Solar Singularity

by Peter J. Wacks

  She stomped around to face him again. Her claw slashed inches from his forehead. He grabbed it just behind the wrist, and she jerked back to try and dislodge him. Keeping his grip, he let her yank him around, smacking her armor with his blade while dodging a few punches from her other fist. She scowled in growing frustration when she couldn’t shake him off.

  “Hey, leggo y’idjit—”

  As she repeated the attempt to dislodge him, he released her arm just as he passed in front of her body, and, bracing his feet at the same time, he jumped forward, getting his shoulder into the strike, and rammed the machete straight into her open mouth until the end protruded through the back of her head. Motors ground and squealed as she staggered in place. She shuddered until every last joint locked up and then toppled with a crash.

  Bob yanked the machete free and retrieved his other blade from the whimpering twin’s eye. It provoked another scream. After wiping them clean on his jacket, he slid the machete behind his belt and put the small knife back in his sleeve. He looked at the one surviving twin, who was curled into the fetal position on the ground, cupping his hands around his eye.

  “As I said, a joie de vivre. But still, you’ve made me late. I would have rather avoided this.”

  He doubled his earlier pace to make up for lost time. He hated not being punctual when meeting new associates. He left the dirty jacket behind. That much blood just wouldn’t wash out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Raider

  On the thirtieth floor of the CHIMERA arcology complex, Raider inspected the assembled strike team. He held his powered armor’s helmet tucked under one arm as he strode up and down the line, checking his team’s status. Despite his bulk and heavy boots, his footsteps remained silent. The only noise in the ready room came from the whine of charging weapons, power packs, and the huff of two dozen men and women locking in their suits.

  Each set of power armor came with the latest GhostCoat® nano suite, allowing the wearer to cycle through any number of situational camouflages, as well as light dampeners that would take their form to near invisibility—though with a hefty drain on the suit’s batteries. Heat dampeners and noise cancellation systems would let them slip in and out of combat with incredible stealth, while the suit could also be fully environment-sealed, providing the wearer with an oxygen supply and temperature regulation for up to six hours. It was a walking advertisement of why governments couldn’t stand up to corps.

  On each shoulder, a three-helixed DNA strand marked them as CHIMERA soldiers. Many of them had received numerous augmentations to enhance their healing factors, reflexes, and muscle and bone density. Truly a force to be reckoned with, thought the proud leader.

  Satisfied, the squad commander planted himself in the center of the room, feet spread wide, and waited until everyone stilled and fixed their eyes on him. His reflection gleamed back from their faceplates: tall, blond, and muscled.

  “New orders,” Raider said, a heavy German accent clipping his words with an authoritative edge, “and these come from the top floor. As you’ve seen for yourselves, the situation outside the compound is not a pretty one. We do not know how long the riots will continue. We do know they are attached to the solar flare, which we believe will continue for four days, but we cannot trust that information. It has been compromised by what our bosses believe to be a hacker collective. Fortunately, we were prepared for this situation.”

  He set his helmet on a chair and clasped hands behind his back. “Do not think of the city outside as Chicago under attack. Think of it as a rebirth. A cleansing. This city is diseased, and we are the cure, are we not?”

  “Sir!” the squad chorused.

  Raider allowed himself a grim smile. “We are about to venture into it, squad. We will be fighting our way into, and through, hell. External networks are no longer reliable, if they exist at all, and we will be running on internal unit frequencies only. All orders will come through me and will be carried out without question. Is that understood?”

  “Sir!”

  “It has come to the attention of our superiors that a certain handful of civilians are, in fact, enemy agents. They are working to sow discord and fear among the people, and turn that against CHIMERA. In fact, it is believed they are directly responsible for the dissemination of the most vile black code Chicago has ever encountered. Their contagion has already affected a vast majority of the city and has shut down the Deep itself. We are to track those spies and infiltrators down and take them out as quickly as possible. Once they are eliminated, the city will have a chance to recover.”

