by Gerald Huff
“Those bastards!” cried Pam.
“Yes, exactly,” said Ellul. “The question before is whether to leak this information. If we do, it will outrage anti-technology activists and get them even more fired up. The downside is it will alert DTTF that they have a mole.”
“Hey Thoreau,” said Peter Cook aka Othello. “Is there any way for you to create a network vulnerability at the Virginia facility and then leak that? That would make it look like an outside hack rather than an inside job.”
“Interesting idea,” said Miles O’Connell. “I bet I could do that. That lab is a research facility, not really locked down very tightly. Once Wikileaks hears there’s a security weakness they’ll jump on it and leak the hottest thing they find. Sparrow’s death should be all over the media in hours.”
“Well if we can avoid any direct implication of a DTTF insider,” said Ellul, “then I think it makes sense to move forward. Anyone disagree?”
“I’m worried about Raven,” said Pam, using Jacob’s code name. “I got the sense he was the one pushing their involvement with LKC. If I’m right he’s going to blame himself.”
“Have we heard anything from him?” asked Ellul.
“No,” answered Pam. “He’s still off the grid.”
“I’m not sure what we can do about that, Geneva. This news is going to come out eventually. The government will try to sit on it for months. I think it’s in our interest to get it out now while people still remember San Gabriel.”
“Yes,” said Pam, “I guess that’s true.”
“Let’s do a canvas on leaking the story if it can be done indirectly,” said Ellul. He waited till the votes came in. “Okay, thirteen to five. I agree. Thoreau, go ahead with that plan,” said Ellul. “Any other updates?”
“Yes,” said JT. “I’m making steady progress on the worm evolution. We started with a million candidates from the best of the dark web worm factories and now we’re down to the last thousand or so. I’ve got about ten thousand virtual machines with hundreds of different simulated networking and security systems. The best worms so far are able to force the hardware into shutting down or continuous rebooting about fifty percent of the time. I think I can get that up to seventy percent.”
“So not a total shutdown?” asked Othello.
“No, no, we can’t manage that. But most data centers can’t run with seventy percent of their machines compromised. It’ll be sporadic. Some services will go completely dark, others will go into limp mode and be barely usable, and some others will probably work just fine. But what’s particularly great about this new class of worms is that they are designed to also infect the computers of the remote diagnostic teams. Then as those teams try to work on or defend other data centers, they’re actually the ones doing the further infecting.”
“When do you think they’ll be ready?” asked Ellul.
“Realistically, it’s probably another couple of weeks,” said JT.
“I’ll be ready to launch by then,” said Miles O’Connell.
“Good work,” said Ellul. “They have no idea what’s coming.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
LONDON - JANUARY 10
Roger paced back and forth in front of the window of his West End flat, glancing often out onto the street. He’d asked Jill to meet him there before dinner to avoid a public scene. While their three dates in the last two weeks had gone exceedingly well, he had no idea how she would react to his news. But he felt compelled to tell her—he certainly didn’t want her to find out from some news report. Or from Frances, who was distraught enough at what was happening to Sara to possibly let something slip.
At last his PNA buzzed and Roger walked to the door of the flat to let her in. He took her coat and hung it on the rack. “You look beautiful,” he said, admiring her dark green dress with its slowly moving amoeba-shaped patches of blue. “I love the living fabric.” She took his hands and leaned in to give him a kiss, but just on the cheek. “Well thank you, Roger. This is a nice place. It’s a fabulous location.”
“Yes, well, temporarily at least, there’s not too much to it. Practically a studio, it’s tiny. Step in and that’s the whole tour pretty much.” She laughed. “Yes, so I see.” Jill looked at him expectantly. He didn’t know where to begin. “Sooo,” she said, prompting him. “Are we off to dinner then?”
“Please, sit down for a minute,” said Roger gesturing to the small sofa. Jill’s smile faded. “Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good.” But she took a seat and he joined her. He wished he had an overlay to read her emotions, but this was no holochat, and he had no Allison listening in to provide him helpful suggestions. He was on his own.
“So, look, Jill. I’m not so smooth when it comes to relationships. I’ve lived kind of an isolated life.” Her eyebrows raised slightly and her lips pursed. No overlay.
“I guess I’ll just come out and say it. I’ve got some news and I don’t think you’re going to like it. I just, I’ve had such a good time with you these last two weeks.”
“And I have as well, Roger.” She reached out and squeezed his right hand. “So. Are you leaving then?”
“What? No. Why—no that’s not my news.” She looked confused.
“Oh? Oh, I thought—”
“No, no, that’s not it at all.”
“Oh, I see, well, that’s good then. But, what news did you think I wouldn’t like?”
“It has to do with RezMat.”
“RezMat? I don’t understand.”
“Your synth network, the one Kathleen Norquist wrote her paper on?”
“Synth network? What’s that? I’m so confused, what does that paper have to do with your news?”
“I’m sorry, Jill.” Finally he just blurted it out. “I wrote RingTrue. I took down your network.” Her eyes widened and she pulled her hand away from his.
“You what?”
“I wrote RingTrue.”
