Son of Heaven

by David Wingrove

  ‘Thanks, Trish. Is that all?’

  ‘That’s all.’

  Jake dressed, then pottered about for a while in the kitchen, making himself a late breakfast. He would have preferred to have been at work, there inside the datscape, but George had wanted him out, along with all their other logins, until they knew for sure what they were dealing with.

  In one way that made sense. In another…

  He had kept thinking about it. The only way to trace it was to be there when it happened. To have a whole team of them, hundreds strong, inside there, waiting for something to show up and then reacting instantly, not four seconds later when it was too late.

  He was standing there, lost in his thoughts, when Hugo rang through.

  ‘Jake? You there?’

  He put the wall on visual. ‘Hugo? What’s up?’

  Hugo beamed down at him from the big panel that filled the upper half of the kitchen wall, twice life-size.

  ‘Just wanted to let you know. I met up with Carl this morning. He’s real cute, isn’t he? Offered me a job, too. Not that I’m going to take it, only… well, it’s nice to be flattered.’

  ‘It’s not flattery, Hugh… you’re good at what you do. Maybe the best.’

  ‘Don’t overdo it now. I know how good I am… and how far short I am from being the best. But I like what I heard.’

  ‘What’s the offer, then?’

  ‘Soundtracks… he’s linked up with some big Chinese media company… Huang Chin—’

  ‘Shih Tai,’ Jake finished for him.

  ‘How’d you know that? Did he say something?’

  Jake told him about the Drew Ludd deal. Hugo whistled.

  ‘Christ… you don’t think…?’

  ‘I imagine they have hundreds of projects on the go at any one time.’

  ‘Yeah… and I doubt they’d want to use a novice first time out…’

  ‘No, but it’d be nice, eh? You can dream…’

  Hugo grinned. ‘Yeah… and I kept thinking to myself, what a nice arse this guy’s got…’

  ‘Hugo!’

  ‘Oh, I know… but I can look, can’t I?’

  After Hugo had signed off, Jake sat there, feeling at a loose end. Maybe he should contact Kate and see how she was, find out if she’d told her parents yet and how they’d reacted.

  He could picture their delight. Only even as he made to connect, George’s voice filled the air.

  ‘Jake… are you there?’

  He sounded breathless, agitated.

  Jake stood. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Something’s happening. I think you should get back here.’

  ‘I’ll be there at once.’

  ‘Right.’ And George cut. No formalities, he just cut, which was the surest indication of how serious things were, because George never forgot the formalities.

  ‘Trish. Get me a hopper.’

  ‘It’ll be here in two.’

  ‘Ah… right…’

  George must have ordered it.

  ‘Trish… do we know anything about what went on in that board room?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s all level-A.’

  ‘Right… Then let Kate know I’ll probably be late.’

  It wasn’t really necessary. Trish always knew best what to do. But it gave him the illusion that he was still in charge, and who knew, after what he’d seen earlier, whether they were in charge of things or not. Only time would tell. Time and, he hoped, a little bit of luck.

  As he stepped inside he could feel the wind blowing and knew a change was coming to the Market. The wind, like all else, was an indicator. Its strength reflected the flow of stocks and shares, the amount of trade that was taking place.

  A warm wind boded well. A cold one…

  Jake shivered. There was a distinctly icy edge to this wind. It was an East Wind, blowing over a landscape of extraordinary forms. Things had changed in the hour or so that he’d been gone. There were cracks now in the surface of the datscape, like fault lines, crusts forming and crumbling over the bubble and heave. He looked about him, noting how the surface of everything was sweating now. That always happened when the Market got as volatile as this.

  Only why? What had set this off?

  Usually it was obvious. Normally, in this place where geometry met geology, one could trace its every stage, its every movement. But today was different. That wind was like a faint but steady pressure. It felt… fake somehow, like someone was forcing things, was artificially driving prices down. But how could that be?

  George had met him outside, in the Wiring Room.

  ‘What did they say?’ Jake asked. ‘What’s the plan of action?’

  ‘There isn’t one. They just want you to go back in there. Try and calm things down. Steady things. The Market’s edgy after that attack.’

  ‘They still think it’s schoolboys?’

  ‘I told them what you said, Jake. About the complexity of the programming. But I think they could see that for themselves. We got the MAT report while we were in session…’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They haven’t a clue, either. But this new development… it has to be linked, don’t you think?’

  Jake didn’t know how, but it made sense. This new pressure on the Market came too soon after the other not to be connected.

  Maybe what happened earlier was them firing off a few shots, testing them to see if they worked. Finding their range. Maybe the big bombardment was yet to come.

  It was a crazy way to think of things, but what other way suggested itself?

  He walked on, feeling the crunch of tiny pellets beneath his boots. It was warm in this sector, a faint tang of citrus and rosebuds contrasted with the strong metallic odour of some nearby mineral stacks.

  The wind gusted. Things shimmered, trembled, rattled silently. A flurry of azure dust gusted by, leaving a frosting of dark blue crystals on his arm.

  Jake slowly turned 360 degrees, taking everything in.