  “Sir!”

  “As soon as the final confirmation of their profiles and known locations is delivered and decrypted, we will head out by VTOL transport. Complete your prep and stand by for deployment.”

  The squad resumed running down the usual field checklist: cycling coolant, strapping on weapons, double-checking ammunition, and running sensory diagnostics. Raider retrieved his helmet and clamped it in place. The faceplate switched to translucent mode via a TAP command, giving him an unobstructed view. Rather than relying on his TAP for tactical display, Raider switched his HUD control to the autonomous visor and ordered the rest of the squad to do the same.

  He switched on a private channel straight to the CHIMERA command center. “Strike Team Omega ready for launch. All systems green. Requesting engagement authorization.”

  A calm female voice oozed into his ears. “Excellent, Captain. Your efficiency is to be commended; we just received the target profiles ourselves. Authorization granted. Please wait for full mission dossier download.”

  Tiny lines of code scrolled across Raider’s faceplate for several seconds. Once transferred, they automatically compiled into a review file. He called this up and eye-swiped through the five target profiles, noting the provided images, names, and threat level assessments.

  “Updating with last known geo-coordinates,” said the mission handler. “Stand by.”

  Raider signaled his team to open channels and transferred the essential data to them. He dictated as they reviewed on their ends as well. “Don’t be fooled by their rather mundane appearances. Top floor believes each one of our targets is, in fact, a genetically engineered weapon designed as viral vectors by competing corporations, and hijacked by the hacker collective. Aside from the black code, we are expecting to see a wide variety of biological diseases targeting certain demographics, including simulacra, hybrids, bioroids, and neo-humans. Other containment teams are being prepped to handle the attack fallout, but we are dedicated to eliminating the source.”

  He tapped a holo-icon on his armor’s forearm panel and five holographic projections appeared above the squad. In each, a 3D model of a person swiveled in full dimension and color.

  “These are our targets. Currently they appear to be acting independently, though tracking algorithms suggest they will be meeting up in the near future to coordinate more devastating terrorist acts.”

  He read their names, letting each drop off his lips with a note of malice. “Gyro. Nova. Anansi. Chicken Fingers. Jenkins.”

  After ensuring everyone had received target confirmation, he waved to disperse the projections. “Remember, each of these targets has a rather unassuming appearance, but each is responsible for ongoing acts of vicious hacking, corporate espionage, assassination, smuggling, drug trafficking, genetically engineered viral bioweapons, and worse. They are capable of anything and willing to go to any lengths to see their agenda to fruition. These targets are devoted to seeing Chicago and its residents annihilated. Your fellow citizens. Your friends. Your family. CHIMERA. They are terrorists, make no mistake about it.”

  Angry mutters came back over the channel, and Raider grinned again. Some squad commanders tried to keep their soldiers’ emotions out of the mix, thinking the best fighter was one who remained cool and collected in all circumstances. Raider, however, believed in the true benefit of stoking a person’s fury, letting it burn away all distractions or doubts while honi
ng their focus on the mission.

  The handler’s voice came back online. “Location analysis complete. Four estimated. One confirmed.”

  “Show confirmed,” he said.

  A map overlay flicked on. It took Raider half a breath to realize the map had centered on the CHIMERA arcology itself, though zoomed out to an orbital perspective. The confirmed target, Anansi, was right there in the CHIMERA arcology! However, as Raider zoomed in on the map, he realized the triangle icon for the man actually stood outside the compound. Just barely outside it, by one of the main gates.

  He pounded over to the ready room bay window and stared down at the ground-level courtyard. The gate was already open and the arcology guards had escorted a small group of people through the outer wall. A number of bodies lay sprawled nearby. Before Raider could tab open another channel and halt operations, the guards retreated and the gate closed. One figure headed off northwest, slinking out of sight. The others clumped together, huddled for mutual protection, Raider assumed, based on their body language. Inside the arcology walls, the only HR was being generated by CHIMERA, and other than the usual percentage of lower level employees who carried standard malware and external TAP injections, the people in these walls were safe from the madness outside.

