by Alex Rudall
There was a silence. Dryer stared at her. Amber glared back, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. There was a cold feeling rolling around in her stomach. The cold feeling had been there from the moment the doors sealed her into the hacked taxi and it had never left her, not when she had pushed the man’s own long knife through his chest, not when the drones descended, and, despite what Emily had assured her was a borderline lethal blood–morphine level, not even when she woke up in hospital. It was still with her now. She noticed that Dryer had a fleck of yellow food just above his upper lip.
“You ordered me not to use a watch, and I didn’t,” she said. “I was investigating suspicious signage. I recorded them dealing in illegal technology. My implant administrator got it all. It’s all in my report.”
Dryer shook his head. “From what the techs say, your implant is a concern in itself. You’ve modified it.”
Amber shook her head. “Everyone–”
“It is against regulations!” the General shouted, slamming his palm on the table.
Amber felt the anger rising inside her, mixed with fear. If ITSA rescinded her legal immunity, it would mean a local trial for the two dead men. They hung murderers around here. The rain was lashing against the glass.
“I didn’t disobey an order,” she repeated, channelling her anger. “They were openly advertising illegal tech. For god’s sake, I was investigating a fucking crime!”
She stopped. The General was smiling dangerously.
“You’ll have a drone following you. You are confined to your residence. Get out of my sight.”
Amber didn’t move for a moment. She could see her future narrowing in front of her. If she avoided the death penalty, avoided a Nepali prison, a dishonourable discharge would still mean she would lose her livelihood and forfeit her pension. Her skin would make it impossible to find employment, the dishonorable discharge on her record doubly so. She rose slowly to her feet.
“One more thing,” the General said, and there was a nasty glint in his eye. “You will not be permitted to contact any ITSA personnel except an appointed handler while the investigation is under way. And for reasons of international security it will be my strong recommendation that you be forbidden from making contact with any other ITSA personnel, in any capacity, ever again.”
Robert. Amber turned and walked out without a word.
A group of officers in airforce jumpsuits stood outside the door, holding folders, waiting. None made eye contact. They would have been able to see the two of them through the glass, gesticulating at each other. They would have been able to see the expression on Dryer’s face. Amber passed a little woman sat at a desk and paused.
“Who are they?” asked Amber quietly, gesturing back towards the officers. If they were something to do with the investigation she would be tempted to go back and tell them what she thought of Dryer.
“Er,” the mousey woman said, blushing to be talking to the suspended immune. “They’re from Options.”
“Oh. Thanks,” Amber muttered, and she headed for the exit, trying to slow her breathing. Rather than trying to prevent and destroy singularities, the Options Division dealt with ITSA’s efforts to find a way to escape, should the GSE ever return. Amber wondered what Dryer had to do with them – they mainly worked in the US. There were rumours of wormhole technology or humanech hybrids built for interstellar travel, but it was all top secret, far beyond Amber’s clearance. She knew the space station was their crown jewel.
“Get me home,” she said in the empty lift. There was a taxi waiting for her when she reached the street. As it took her through the heavy, stinking traffic, Amber looked up through the glass of the roof and noticed a round black drone weaving back and forth above them.
“My minder?” she said.
“You got it,” Emily said. “Seeing what I can find out about the little fucker,” she said, and went quiet again. Amber smiled despite it all.
The ITSA apartment was small but comfortable, a bedroom and a living area in the middle of a seven–storey stack of them. Since Amber had got into ITSA she had lived alone, and she had never needed more space than this. She had hoped, if she had received the promotion, to try living with someone else. With Rob. Now it was impossible.
She looked to the window. The small drone had already attached itself to the outside of the pane, a black circle against the white of the mist outside.
“Em, curtains,” she said. The windows darkened to black.
“Can it see? Hear?” Amber said quietly.
“Nope,” Emily said. “Visual spectrum only. It’s a piece of shit, frankly. Dryer must not think much of us.”
Amber went to her bedside cabinet and opened the drawer.
“Now that is a spectacularly stupid idea,” Emily said.
“What have I got to lose?” she said. “He wants me gone.”
“He’s doesn’t control everything,” Emily said. “The investigation could exonerate you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Amber said. “I’ll never make promotion. And I’m the only one who’s going to look.”
Emily was silent for more than a second, a sign that some stupendous calculations were going on somewhere in Amber’s spinal column. There was an unspoken question; implant administrators were supposed to report any illegal behaviour.
“OK,” Emily replied, at last.
Amber lifted the darknet watch out of the drawer and sat on the bed, staring into the orange light.
When it became apparent that the internet, once seen by some as a haven for freethinkers and anonymity, was actually almost entirely recorded, monitored and analysed by the security services of all the world’s most powerful democracies, not to mention the world’s most powerful tyrannies, a generation of hackers found themselves carrying an addiction to a place of safety and freedom that no longer existed.
Some of the world’s greatest subversive minds turned to building a replacement that could not be compromised by any authority, that would be founded on anonymity, impossible to record or track or trace. The darknet protocol used existing wireless technology to bounce signals via different physical and software proxies at great speed.
