by Vern Buzarde
The manual lock on the front door of the cabin hadn’t been tampered with, though it was just a prop. Milo waited, completely still, for ten minutes or more, watching for movement. Satisfied they were truly alone, he went back to the battery shed, swung a hinged shelf out, and put his finger on a small scanning device. There was an electronic buzz, and a metal door popped open. Daniel followed Milo down several tight steps into a concrete tunnel, then climbed more steps to another door, this one into the cabin.
The one-room cabin was just under eight hundred square feet. There was a table in the middle and a tiny kitchenette with a wood stove and a sink. A cot was wedged in a corner. Two windows, covered by steel shutters made to resemble wood. Just below the ceiling there was a small fan covered by flexible louvres which remained closed when the fan was inactive. In the far back corner was a hinged metal hatch, three feet by four feet, with a sliding bolt.
Milo retrieved the laptop from his backpack, put it on the table, and plugged the power cord into the wall. He hoisted the steel shutters and opened the windows. A breeze drifted through the stuffy room, accompanied by the sweet scent of pine.
He felt around inside the backpack and pulled out two packages of Soylent powder, then went back through to the well and filled a bucket. When he returned, he mixed the packets with water in small biodegradable containers and handed one to Daniel.
“Seems a waste,” Daniel said with a grim smile.
“No, my friend. For you, it should be a feast. But it’s better than nothing.”
Milo thought back to his Silicon Valley days. All of it seemed so far away now. But the contamination remained. He had helped create this apocalyptic situation.
His awakening had been sudden and traumatic. The realization that technology’s effects on modern society had such a stranglehold had struck him suddenly and clearly. He thought of himself as a different person now. Almost a different entity. He had helped create an abomination. An invisible serpent that had coiled around the human race. And he was complicit. Accumulating riches while feeding the snake, totally oblivious to the consequences.
All the wealth had sullied his soul with thick, sticky tar. Only the hottest flame would melt it. But as a result, he had achieved true awareness. His only purpose now was to use his wealth to find redemption. Redemption through altering the doomed track the human race was barreling down like a train over a canyon. The path would be difficult and required great sacrifice. But at least that path was clear.
“Would you like to lie down?” Milo asked Daniel.
“Yes, I think so. I’m not really used to that much exercise. If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to rest.”
“Of course. Stretch out on the cot. If you fall asleep, I’ll wake you before it’s time.”
The last remaining light from the day faded. Sitting silently in the dark, Milo thought back to his days working in the Peace Corps. The memories of starving Somali children were still there but no longer elicited any emotion. He could still see the endless lines of helpless kids, hollow eyes aware, knowing their bodies were slowly eating themselves while warlords battled over the truckloads of rice and medicine from all over the world that sat rotting in the heat. Supplies that would never reach the starving, sick masses.
He’d never gotten past the stench of all that death. It was nothing like movies where someone was there one minute, then dead the next. Starvation had its own diabolical procedure. It could drag out for weeks, and although the humane thing would have been to put those children out of their misery, that option didn’t exist. Instead, they were forced to suffer, far too weak to cry, much less ask why. They were the rabbits, but their end was anything but swift. This world, this version, was irredeemable.
Milo began working with breathing techniques he had optimized over the years. Although he consistently achieved peak focus, the isolation of the Montana forest always centered him in a way he was unable to duplicate anywhere else. Milo needed sleep too, but he knew that was unlikely. He tried to release his thoughts.
Two years ago, he’d had an epiphany here. That night, he had seen it all unfolding in his consciousness with astonishing clarity and the enormity of something biblical. As if he’d been chosen as a prophet. Milo had a vision that night. Not a divine one. He didn’t believe in religion. But something real. An ultimate truth communicated by a universal consciousness. For the first time in his life, Milo understood his destiny. What his purpose was. Why everything before had been so easy. He had been in training. Preparing for the path to enlightenment.
Before he knew it, over three hours had passed. Milo turned on the laptop and waited for his eyes to adjust to the glare of the screen. He checked the internet signal strength: 443 kbps. He couldn’t help clicking on the YouTube link, a clip of his visit to the late-night talk show, Live with Jerry Berry. He had become a regular on the show over the years, using the large audience to publicize his various charities, primarily the Somali Refugee Fund.
But the audience hook was the ping-pong game he and Jerry played. Their competitive fervor was staged but popular with the audience. Both cracked jokes as they slammed the tiny white ball at ballistic speeds. Milo was by far the superior player, and the audience always exploded with laughter when he moved his paddle from hand to hand, sometimes flipping it around and using the handle to hit the ball, all to Jerry’s feigned frustration.
“I saw that show,” Daniel said. “You were awesome.” He gingerly rolled out of the cot, an uncertain expression on his face.
“Thank you, Daniel. I always enjoy doing that show.”
“I was on it once. When I was twelve years old. I was the biggest kid star in the world. Now look at me.”
“Yes, I remember. You should be proud. How many people get to experience something like that?”
Milo typed a series of five twelve-digit passwords. An email popped up with a link. He glanced at Daniel, who looked nauseated. The light from the laptop was plenty to see the fear on Daniel’s face. Milo had always doubted Daniel’s resolve.