  Where’s the source of this? Or is this so subtle that it’s coming from a thousand different sources?

  Follow the wind, he told himself. Check out its source.

  Yet even as he thought that, even as he took the first step towards it, so he felt something else. The sensation that something had latched on to him. That his feed was suddenly contaminated.

  There was an expression for this. Being ridden.

  Jake reacted immediately. ‘George… flush me through. I think I’ve got a rider.’

  A second later he felt the surge as his sensory feed was dumped then reestablished. It made him stagger but he didn’t fall. What’s more he was alone again. The intruder had been shaken off.

  ‘Put up blocks. And a trace. I want to know who’s jumping on my back.’

  It happened sometimes. Other traders, not necessarily logins, tried to get a free ride – looking through his eyes and using his experience to make money. But this felt different. It was as if they’d wanted him to know he was being watched.

  Only why would they do that?

  Ahead the land sloped down, an outgrowth like a giant pile of melted orange sugar blocked his path. Jake eased round it, jumping over a narrow stream of aquamarine ooze that flowed sluggishly down its track.

  And stopped dead, facing what looked like two identical huge red beetles. The two of them stood upright on their jointed back legs, their forearms and antennae twitching.

  Jake had never seen them before; never, in all his travels in the datscape, encountered anything like them. You met all kinds of weird and crazy avatars but he had rarely come across any that were quite so hostile as this pair. It was like they were physically blocking his way.

  Only this was the datscape. It wasn’t etiquette, but he could walk right through them if he wished.

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘We’re tracing now,’ Joel, the senior engineer, answered.

  ‘Hi Joel… Where’s George?’

  ‘He’s been called away.’

  ‘Ah…�
�

  Three seconds passed. The two giant beetles held their position.

  ‘They work for the Chung Kuo Ts’ang K’u, the China Storehouse. It seems they’ve had a corporate redesign. The dat’s crawling with them.’

  ‘Well, can you ask them to fuck off out of my way?’

  Joel sounded amused. ‘We’ll ask them nicely.’

  A further ten seconds passed. The beetles moved aside. But even as Jake made his way past, he sensed them turn and watch him go, as if interested in him for some particular reason. Only, again, why should that be?

  I’m getting paranoid, he thought. I’ve been watching too much Ubik, that’s what it is.

  And walked on, following the wind.

  The pressure on the Market was sustained for the best part of six hours, and then it eased. Ten minutes later it was gone. The ‘air’ inside the datscape was untroubled once more. The wind had ceased to blow.

  ‘What’s the damage?’ Jake asked as he peeled out of his suit.

  ‘To us? Not much. A couple of hundred million…’

  ‘And the Market in general?’

  ‘Three or four trillion.’

  Jake had followed the wind. He had traced it back to source, only whenever he thought he’d got there, the source had vanished. The wind had changed. Was blowing from somewhere else.

  Weird, he thought. Really fucking bizarre.

  But others had reported the same experience. And MAT, which recorded everything, had no answers either. Again there was a randomness to things that was hard to understand.

  Because who in their right mind would want to lose money? Who could possibly benefit by depressing the Market and driving down prices? Who but a madman? And madmen generally didn’t have the money to operate at this level. So that ruled that one out.

  Jake went home, to find that Kate had been and gone.

  ‘She said she’ll be back later,’ Trish advised him. ‘I believe she’s gone shopping. She said she needed a few things.’

  Jake felt tired now. He had had barely three hours’ sleep last night, and what with the nervous tension of the day…

  ‘Trish… I’m going to put my head down for a bit. Wake me if it’s anything important. Otherwise, say that I’m out… that I’m… well, shopping with Kate.’

  Only sleep didn’t come easy. His mind wouldn’t let go of the problem.

  In the end he got up again and, making himself some coffee, sat there with an old-fashioned pen and notebook, jotting down anything that came into his head.

  So what did he know?

  The red beetles for a start. He hadn’t liked the red beetles. And not just the first two he’d run into, but the rest of them. A regular infestation, it had been.

  That was how some companies liked it, of course. They wanted to emphasize that their employees were team players, not mavericks. But you could take that too far.

  What had Joel said? The Chung Kuo Ts’ang K’u… the China Storehouse. He’d look into that one for a start.

  Not that there was necessarily any connection. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it didn’t fit with the rest of it. It was too upfront. Too easy to check on.

  It was probably only coincidence that they’d had a corporate redesign at the same time this had blown up. As for their belligerence…

  Jake smiled. They probably weren’t very nice people. After all, it took all sorts to make a market.

  So what else?

  He had barely got going when Kate returned.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, getting up and going over to her. ‘I’m really sorry about this morning.’

  She let herself be kissed and fussed over. Jake sat her down and poured her a glass of wine, then sat across from her.

  ‘Well? Were they pleased?’

  Kate lit up. ‘They were just so happy. I thought Mum was going to explode with happiness.’

  ‘And your dad?’

  ‘You know how he is. All very laid back. But I could see he was excited. Deep down. He likes you, Jake. They both like you.’

  ‘And I like them… which is why we ought to have them round. For a special celebratory dinner. Would you like that?’

