by Gerald Huff
Sara took a deep breath and winced at the pain. “Please!” she yelled in a raspy voice. Her mic was still working.
“Listen!” she shouted above the din.
“This is very important!” she said loudly. “Please, everyone, listen to me!”
The crowd quieted somewhat.
Sara focused on finding the right words. “They are going to try to make this about him or OP or guns or virtual reality violence. You cannot let them! There will be endless analysis of who and why. It doesn’t matter! Those are the shadows, designed to distract you. No matter who he is or what he believes, what’s important is forgiveness.”
Sara grimaced as pain bit more deeply into her body. “My brother!” She sought out Jacob, who was still struggling with the staffer who had tackled him. “Look at me!”
The command was so sharp and anguished that Jacob and the staffer both stopped fighting. Jacob turned his head toward her. Half a dozen micro-drones hovered just above them, broadcasting and recording the unfolding event.
Sara tried to focus. She said slowly, “I forgive you.”
Many in the crowd gasped. Sara continued, momentarily strengthened. “You must all forgive him! Do not let this act divide you. Division is defeat. Division has been the strategy from the very beginning. Division, diversion, distraction. Remember the lesson of the shadows! You must work together!” The pain intensified. “Remember, it was never about me! Focus on the message. I call on all of you…remember…”
Her strength was ebbing. She felt a spreading coldness. There was a far-away clattering of wheels on the hard wooden floor. Sara managed to say, “If you don’t act, who will?” Then her head fell back and her eyes closed.
The paramedics raced toward the center of the gym with their gurney. They pushed through the crowd around Sara and got to work.
“Sara, my name is Michael and this is Holly. We’re going to take care of you.”
He pulled out a portable oxygen unit and strapped a mask to her face. His partner gently moved Sara’s limp hands away from her stomach and cut away her completely soaked sari. Sara’s torso was covered with blood. A small amount still weakly pulsed out of the entry wound.
Holly set up a remote monitoring station and began talking with the ER doctor at the other end. “Female, approximately sixteen years old, single GSW to the abdomen just right of center. Oxygen started. Vitals on their way.”
Michael wrapped a sensor band around Sara’s forehead, which immediately began transmitting pulse, oxygen levels, and brain activity to the ER.
“Clear the wound area; let me see it,” ordered the doctor. Holly broke open some sterile wipes and cleared as much blood as she could. “Do you have nano-structure repair pads?” asked the doctor.
“We’ve just got two DecaPads,” said Holly. They had just came off another call that required their other two.
“Damn. Okay, get one directly over the wound stat. I’ll send a drone with more pads. And start an infuser.”
Michael prepped a saline infuser to pump more fluid into Sara’s bloodstream. Holly tore open a package and retrieved a flat gray pad containing ten billion nanobots. As soon as she slapped the pad over the wound, they flowed into her body to begin repairing wounded tissue. After ten seconds the doctor ordered Holly to apply the second pad.
Michael said, “Doc, respiration dropping.”
“Yes, I see it. Stand by for CPR. Remove that pad and give me an ultrasound.”
Holly placed a small dish over the wound and watched the local monitor. She grimaced. Sara’s abdominal aorta was badly damaged. A large section was missing. The nanobots were swarming to the area, but twenty billion were insufficient to bridge the gap.
“Start CPR,” said the doctor.
Michael began chest compressions as Holly shifted up to Sara’s head to provide rescue breathing.
The crowd, cameras, and hovering drones watched silently. One minute passed. Two minutes. Three minutes.
“We’re not getting enough circulation,” said the doctor. “Keep going.”
After five more agonizing minutes the doctor sighed audibly. “Okay, I’m calling it. No brain activity. Sorry, guys.”
Michael and Holly sat back on their heels. As the awful truth washed over the crowd, a rising wave of keening and sobbing filled the air.
Tenesha dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment, walked down the hallway to her room, and collapsed onto her bed. She had never felt so empty.
Nate had wanted to be with her, to comfort her, but she couldn’t handle being with anyone right now. Her PNA was off for the first time in months. The apartment was silent but for the sound of her sobbing.
For several minutes, she lay on the bed, clutching a pillow tightly against her chest, staring blankly toward her desk.
Then, through her tears, she saw an unfamiliar and slowly blinking green light. It appeared to be coming from her VR headset.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and made her way across the room, intending to unplug it. But as soon as she touched it, she heard a voice from the headset.
“Tenesha?”
It was Sara’s voice.
Tenesha fell to her knees and cried even harder. It wasn’t fair. She dropped the headset to the floor.
“Tenesha? Let’s talk.”
Oh, God, please, don’t torture me like this, prayed Tenesha.
“Tenesha. Speak with me, please. I know what has happened.”
What is going on here? Tenesha wiped her eyes with her sleeve, picked up the headset, and slipped it on.
The pulsing green light was replaced by a garden scene bathed in the soft light of a beautiful sunset. Birds twittered softly in the distance.
“Over here, Tenesha,” said Sara’s voice softly.
Tenesha turned to the right. There, standing in a simple white sari, was Sara, smiling gently.