“Roger, I thought you did OP public relations work.”
“Yes, well, in a way.” He stared down at the sofa and it all came out in a rush. “You see I had my own synth network that I used for clients. I worked for Frances to help her launch Sara. Her ideas had a big impact on me, so I decided to shut my network down. So, I created RingTrue. I found your network—well, I didn’t know it was yours at the time—and targeted that first, to give my clients some time to adjust. I’m sorry, Jill, but I exposed your network. I’m so sorry. I wanted you to hear it from me.” Roger finally looked up. He was shocked to see Jill smiling and shaking her head. She suppressed a half laugh.
“Oh, you are such a dear, dear man. Yes, I was sad when our agent network was discovered. But really, Roger, compared to this LKC shit, as you called it, that’s not such a big deal. But, I have to say, life is truly absurd sometimes.”
“What? Absurd?” It was Roger’s turn to be confused.
“I have my own news to share,” Jill said, taking his hand once again. “I am ringtruthier.”
“I don’t understand,” said Roger.
“I forked your repo. I’m the one who took your network down. I am sorry, Roger, I had no idea who posted RingTrue. If I had known it was you, if I had known you—”
“You posted the fork?” he asked. She nodded. “But how did you get it?” Roger’s eyes narrowed. He withdrew his hand. “Did you hack into my systems?”
“No! No, I didn’t. My boss said he got an original copy of the repo from Tribal. I don’t know how he did it and I was right pissed off when he told me. Still am pissed in fact. There’s something not right there and I intend to get to the bottom of it once we’re past this crisis.”
“The original Tribal repo? But that was private. And I deleted it!”
“I know, believe me, Roger, I know. There’s no way RezMat should have had access to it.”
Roger didn’t know what to say at this strange turnabout.
“Look at us,” Jill laughed. “Do you know who we are?”
“What? What do you mean?”
“We are the two worst mass murderers in all of human history.” He just looked at her. “Think about it,” she said. “Stalin and Mao killed maybe sixty million together. We’re at a hundred million apiece, easy.”
“That’s not funny, Jill.”
“Oh, come on, Roger. You’ve got to see some humor in this. You killed my people and I killed yours. Of course, you were already planning on killing yours, so I only accelerated the process. Honestly, I’m the one who should be mad here.”
“Are you?”
“No. I am not. Are you?”
“I was. I am, I guess, at RezMat for hacking into Tribal.”
“Yes, I’m with you there. So, are we all square then?”
“I suppose,” said Roger, still not letting go of RezMat’s hack.
“Brilliant. So, can we go to dinner then? I’m famished!”
“Yes, okay. But one thing, Jill. Seriously.”
“What’s that?”
“For the record, my network was bigger than yours. So, you are definitely the worst mass murderer in all of history.”
“Oh, you are incorrigible! Arrogant and mean, at the same time.” But she leaned over and kissed him, for real this time.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
LOS ANGELES - JANUARY 12
Sara sat alone in a darkened office at the rear of the Los Angeles University gym, trying to meditate, focusing on her breath. But her mind kept returning to the events of the last few days, and to the people now gathering in the gym. Until now, all her town hall meetings had overflowed with friendly, welcoming crowds. But since the publication of Kathleen Norquist’s RezMat report, omnipresence had been filled with ugly words and threats.
Her security team had wanted to screen protesters out of the audience today, but Sara had insisted they be allowed in. The compromise was to allocate a special section for them: a wedge of chairs in the concentric circles that had been set up on the gym floor.
As the starting time of the event approached, Sara felt nervous and restless for the first time since her initial public appearance three months earlier in New Delhi.
She rose from the thinly carpeted floor and joined some staffers in the adjoining locker room. They nodded at her and gave her reassuring smiles, but they were clearly on edge as well. A young man stepped over to her with a lapel mic and transmitter. “It’s almost time, Sara.”
“Very well,” she said.
He fitted the wireless mic on her yellow sari and tucked the transmitter into a hidden pocket.
“You’re good to go. Good luck!”
“Namaste.”
“Next!” called the security guard.
Jacob Komarov walked forward in his cloak. He was not surprised when the guard stopped him with an outstretched arm. “Hold on there. I need you to take off that costume.”
“I have a constitutionally protected right to privacy,” replied Jacob calmly from behind the LED wire mesh. “I don’t have to remove this.”
“Well, I don’t have to let you in either,” said the guard.
“According to Villner versus State of California you do, I’m afraid. The Supreme Court upheld the decision two years ago.”
The security guard sighed. “Just wait here.” He said into his PNA, “Hey Claire, I’ve got a PPF cloak here. Please advise.”
For a several seconds, the guard’s PNA was silent. The line behind Jacob was getting restless. Someone called out, “Hurry up! It’s about to start!”
Then a female voice said tersely, “Secondary search.”
The guard said, “Head over to that table.” He pointed to the right and called the next person forward.
Jacob approached the secondary search table and waited in line.
When he walked through the full-body scanner, it of course buzzed loudly. “Over here,” said a frazzled staffer in a grey hoodie. He passed a hand scanner over Jacob, but it chirped constantly over the metal fibers. “I’m gonna have to pat you down,” he said.