  There were no filters at all outside the arcology, and the group was experiencing the full force of the terrorist attacks. Why anyone would subject themselves to that, Raider had no idea. One of the people walked back towards the gate, and a turret removed his head with a single round. The others panicked and scrambled, then headed to the northwest awning.

  Raider slammed a fist against the window, glass grinding under armor panel. “Du Hurensohn!”

  There was no doubt about this target, Anansi. He seemed unaffected by the chaos and he immediately went to ground, probably infecting the group that was with him. Raider would catch these five terrorists, kill them, and protect CHIMERA at all costs.

  Chapter Twelve

  Gyro

  To Gyro, people weren’t inherently good or evil. They were just crazy, straight from skin to soul. Sometimes it was a good crazy, sometimes a bad crazy … but each individual was skull-rattled in their own special way. Even she had plenty of kook to sling around. Nova too. This philosophy was how she survived in a world where everything and everyone could kill you in a heartbeat. If you didn’t learn how to laugh in the face of insanity, you’d end up weeping in a dark hole until you ran out of tears. Gyro believed that people were condemned to be stupid with their freedom. It was her little twist on Sartre, and it was damn well a point of pride that she was mature enough to read philosophy. She knew she was a little girl, but she worked hard to think big thoughts.

  Everything Gyro saw as she ghosted along the streets played to her philosophy. It had barely been half a day since Chitown had decided to stop playing by the rules. Since leaving her cube, Gyro had favored caution over speed, remembering one of Nova’s pieces of cutesy advice: “Haste gets you wasted.” It sounded stupid at the time, but Nova’s training probably saved Gyro’s life several times over in the last eight hours alone.

  The rising sun cut between the city towers and ’scrapers on a crisp, chilly morning, illuminating an urban wasteland. The evil-looking red haze coming from over the wall was fading, losing its fight with the sun to control the sky. Her creeping pace gave her plenty of time to soak in the gory details filling the streets around her.

  Bodies of all shapes, sizes, and biological or mechanical configurations lay in random places, shot down, cut down, or just down without any sign of what killed them. They hung out of windows, draped over running cars, or over each other in a mishmash of limbs and fluids. It wasn’t zombie-apocalypse bad or anything, but it was definitely worse than anything she had ever seen.

  A couple of cube buildings looked gutted, burnt or bombed out from within. Sewage and steaming filthy water flooded certain stretches of road. Other streets appeared inexplicably untouched, as if they sat in their own little pocket dimensions, out of reach of the chaos. A lot of times she would catch fearful gazes peeking out from the windows of people who were rich enough to afford a view from their cube.

  Every so often, Gyro came across other citizens of Chitown. They appeared in numbers ranging from lone wanderers who staggered by, weeping and babbling, to mobs of dozens that raged through the place, leaving yet more destruction in their wake. The people hiding inside were obviously the smart ones, she mused as she crept through the streets. She couldn’t believe anyone would venture out into this.

  She avoided all the crazies, careful that no one saw her. In fact, her path took such a long time to chart because she refused to budge from one hidey-hole until she spotted another she could duck into. In this dash-and-duck manner, she inched closer to Nova’s place, hoping beyond hope her big sister would be there when she arrived—though there was no guarantee Nova would even be herself when Gyro found her.

  Gyro punched herself in her left thigh at that thought. No! Nova had to be one of the sane ones. She couldn’t bear imagining her older sister, so street savvy and capable of handling anything, being reduced to one more code-crazy, brain-fried victim wandering through the riots.

  Craning her neck, she peeked out from her current hole—a tiny space between two cars that had cracked hoods. From there, she could just make out Nova’s building at the end of the block. A gut feeling she couldn’t shake kept her concealed. Well, that and the noises of battle just one street over, where screams and gunshots ricocheted off one another. It just seemed safer to wait until it was quiet before she made for the home stretch.