“My sister. I know what has happened. My life has ended.”
“What? How, how could you know that?”
“I knew there was danger in my mission. I set this program to monitor media channels just in case.”
“Oh, God, Sara, this is too hard. I can’t look at you like this. All I can see is you lying dead on the floor.”
“Tenesha, I understand. You’re experiencing post-traumatic stress. It can be debilitating. But you can work through it.”
“I can’t, Sara, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can, Tenesha. Please, walk with me in this garden.”
With great difficulty, Tenesha engaged the Mental Intention interface and started walking down the path next to Sara.
“Tenesha, nothing I can say will ease your pain. You will need to work through it. It will take time. But I called you here because there is something I want to show you. Look up.”
Tenesha tilted her head in her bedroom. In the garden, her eyes swept upward over the darkening sky. As the last orange glow left the horizon, a small blue dot caught her attention. Slowly, it began to grow larger above her head.
Within seconds, a slowly spinning replica of Earth hung in the sky above them. Small photos of people’s heads began popping up, then turning into small dots of white light all over the surface.
“Tenesha, every picture you see is someone, somewhere who I am talking with at this very moment through this program. People all over the world, in every different language, all experiencing the same pain you are, in their own unique way.”
Tenesha scanned the rotating surface and saw hundreds, then thousands, then hundreds of thousands of tiny lights brightening the Earth above her.
“Tenesha, remember, you are not alone. You are part of a worldwide movement. I need your help, Tenesha. I need you to carry on. Do not get discouraged.”
“I can’t, Sara. It’s too hard.”
“Look at the Earth. Do you see those lights turning from white to yellow? Those are people committing to take action.” Tenesha saw vast swaths of light
brightening and turning yellow. “Will you commit your time and energy to this movement? Will you continue to lead? Will you pledge with these hundreds of thousands of people to take my message forward?”
The garden became noticeably brighter from the yellow light cast from the Earth above. Tenesha slowly began to feel the energy from all those people.
She could do this. She had to do this.
She turned to the young woman in the white sari. “Yes,” she said simply.
Tenesha’s view began to change. She was slowly rising above the garden, floating into the sky toward the Earth. The cascade of yellow lights washed over the planet, each of them pulsing in time with its corresponding human heartbeat.
Tenesha turned back to the garden. Sara placed her hands together and bowed her head. “Namaste,” she said.
The garden faded from view and only the spinning Earth remained. It was aglow on every continent with pulsing yellow lights. Lines were extending between the lights, building a dense web of connections. Inbounds to her in a dozen languages started appearing in her view, floating in space. People were reaching out to her. To her. And Tenesha answered their call.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
VIRTUAL REALITY - JANUARY 12
“Nothing I can say can ease the pain we are all feeling,” said Frances. The avatar faces in the virtual reality meeting were all staring straight down at the conference table. “The shock of it, the reality of it, it’s just too much,” she continued, losing focus on what she was trying to say.
“Sara is gone,” said Preston with characteristic bluntness. A couple of the faces looked at him. “But we have to carry on. There is no time to waste wallowing in self-pity. Events are cascading in real time. Sara’s death has triggered powerful forces around the globe. The conflict between anti-technology zealots and governments using technology to suppress their own people is intensifying. We risk Sara’s message getting lost if we don’t press on.”
“But, how?” asked Vannha, voicing the question on everyone else’s mind.
“We have Sara’s followers, millions around the world,” said Preston. “We have a virtual Sara AI that is able to interact with those followers. The program has already kicked in its contingency messaging. We just need to give them some more direction. Sheila?”
“Yes, Preston?”
“Are we able to feed new talking points into virtual Sara?”
“Yes, that’s possible.”
“Good, then let’s start with that. What do we want her followers to do?” All the faces around the table were engaged now. They had something concrete to focus on.
“They need to organize real-life events. Feet on the street,” said Sam.
“I agree,” said Sheila. “There’s only so much traction you can get in omnipresence. Even with AntiVenom in place, there’s a lot of useless bickering.”
“Okay, so massive real-life events. Rallies, marches. What’s their message?” asked Preston.
“That’s what’s so difficult,” said Vannha. “It doesn’t fit on a poster.”
“Everything can be boiled down to its simplest essence,” countered Sam.
“We, the people,” mused Frances aloud.
“What’s that Frances?” asked Preston.
“It’s about the people, right? Not the government, not corporations.”
“Yes,” said Sheila. “The people need to rise, to stake their claim. What do the people want?”
“Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” said Sam.
“Kind of U.S. centric,” said Vannha.
“I like liberty,” said Frances. “Liberty from government intrusion, liberty brought about by technology focused on solving important problems.”
“Free at last, free at last,” offered Sheila.
“How do the people get freed?” asked Vannha.
“Like Frances said, Sara’s message was about using technology to free people,” said Sam.
“How’s this then,” said Preston. “Invest in tech to free the people”.
“It’s not just any tech,” said Frances. “Invest in tech that sets the people free”.
“Invest in tech that sets the people free. I like it,” said Sam.