“It’s time, brother,” he said. “This is what you’ve waited for. What you’ve worked so hard to prepare for.” Milo turned the laptop toward Daniel. “I need you to read this now. Look at the computer screen and read the words.” Milo turned on a small flashlight and aimed it at Daniel’s face, then picked up a digital camera.
Daniel began to mumble, “The human race is under siege—”
“I need a little more passion here,” Milo said. “After all, you are, or at least were, supposed to be an actor. You don’t sound very convincing. When we go live, you’ll only get one take. Daniel, this is your defining moment. The way you’ll be remembered. Think of it as your greatest performance. A sign of what’s to come, when you’re rewritten.”
Daniel started over. “The human race is under siege. The serpent of technology has wrapped its coils around society, and we are about to find ourselves in its outstretched jaws. Soon, there will be no turning back. Join us. We must fight back. Read our manifesto. We are the Enlightened Path.”
“Excellent!” Milo proclaimed. “I think we’ll just use that rather than have you do it again in the live feed. I’ll splice it in, just before we go live. Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Daniel didn’t answer, reinforcing Milo’s doubts about his resolve.
Daniel’s upper lip began to quiver, and his eyes darted toward the front door, then the door to the tunnel. “I’m scared, Milo,” he said. “It’s not like I thought it would be. I don’t feel joyous at all. I don’t want to die. Not yet. Not here, in the middle of fucking nowhere. Could you tell me again about the code? How I’ll be rewritten?”
“There’s nothing to fear. Consciousness plays a critical role in the collapse of the probability wave. It’s basic quantum mechanics. You will be rewritten. Better this time. With your conscious decision to terminate this existence, you’ll be upgraded to a pri
mary. Better in every way. Regardless of what happens tonight, here, in this reality, you and your consciousness will walk away unharmed in another one, as though nothing happened. It will seem identical, except your life will be better in every way. In ways you can’t imagine. This is my gift to you.”
“And if I decided to wait? To delay?”
“Daniel, that’s completely up to you. Remember, you came to me. I selected you out of all the applicants for this slot because your case was so compelling. If you opt out, I certainly can’t stop you. I wouldn’t even try. But I can’t imagine why you’d want to. Aren’t you tired of constantly chasing things that are always just beyond your reach? Your dreams, aspirations, so close you can almost touch them, then everything fades away. The reality, your reality, is that you’ll never get any of these things because that’s how you were written. And besides, there are millions of people waiting to watch. People who are seeking inspiration.”
You pathetic coward. I’m giving you the ultimate gift.
“And really,” Milo continued, “what do you have to lose? A has-been child actor who can’t hold a job frying hamburgers for a living? You’ve chosen a much better path here, tonight.”
Daniel began to whimper, his tall wiry frame hunched, staring at the floor. “It made so much sense before,” he said. “Until now. Isn’t there another way? There must be something,” Daniel pleaded.
“Trust me, brother. You’re about to be in a better world.” He gave Daniel a purposeful look. “We need to start now. Get a hold of yourself. Focus. Remember our cause. You, Daniel, are setting an example. You’re a visionary. A prophet who can help peel back the veil covering reality!”
Milo slid one of the chairs to the center of the room and retrieved a rope. He threw the noose over a structural beam running the length of the ceiling, threaded the end through a pre-woven loop, and pulled tight. He anchored the end to the wood-burning stove. The noose dangled several feet above the chair.
“Come now,” Milo said. “Up you go.” Milo knew Daniel was desperate, searching for a way out. But none existed. Daniel had made his choice, and his payment was non-negotiable. Milo turned on a small spotlight and directed the beam at Daniel’s face.
He checked the computer’s clock. 9:58 p.m. A separate timer on the site read “Live in” followed by a countdown. Three million, six hundred fifty thousand viewers were logged on to his site, the number increasing every second. He had promised the celebrity sacrifice would commence at precisely 10:00 p.m. He knew labeling Daniel a celebrity was a stretch, but it was the best he could do this time.
Finally, looking totally defeated, Daniel climbed onto the chair. He slipped the noose around his skinny neck. The light from the laptop illuminated his clammy face in a way that made Milo think he looked like a corpse already.
“Why are you smiling?” Daniel whined. “Is this funny to you?”
“I’m not smiling, Daniel. Now say it. Practice the final words. And try to sound convincing. It’s almost time.”
“Why are you doing this? What’s it all for? What does putting it live on the internet have to do with the revolution?”
“Let’s just say I’m creating a brand. A brand around consciousness. Building my base. I need a large audience for the next phase. Think of this as a chess game, only multidimensional. You, Daniel, are an integral piece. But you’re restricted. Directionally confined. You can’t stay stationary and you can’t move backward. You can only go forward.”
Daniel looked at him longingly. “A pawn. The lowest level piece.”
“But strategically critical. An important link in the chain. You will exist in a world where you’ll live like a king. As long as you fulfill your assigned task.”
“Task?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll know what it is when the time comes.”
Daniel nodded his head, a confused look. “And… I know your secret. You wouldn’t let me walk out of here. Not now.”