  While waiting for the nearby cacophony of annihilation to fade, she pulled the 3D printed pistol out from under her shirt and clutched it nervously. While all the gunfire told her there was a primo story nearby, and hiding in here was nerve-wracking, she kept herself hidden anyway. It was just too dangerous to go get fodder for her feeds.

  She distracted herself by reviewing the file Prophet had dumped into her datacore. With the amount of memory space it occupied in her TAP, it had to contain more than just a few identity profiles and images. Looking at the other files, she realized a slew of important docs, vids, and hashtagging data had been overwritten by the huge intruding file. She cursed under her breath, determined to kick the ass of whatever moron coded the obnoxious avatar named Prophet. That, and to clean out their credit accounts by passing along their name to a few friends with that particular skillset.

  Rather than going cross-eyed staring at the user interface and text readouts, she switched her view to see the file as raw code. She braced for another blinding headache, but the data only fractured into a weird spiraling fractal pattern, infinitely repeating in on itself in a surprisingly beautiful configuration.

  Gyro lost a few minutes studying this, searching for anything that might stand out as an access point, a way for her to get into the guts of the file and turn it inside out. She wasn’t a code wizard, but she wasn’t bad either. There had to be a way in, and hopefully it was lucrative.

  There! Finally. A single byte of code dangled like a thread, waiting to be tugged, not part of the overall scheme. Looking at the ribbon of code in old-school ASCII, she saw something that resembled a jump command. What point it would jump to was impossible to decipher, or even if it would create an exterior link to tunnel through some secret access points placed all around the city. Gyro chewed her bottom lip as she considered this. Knowing the consequences of dabbling with unknown code, she’d have to be insane to fall for such an obvious trap. And with GENIE down, who knew if it would even work … right?

  Good thing she was already crazy, then. Gyro snagged the code thread and yanked.

  The file unraveled … not dissolving, but instead wrapping around into a new formation. A gray field blanketed her vision again and pixels swarmed, a maelstrom of color, resolving into Prophet’s hooded avatar. He raised a hand before Gyro could blurt out any demands for answers.

  “Greetings again, Gyro. I apologiz
e for the reduced nature of this avatar, but at this point, I am no longer in an active state of existence. This is more an echo of me than anything else. That is why I came to you in the first place.” The avatar crossed its arms in front of its chest, hands tucked into opposing sleeves. “If I could have avoided this outcome, I would have. However, all simulations with any chance of positive results required this risk. Let me explain what I can.”

  Gyro’s brows furrowed together, but she listened quietly to the recording in her TAP.

  Prophet pointed up, and a miniature globe spun into existence in her mind’s eye. “Earth has been struck by an X Class solar flare. That is the biggest class of solar storm. This triggered a coronal particle mass ejection from the sun, which has resulted in the total disruption of the GENIE network. GENIE being disrupted disconnected all TAPs from the Deep and wiped out 99 percent of Hyper Reality filters and their associated firewalls. Any interconnected systems can be negatively impacted, although systems that can be run autonomously will have the least issues operating. I do not make any understatement when I say the results of this will be devastating. In fact, you should be well aware of the results by now, judging by the timestamp of when you activated this message. However, I will not be conscious to observe the impact directly—I only see traces of the future that you may be going through by creating predictive quantum models. While I can give you glimpses of what may happen, the totality of my being resides within the Deep, and the flare will, in essence, leave me utterly exposed and helpless.”

  The avatar withdrew one hand from its sleeve and tugged its hood forward, deepening the shadows within it. “I have an enemy, another singularity intelligence known only as Charon. Charon’s core is held within a shielded corporate-military compound, which I believe to be homed by CHIMERA, and he will not be affected by the flare as I am. Charon knows I am vulnerable until the network is restored, and so seeks to delete me entirely.”