“Alright, it’s a working draft,” said Preston. “Let’s test it and a few variants with groups of Sara’s supporters around the world. And let’s crowdsource this as well. We can provide some seeds like this, see what they come up with. Sheila, can you alter the virtual Sara program to start to encourage real-life events?”
“Yes, I can get started on that.”
“Good. Listen, team, we can’t bring Sara back.” Preston finally broke down himself, choking back tears. “But we can best honor her memory by continuing her work. We have to make sure she did not die in vain.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
HOLOCONFERENCE/WASHINGTON - JANUARY 13
HOLOCONFERENCE
The Collective convened an emergency holoconference at 8 a.m. Pacific time. Pam and JT were not looking forward to it. Jacob’s assassination of Sara was the worst possible thing that could happen to LKC, and they had brought it on themselves by underestimating the impact of releasing the news of Melissa’s death. Sara had become a beloved public figure, admired even by those who opposed her ideas. This was going to badly damage their brand among potential supporters.
Not surprisingly it was Othello who spoke first once everyone was online. “Goddamn it! God fucking damn it! I fucking told you this would happen. No one listened to me. Broaden the base you said. Grow the movement you said. And now we’re fucked! The LKC name is going to be lower than fucking dirt!”
“Othello, calm down,” said Ellul. “Yes, this is a complete shitstorm. But ranting about it isn’t going to fix anything.”
“This isn’t fixable you idiot! She’s dead. And our man Jacob pulled the fucking trigger thanks to Geneva and Zurich. LKC killed Sara. That’s your headline.”
“We can change the headline,” said Pam softly.
“Oh, Geneva speaks. I’m surprised you even had the courage to come on this conference, bitch,” sneered Othello.
“Fuck you Othello,” said JT. “She’s got a plan so shut up and listen.”
“Go ahead Geneva,” said Ellul. He put Othello on mute while Pam continued.
“It’s simple,” she said. “We already have a weapon for this exact situation, although that wasn’t our original intent. We’ve got the personal data on over six hundred prominent people. If we release that today, it will completely overwhelm the news cycle for days. There are dozens of major stories that will be developed from this data. It will keep the country busy for weeks. And soon enough we’ll have our worms ready and an entirely different story is going to dominate the media. Believe me, the public will barely remember the LKC/Sara connection, if we strike fast.”
Othello was banging his fist on the table in front of him. Reluctantly, Ellul unmuted him. “Believe you? You want us to believe you bitch? Isn’t that what got us into this fucking mess in the first place?” Ellul cut him off again.
“Okay, I think we understand Othello’s perspective,” he said, arching one eyebrow. “What do others think?”
“I don’t know if people will ever forget,” said Artemis. “But I agree that it will create a huge distraction. It’s better than doing nothing, that’s for damn sure. But I recommend that instead of taking credit the way we were planning, we make it completely anonymous. People might suspect us, but let’s keep our name out of this whole news cycle.”
“I agree with that,” said Zerzan. “We should initiate the leak as soon as possible.”
“Thoreau, are we in a position to do that?” asked Ellul.
Miles O’Connell nodded. “Any time. I can use Torpedo anonymous sessions to dump the data to Wikileaks and half a dozen other offshore data merchants.”
“I’d like to canvas the group,” said Ellul. “All in favor of dumping the personal data wi
thout LKC attribution as soon as possible?” He paused for a few seconds as the members tapped their tablets and screens. “Twenty-three to one. I agree. Thoreau, send it out.”
WASHINGTON
The Senate Majority Leader, Democrat Walter Scott, and Minority Leader, Republican Caroline Lathrop, were conferring without aides in a small room in the McCain Office Building. They went over the final outline for the press conference and what they would each speak about. “You know, Caroline,” said Walter. “We agree on almost nothing from a policy perspective. But this national emergency has brought us together on a few items. Maybe this can be the basis for more cooperation in the future.”
She eyed him cooly. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just wait till the next election. You’ve got quite a few more vulnerable seats in ’40 than we do.”
“I guess some things never change,” he said, chuckling. “That’s almost exactly what I said to Leader Graham when we passed bipartisan legislation responding to cyberattacks during the Iran War.”
They exited the room and walked left down the hallway to the rear entrance of large conference room. Lathrop went in first. When Scott appeared behind her, he could hear gasps from the journalists in the room, most of whom had never seen a joint leadership press conference in their careers. At precisely 11 a.m., Walter Scott took the podium and began speaking.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome. To you and the American people, my colleague Senator Lathrop and I say this—enough is enough. We are all devastated by the senseless tragedy in Los Angeles yesterday, the killing of Sara Dhawan, such an inspiring young woman, by Jacob Komarov, a wanted LKC terrorist. This is just one of the violent acts of destruction happening across the country, perpetrated by this fringe group of terrorists who must be stopped.”
Now the minority leader stepped up to the podium. “In the face of such an enemy,” Lathrop said, “we must stand united. LKC does not care if you are a Republican or an Independent or a Democrat. They are against us all as Americans. They are against our American values. They are against our American system. They want to create chaos and fear. We must stand together to defeat them.” Scott joined her so they stood together.