“Yes, there is that. But honestly, as I said, I wouldn’t try to stop you. This has to be of your own free will. I really mean that. But now, it’s almost time. If you want to go through with it, practice the final words. If you finish this journey, you’ll be moving on to a new and better life in minutes.” Milo uploaded Daniel’s previous soliloquy, timing its finish with his switch to a live shot.
Daniel mumbled, “My life! My choice! My rebirth!”
“Once again, please,” Milo said. “With passion!” He made the switch. They were transmitting live. The viewer count was over five million now.
Mustering all his fear and anger, Daniel started to repeat it but instead said, “Mi-Milo, I don’t—” Milo kicked the chair from under his feet. Daniel tried to fill his lungs, but the noose dug in. The stretching rope creaked.
Daniel gurgled and squeaked, tried to say something, scrabbling at the noose with both hands. But the rope dug deep into his skin, barely visible under his jaw. The dying man’s desperate eyes searched for Milo.
Daniel shook and twitched like a trout on the end of a fishing line. After twenty seconds, his hands fell limp to his sides. Less than a minute later, he was completely still.
Milo continued the live feed for another thirty seconds, watching the “likes” rolling in. New comments poured in:
Sick freaks!!!
Always wondered what happened to that guy
Inspirational
He looks better dead
Are you posting replay?
I’m in!
Rope for sale??
LoL! Sooo Fake!
Milo was entranced, it was time to move. He turned off the laptop, wrapped it in a small canvas bag, picked up the sledgehammer, and smashed it. He cut the rope just behind where it was tied to the leg of the stove, and Daniel’s corpse dropped and crumpled. Milo dragged it to the open hatch and followed it to the ground four feet below, then pulled it fifty yards or so behind the cabin. He pulled out his flashlight, scanning for remains of any of his previous visitors. There didn’t seem to be any. The efficiency of nature. Marvelous.
As he walked away from Daniel’s body, the cold reality of what had just taken place began to sink in. Daniel had said his first name. Streamed to millions of viewers. An unfortunate turn, but beyond his control. He would just have to deal with it if anyone tried to link him to an obscure event on the dark web. The odds of that happening seemed infinitesimal.
The time had come to expand. The earlier events had gone pretty much according to plan, but the number of viewers seemed to be peaking around five million. He was ready. With a base audience that large, Milo could draw the ultimate line in the sand. The time had come to up the ante. The thinning of the herd could commence in earnest. The series of events leading to the serpent’s decapitation was about to become unstoppable.
Part 2
Bootstrap
6
Tess tried to adjust to the uncomfortable chair facing the twenty senators who peered down from elevated perches like weary vultures. Nick sat in the center, flanked by her and several others from the Essex’s support team, as well as NSA agents Holcomb and King. Hearings like these had become a regular occurrence, although she hoped this would finally be the last.
Once again, Tess found herself surprised by how spartan these venues were. The room was stuffy, poorly ventilated. The worn blue carpet was dirty, littered with scraps of paper like dandruff. A television hung on the wall to the right, its power cord dangling, exposed. Shiny silver tape anchored a snake nest of camera cables and microphone cords. Tess thought the whole thing felt like a cheap road show, something temporary and opportunistic.
Nick wrapped up his opening statement. “In conclusion, Mr. Chairman, at this time, we are no closer to understanding the security breach of the Essex’s onboard computer system than we were the day the tragedy took place. As for the multiple statements posted to different social media sites c
laiming credit for the attack, we have no evidence to suggest any of those organizations were responsible. Nor do we have any proof they even exist. After six months of thorough investigation, thousands of man hours of scrutiny by federal and local law enforcement agencies, and a virtual room full of results of forensic investigation, the means by which the software of the Essex’s onboard computer was compromised, unfortunately, remains a mystery.”
Senator Shelton Packer stared down over the top of thick glasses resting on the bulbous red tip of his nose. His overgrown eyebrows crawled up a weathered, trenched forehead. His face was expressionless as he read from a sheet of trembling paper in a slow Southern drawl. “Mr. Cardigan, I just want to express our appreciation to you and your team for being here today. As well as my condolences for your loss. But, Mr. Cardigan, surely you realize, simply saying we don’t know how some person or group was able to murder two human beings and destroy a hundred-billion-dollar project just isn’t acceptable. The level of expertise this attack required was more than you find in some run-of-the-mill terrorist. Even someone as technologically illiterate as I am can understand that. Based on what you’ve said here, today, our systems are still vulnerable. How can we, in good conscience, close the matter and go about our business as if nothing happened?”
Nick leaned forward. “Senator, every aspect of our security systems has been scrutinized and rigorous procedures implemented. Although it’s true that we don’t understand how or why the event occurred, the chance this could happen again is less than one percent. This event set the project back years. Hopefully by the time we’re ready for the next attempt, we will have gleaned greater insight. And although, as I said, we believe there is less than one-percent chance a terrorist act could succeed again, we will not proceed with a launch until those odds are reduced to zero.”
The senator looked at Tess. “Dr. Carrillo, could you please advise us of your current status with NASA? Since the tragic end of the Essex project, what is your role?”
