crash. The Change was supposed to follow close on its heels, but maybe it wouldn't. If not, he had to mobilize Kickerdom to get out and about and start securing converts.
Change or no Change, both presented opportunities, and Hank wasn't going to let them pass him by.
5
We killed the Internet.
What an idiot, Ernst thought as he watched the door swing closed behind Thompson.
Even though everything had gone according to plan, the Internet was not dead. He knew better than to think they could ever kill it. That would mean damaging it beyond repair, and that was not possible. It would be up and running in some limited form within a week or two, and soon after that would be back to near-normal activity.
Damaged and knocked unconscious, but not dead.
Questions swirled through his brain as he swiveled his chair to face the window. He put his feet up on the sill and leaned back. He was exhausted. He hadn't slept at all last night and he wasn't getting any younger.
How long must the Internet stay down to have the desired effect? How much time did the One require to begin the Change? How long would it take to restore the Lady after an inevitably revived Internet began pumping life again into the noosphere? And would it matter then? Would it be too late?
Only the One knew. Or did he? This was all terra incognita to him as well. Never before had the Change been so imminent. Perhaps he was as much in the dark as Ernst.
The Change…
Uncertainty, a novel emotion in his life, had plagued him since giving the word to unleash the virus. His life had been focused toward this moment. And now that it was here, he felt no triumph, only unease. He had to admit that he liked this life. He had power, position, privilege. He was privy to the forces that shaped history. And he was going to trade all that for… what?
The Change? Supposedly he would become one of the forces that would change the course of history-end history, in fact.
But what did that mean? Did anyone-even the One-know? The suspense was killing him. If only "You have failed me."
Ernst vaulted from his chair with a yelp of shock. He whirled to find the One standing on the far side of his desk, his expression grim, his eyes ebon eternities of fury. Fear deeper than Ernst had ever known glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
When he finally tore it free he managed a weak, "Failed?"
"She persists," he said, finishing with a prolonged hiss as he leaned over the desk.
Ernst repressed an urge to step back. "But the Internet is down. We succeeded-"
The One's voice remained low; Ernst almost wished he would shout.
"Was the end of the Internet the goal? No. It was elimination of the Lady. And the Lady persists. Therefore you have failed."
Ernst's heart began to pound.
"I did my part. We agreed that strangling the Internet's input was supposed to finish what the Fhinntmanchca began. I delivered on what I promised."
"And yet she endures. I have wasted months waiting for this scheme of yours to bear fruit. It has not. It has proved worthless. Just as you have proved worthless."
For a heartbeat, he feared the One was going to attack him-strangle him, snap his spine, hurl him through the window… a parade of agonizing possibilities marched through his mind.
But he did not. He simply trained his depthless black gaze on Ernst for what seemed like an eternity.
Suddenly, to Ernst's shock, he smiled.
"Fortunate for you, this meeting might have ended differently had not something wonderful happened yesterday."
Ernst found his voice. "Wonderful?"
"Yes!" The One became animated, almost giddy. "Something I should have suspected, but never dreamed possible!"
And then… he laughed. Ernst had never heard him laugh, never imagined he could.
"What-?"
"You wouldn't-couldn't understand, but it almost makes up for your failure. Yesterday I learned something that changes evvvvvverything."
And just as suddenly, his mood darkened. In a blindingly fast move, he reached across the desk and grabbed Ernst by the throat, lifting him off the ground as his fingers squeezed.
"But that does not mitigate your abject failure. You still might prove useful, otherwise…"
The last word hung in the air between them.
Ernst forced his words past the choking fingers.
"I've… dedicated… my life-"
The One's grip tightened, cutting him off.
"At last I can take direct action. I may call on you and your Order for minor logistical support, but now that I am free to act, I will take matters into my own hands. I will finish this myself."
With that he hurled Ernst across the office. The back of his head struck the wall with brain-jarring force, blurring his vision. When it cleared, the One was gone.
At least he was alive. But what had just happened?
You still might prove useful…
Might? What did this mean? Would he not be elevated during the Change? Would he be left to suffer with the rabble?
And what "wonderful" occurrence had spurred such a drastic change in the One's tactics?
6
Hunger eased and bloodstream properly caffeinated, Jack arrived at Veilleur's front door shortly before ten-thirty. He'd cut a diagonal across the lower end of Central Park to shorten his walk from Gia's place. Traffic signals were still on the fritz but cops and cadets were directing at the major intersections, allowing cars to inch along. Still, he made better time walking.
Gia had whipped up breakfast while Jack had set some logs ablaze in the fireplace. None of them had thought they'd ever be warm again, but scrambled eggs and coffee-hot chocolate in Vicky's case-had worked wonders. He'd left his two ladies preparing to shower and, most likely, nap. No one had slept worth a damn last night.
Jack could have used a snooze himself, but he needed news more-news of the Lady. Neither his cell nor Gia's was working, and she'd canceled her landline last year after the accident. For all he knew, landlines were out too. The only solution left was to walk over and find out.
The doorman knew him by now and let him in. He took the elevator up to the next-to-top floor and stopped outside the Lady's door. He raised his hand to knock,
but hesitated.
He'd put off thinking about this. Weezy had had to face the Lady's death alone. He felt bad about dumping it on her, but Veilleur was off on some mission and Jack had had no choice-he loved Weezy like the sister he'd lost, but Gia and Vicky came first, and he was damn glad he'd made the trip to LaGuardia.
Now he had to deal with it: The Lady was gone. But how had she met her end? Poor Weezy…
He knocked. The door opened almost immediately and Weezy stood staring at him, her expression unreadable for a second. Then her eyes closed and her lips trembled and she fell into his arms, sobbing. He held her close, absorbing her sobs.
"I'm so sorry you had to-"
"She's alive!" she said, breaking free and wiping her eyes.
"What?"
"Somehow… she survived."
"Show me."
She led him to a bedroom in the rear of the apartment where daylight filtered through the closed blinds. In the dim light he could make out a shape lying on the bed. He stepped closer and recognized the Lady.
"She looks just the same," he whispered.
"You should have been here last night. She was transparent for a while. I thought-I was sure we were going to lose her then, but…"
With a jolt he noticed something. "She's not breathing."
"She doesn't have to. She's not a real person, and that's not a real human body."
Of course… obvious when he thought about it, but he'd never had to think about it until now.
"But-"
A noise from the front room cut him off. The sound of the door opening. They went to check and found Veilleur standing in the center of the room.
"It's true?" he said. "The Lady survived?"
Weezy nodded. "Yes. How did you know?"
"I would sense her absence. All the way home from North Carolina I waited to lose her, but she never left. She faded and I thought for sure that was it, but she's come back."
Jack said, "But how?"
Fatal Error rj-13 Page 32