It didn’t work, of course. It was still traceable. But it was enough to give the hope, at least, of anonymity, to the careful user. The NSA and her international sister organisations had developed sophisticated algorithms to search writing style, key words, and habitual usage times, but on the darknet at least it seemed like the hackers had a chance.
Amber logged onto one of her profiles. She had been working on this one for years. She was a female tech enthusiast and mild ink addict known as Marduk, obsessed with the technology behind ink and ai, and looking, not very subtly, to find better ways to grow it. Amber had found that she had spent so long in the persona that she did not really have to think about how to talk or act when she was in it: it had become an actual part of her. This was dangerous, but it also made it a lot more realistic.
There was a whole series of “how are you?” messages waiting for her when she went online from a guy she’d been in contact with on and off for years. Long ago Rob had, as a favour, traced the guy to a teenage bedroom in Swansea; Stingray, known to his mum as Harry, was mostly harmless, but spent most of his waking life on the darknet, and had contacts all over the place, enough to get him a substantial prison sentence if he was caught by anyone who wanted to catch him. Amber had no intention of doing so; she found him useful. She also quite liked him. She was pretty sure that despite never ever having heard her voice or seen her face, he was in love with her, or thought he was; and this was useful, too. He was honest in his illegality, and had a sense of fun that you could sense even through clumsily profile–disguised text, which was probably what had made him all the darknet–friends in the first place.
She read all she could about the source of the signals but found nothing credible. Finally, after two hours, Stingray came online. He messaged her almost instantly, and she spoke to the watch to respond.
STINGRAY: thought you were dead!
MARDUK: hey there.
S: where’ve u been?? you’re never online
M: sorry. busy with, you know, rl stuff
S: o yea? Like what?
M: ha
S: aww
M: don’t want to wake up with you standing over my bed
S: awww. listen, you been too off the net to read about the signal?? you hear the thing about scotland?
M: the signal ive heard about, obviously. scotland, no.
S: yea. listen, some girl from, apparently, scotland, or with very strong scottish indicators, posted a message on the front forum saying shes been imprisoned by inkers
M: yeah, good for her…
S: no, listen, she put a photo up too. shows these massive tanks of ink, bigger than anyones ever seen. people are saying maybe it’s the source of the signal
M: wow, a photo
S: yea, well, some very smart people have looked into it. there’s some quantum crypto stuff the watches do with rl photos, to make sure they’re, you know, real. and this one looks real. they’re as sure as they can be, they say. ive spoken to some pretty high up people. & they say theyre as certain as they can be.
M: huh
Amber sat back, her heart racing. She would have to be careful now. Stingray was besotted with her, or at least with the textual mannerisms she adopted and the attention she gave him. He was probably telling the truth.
MARDUK: i have missed a lot. link me?
STINGRAY: its been voted off, was bringing too much heat.
M: oh. u got the photo?
S: ive seen it. not many have
M: oh yea
S: i have! it was on a timer. i shouldn’t even be telling you
M: ok then
S: ughh, i have. ive still got the text, you wanna see that? not many people have even seen the actual text, lots of people know the gist but not the exact text. but i memorised it before the timer ran out. wanna see?
M: sure
S: just a sec, typing it out
S: whe
Amber stretched, her neck stiffening from too long hunched over the watch. WHE was paranoiac shorthand for “Walls Have Ears” – he didn’t want to dictate it into his watch in case a drone was listening. She sat back on the bed and made herself more comfortable with a pillow, putting a couple of books in front of her and resting the watch on them. It blinked as a new message was received.
STINGRAY: i am a prisoner in a massive ink den they make thousands of gallons of ink for experiments and theyre experimenting on me and im pregnant and they wont let me leave
S: thats it
S: word for word
S: i memorised it all in the 10 secs
S: they’re calling her the mutant mary
S: people think she’s got an ink baby in her, thats what sent out the signal
S: calling the GSE home
“Would be good to see that photo…” Emily said.
“Shh,” Amber said.
MARDUK: fun
M: just talk without the photo though
STINGRAY: i cant, i cant share it, i don’t even have it
M: its fine if u dont trust me
M: sensible
S: no i do, i do, ive known you for long enough lol
S: i just dont have it, they wouldnt trust me with a permanent copy, they havent known me long enough
M: ahh. youve not seen it. im not interested anyway. if theres anything to it itll turn up again.
S: i just dont have it, they wouldnt trust me with a permanent copy, they havent known me long enough, i promise you ive seen it
Amber didn’t reply. She sat back, and waited.
S: u there?
She checked. She was still showing as online. She waited, picked up the watch, put it on her bed, grabbed one of her books of ITSA regulations from underneath and started flicking through. After a couple of minutes she checked the watch again.
S: hey, u still there?