  ‘I’d love it.’

  ‘Then you can organize it. Get what you want. Something special, maybe.’

  ‘Can I?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She hesitated, then asked, ‘What was it? Why did you have to go in so early?’

  ‘There’s been a bit of a run, that’s all.’

  ‘But I thought the Market was fine. I thought… well, everything seems so rosy. All the signs…’

  ‘Are good. So don’t worry. It’ll right itself. We just have to calm the jitters, that’s all. Make sure that people don’t lose confidence.’

  Kate smiled. She was reassured. Just like that. If Jake said it was okay, it was okay. She trusted him.

  But Jake himself was worried, not by the severity of things – he’d seen the Market in good times and bad – but by the lack of explanation. The fact that they had no idea where this was coming from.

  ‘Kate?’

  ‘Yes, my love?’

  ‘I might have to go in again… later on. They might need me.’

  ‘Okay.’

  She didn’t argue. Didn’t sulk. And that was why she’d make such a good wife, he realized. He was just so lucky in that regard. He knew other logins whose marriages were really under pressure. Others who had split up. But Kate wasn’t like that. She understood him.

  ‘Jake?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Let’s skip dinner. Let’s just go straight to bed again, eh?’

  He should have slept. Tired as he was, he ought to have slept. Only he couldn’t. Something was happening in the world, something big, and he couldn’t shake that from his mind. Even as Kate slept on beside him, her gentle snoring filling the room, Jake found himself thinking back and analysing the situation, reminding himself just how they had got to this point.

  The Oil Crash of 2022 had been the turning point, the ‘make or break’ moment for them all. Jake had been three when it had happened, and had experienced, through infant eyes, the bewilderment of the months that followed. It was globally catastrophic, but the problems had been there a long time, a decade and more before he was born, in those heady days when China had first emerged as an economic superpower.

  It was hard to think of now, but only sixty years ago China had been a Third World country, militarily strong but powerless economically; at best a sleeping giant whom no one thought could escape the lethargy of its recent past, nor the tight control of its communist regime.

  Deng Hsiao Ping had changed that. He had freed China from its shackles, and in the next three decades, China had grown… and grown and grown.

  And therein lay the seeds of future problems.

  At first that growth was beneficial, and not just to China. For as China became the manufacturing hub of the world economy, so prices came down. In that first golden glow of globalization, everything looked rosy. Four hundred million Chinese were raised from poverty. China boomed. But the cracks in the great edifice were there from the outset.

  By 2009 the United States’ net international debts had reached a staggering three trillion dollars. At the same time, China, by maintaining an artificially low exchange rate, had built its own foreign exchange reserves up past the two trillion dollars mark. In one sense this was a good thing. China’s purchase of low yield US bonds and bills had kept money cheap and international interest rates low. They had fuelled the boom. But it could not go on.

  For a time things held together, even as recession slowed China’s growth from the steady 10 per cent it had enjoyed. But the cracks were growing larger. As China’s trade had grown – as its vast infrastructure had expanded, filling the eastern coastal plains – so its voracious need for raw materials had grown with it. Slowly the negatives had begun to outweigh the positives.

  Meanwhile, in America, the protectionist lobby, suspicious to the po
int of paranoia over China’s intentions, grew more and more vociferous. The Republicans, coming to power in the shadow of the deepest recession in memory, wanted to do away with free trade. In a frenzy of nationalistic rhetoric, they sought to replace globalization with protectionist tariffs. They wanted to pull up the economic drawbridge, just as their predecessors had after the Wall Street Crash of the late 1920s. ‘Buy American’ was their slogan.

  It was a mistake. When the inevitable crisis came there was not the will to solve it. The USA reintroduced tariffs in 2016 and in the years after the world came close to war, not once but on three separate occasions.

  Africa was the first flashpoint.

  China’s links to Africa went back to the 1960s and the years of the Cultural Revolution. Back then the USA and Russia, locked into Cold War mentalities, had used Africa as a covert battlefield, their opposed ideologies tending to destroy whatever they came into contact with. China, however, took a different path. It had helped build infrastructure, becoming Africa’s friend. Then, in 2000, with a new industrial revolution taking place at home, the Chinese once again looked to Africa, investing billions of dollars and sending hundreds of thousands of workers to kick-start African industry. That was just the start. By 2018 over forty million Chinese had emigrated there and close on two hundred and fifty billion dollars had been invested.

  It was hardly altruistic. China needed Africa. Needed its untapped resources – its platinum and copper, its iron ore and gold, its coal and wood. And more than anything, its oil.

  As push came to shove and the price of oil per barrel soared to four hundred dollars, the USA responded angrily. In a session of the United Nations in March 2019, perhaps frustrated at being shut out of the by-now lucrative African market, it had accused China of ‘colonizing’ the dark continent. More than that, it had demanded that China’s ‘special relationship’ with thirty-eight African states be examined by the World Trade Organization and those countries ‘opened up’ to international trade.

  China’s response had been blunt, and memorable. Their delegate had stood and, in perfect English, told the American delegate: ‘Go fuck yourself !’