“Sure, go ahead,” said Jacob.
The young man pressed his hands all around the cloak, starting and the top and working his way down. He stopped suddenly at Jacob’s right hip. “Hey, what’s this?”
“Oh, that’s the battery for the cloak. It’s powered to block active scanners. Some models are just passive, but this one’s got all the bells and whistles. Of course, it’s more than a year old and they’ve already got…”
The man held up his hand. “I get it.” He patted the rest of the cloak and said, “Okay, move along.”
Jacob joined the rest of the crowd filing into the Los Angeles University gym.
As soon as Sara stepped onto the gym floor, loud shouts and applause filled the room. But they did not quite drown out a chorus of boos from the protest section.
Sara made her way slowly to the center of the gym, greeting people on either side of the long aisle. As she neared the center, a familiar face caught her eye. Her team had provided a briefing identifying the on-campus organizers and there was Tenesha Martin, right on the aisle. Sara walked to her and took her hands. “Tenesha, yes?” she asked.
“Yes! Yes! Sara, thank you so much for coming!”
“Thank you for organizing the campus. Let’s meet after the event, okay?”
“Okay, yes, of course. We’ll be there! This, oh, this is Nate, we formed the chapter together.” Tenesha pulled Nate alongside her. Sara smiled. “Hello Nate, good to meet you as well. But I should get things started here. See you soon.”
Sara walked to the center of the gym, pressed her hands over her heart and turned slowly around to take in all the energy in the room. She felt love and warmth from most of the circle. But there was also an obvious wedge of anger from the protest section. There were about a hundred people in that area—more than she had expected.
She paused and faced them, searching their faces. She saw disappointment and even disgust. A few shouted at her.
“Welcome, all of you!” she said into the small lapel mic. Her voice filled the gym and the din of conversation started to fade.
Sara looked around the room and smiled. She turned away from the protesters and pointed toward a woman who had raised her hand. “Yes, what would you like to discuss?”
The young woman waited until a man in a grey hoodie handed her a mic. “Sara, first let me thank you for coming to visit with us. You’re amazing and I can’t believe you’re actually here.”
Sara nodded as clapping and cheers broke out.
The woman continued, “But I’m very concerned about the recent news reports. I saw your video, but I’d like to hear it from you directly. What is your connection to RezMat?”
There were murmurs in the crowd and some shouts of “Yeah!” from the protesters.
“I thank you for that question,” Sara said. “I know the media stories have been confusing. I have no connection to RezMat Industries. The details of how some omnipresence activity seems to imply a connection are not important. What is important is that you believe me when I tell you that there is no connection.”
The young woman shook her head, disappointed. “But Sara, where are you getting your funding? Can you prove you are not working for RezMat?”
Sara held the young woman’s eyes. “I do not have any proof to give you. I am asking you, simply, to have faith.” Her gaze did not waver. “Have faith.”
Jacob stood and shouted through his mask, “Faith in what? Technology?”
“No,” Sara replied softly, turning in his direction. “Faith in me.”
“How can we have faith in you when you’ve been lying to us this whole time?”
“As I said, I have no association with RezMat.”
“You’ve been lying about RezMat and lying about technology. You’ve been manipulating us into believing technology is good.”
“Well, yes, I believe technology is good. It has the power to finally liberate us from li
ves of poverty and drudgery.”
Jacob snorted derisively. “Technology took my job. Technology killed my father. Technology killed my girlfriend.”
“Oh, my deepest condolences,” said Sara. “I am so sorry for your loss. I’m not sure we can deal with such a personal story here in this setting. I’d be happy to meet with you afterward. Maybe if you listen to some of the conversation today, it will open new perspectives for you.”
“I didn’t come here to listen to more of your fucking propaganda!” shouted Jacob. Staffers began running down the aisles toward him. “I came here to save the human race!”
Jacob reached inside his cloak and retrieved his father’s gun, taped to the inside of the large battery pack at his hip. Before anyone could react, he took careful aim and fired a single shot directly at Sara.
The protesters around him stood and started to scatter, screaming.
Jacob shoved through the rows of chairs in front of him to get another clear shot. He took aim again at Sara, now only a few yards away.
As his finger pulled the trigger, a staffer tackled him, sending the second bullet wildly off target. Jacob fell heavily to the ground among the toppled chairs.
Sara saw the angry young man pull something from his shiny cloak. Then she felt something sharp jab at her stomach.
Her hands clutched at her midsection, but the silky smoothness of her sari had been replaced by something wet and sticky. Her knees buckled and she found herself sitting on the floor.
People crowded all around her, holding her upper body upright. “Sara! Sara! You’ve been shot! Help is on the way!” Shot? she thought. I’ve been shot?
Someone gently laid her down on the ground. The faces around her looked gravely concerned. She could see two figures wrestling on the floor just yards away. One of them looked familiar. The angry young man in the cloak. His hood had come off. Screams and wails echoed through the room. She saw the cameras, the micro-drones. She needed to say something.