She put the watch in her bedside drawer, closed it, and went to the darkened window, wiping a small space with her hand to look through, the intelligent glass clearing for her like steam. The rain had stopped and darkness was falling. The mist was still thick. She could faintly hear cars beeping and people shouting far below. She counted to a hundred and then wiped the darkness back over, walked quickly back to the bed and opened the drawer. There was another message.
STINGRAY: theres a very small chance i could get the file again – you interested? you couldnt tell anyone, like ever, or theyd blacklist this profile. might even try and hunt me down.
MARDUK: thatd be cool. send it over. I wont tell
S: ok
S: be on in a couple of hours. ill message you ok? be here, itll be on a timer
M: ill be here
Amber waited, surfing the darknet, bored. She wanted desperately to speak to Robert but she knew she’d have to wait. Over four and a half hours passed and, just when her eyes were drifting shut against the faint glow of the screen, the message box popped up.
STINGRAY: hey, you there?
MARDUK: finally!
M: yea, im here
M: 2 hours my ass
S: yea sorry, i got the file, though, it’s on a timer but here it is
M: you did?
M: this better be good
S: enjoy, tell anyone and im dead…
A prompt appeared. “Accept photo, yes, no.”
“Emily,” Amber said.
“Yep.”
“Can you catch this?”
“I’ll do my best,” she said.
“Ready?” Amber said.
“Ready.”
“Count me down,” Amber said.
“Ten,” Emily said. A photo appeared and filled Amber’s vision, a dark, high room with large beams crossing at the top and bare stone walls at the side —“Nine.” In the centre were the first two of what looked like twin rows of high reflective silver containers – “Eight,” —with glass portholes in each, white on the left, black on the right – “Seven,” —it looked like ink, yes, and judging by the size of the containers, it was more than she’d ever seen before.
“You getting this?” Amber said.
“No, it’s been done well – six – I can’t see it. I’ll keep trying. Five.”
“Shit,” Amber said, scanning as quickly as she could for any sign of a location. A concrete floor, a large bush in a big pot, what looked like shutters behind the vats – “Four,” —and reflected on the vats, warped by the curvature, what looked like desks, piles of books – “Three,” —and there, squashed reflection on the left side of the right tank —“Two,” – a figure, holding something, it was the person taking the photo —“One,” – and there above her, stretched, hanging white pods, VR suits, occupied VR suits, all white to show they weren’t looking out, except one, the facemask gone transparent, and Amber could just see a warped and disturbing face, looking out –
The photo disappeared abruptly. Amber released her breath.
“Gone. You get it?” she said.
“Sorry,” Emily said. “Some decent crypto and evasion stuff they had going on. I couldn’t even pick up anything from the screen, it was cycling through wavelengths on a special pattern or something.”
“Oh, man,” Amber said. “Vats, concrete floor, like a barn, shutters at the end, someone dressed in black taking the photo in the reflection, some VR pods hanging behind her. One of them was looking at her.”
“Wish I could look straight in your viz cortex,” Emily said.
“That would be very illegal. What’s happened to you?”
“Your bad influence.”
“Hmm. It looked real,” Amber said. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Nope,” Emily said.
“Maybe our friend can give me another look,” Amber said.
MARDUK: huh
STINGRAY: what dyou think?
M: dunno
S: you dunno?
S: god knows what sort of tracking theyve got on me
M: i just dunno
M: looks fake to me
S: fake?
M: ye. the reflections look a bit off
S: a bit off?
M: just a hunch
M: this signal’s driven everyone crazy
S: some really smart people think its real
S: psh. this stuff is wasted on u
M: probably.
M: thanks tho ;)
S: youre welcome…
M: can i have another look? did u see that face?
S: face? no face. just vats of ink
S: and no, that was my copy. i couldn’t send it u and keep it for myself too.
S: all gone now.
M: oh well
M: thanks, tho
“Fuck!” Amber said, out loud.
“Fuck,” agreed Emily.
Dryer had had the ITSA techs shut off Amber’s outside calling abilities through her personal watch, but Emily was able to tap into the darknet through the illegal one and get a call through to Robert’s personal line. Amber had her make a small wooden boat out on the sea near the beach–desktop. It rocked gently.
“Leave us for this one,” Amber said. “Please just make sure they’re not listening.”
“Natch,” she said. “I’ll say goodnight – shout if you want me back before I wake you up.”
“Night.”
“Night, boss.”
She sat and waited. Robert appeared suddenly and jumped forward to hug her. She surprised herself by bursting into tears.
“Christ,” he said, after she’d recovered. “Are you OK?”
“Not really,” Amber said. “Physically fine though, my skull got a bit fucked up but they fixed me. Nothing permanent.”
“They wouldn’t tell me anything. At first you were in hospital, but they wouldn’t let me come, and I thought – and then you were out but they wouldn’t let me talk to you. What the hell happened?”
“My promotion prospects are looking a bit bleak,” she said. “I got into an argument with my boss, disobeyed an order, bought a darknet watch, killed a local and a Chinese. Now I could be tried under local laws. Dryer’s throwing me to the wolves.”
