Silicon Uprising
Page 7
A distant gray SUV grew steadily larger but was too far away to make out the faces and clothes of the two occupants.
Goons, or maybe just a family. No pedestrians on the sidewalks nearby had a good view of him, so Jason ducked down. He hoped nobody noticed and actually gave a damn.
If goons drove past and saw him down there, he would need a great bullshit story to explain his actions. Seeking to get even lower, he managed to stuff his head under the driver’s-side entertainment and control panel, then bumped his ear into something solid. “Ouch,” he said.
He managed to slide his butt off the seat and onto the floor. If the goons tapped into the traffic data system, they could find out that his weight had left the seat without anyone leaving the vehicle. Maybe his SUV was too old to send that information to the system. He still didn’t know.
He opened the pistol compartment and wrapped his hand around the weapon’s grip.
If they stopped, he’d come out shooting. For the first time in seven years he held a gun while in real danger. He recalled the image of his young hands firing a pistol wildly at a fleeing raider while his brother, Tom, sat bleeding behind him.
His body froze as the sound of tires on the road approached from the rear.
Jason waited to hear any sign that the vehicle was slowing. When the sound rushed through the door beside him from only feet away, he had a vision of the vehicle preparing to pull up in front of him with doors already opening. He tightened his grip on the gun.
He’d always known peace wouldn’t last. Society had not had its final reckoning with the darkness that had fallen upon it during the Strife. It had pushed it aside for a few good years, and for a while he had shared in the delusion that violent upheaval was a thing of the past.
The lower-pitched whoosh of tires continued to fade ahead of him. Jason held his phone just high enough for the camera to peek over the dash.
Further down the street the gray SUV turned into the motel parking lot.
Jason sat up again. Where the hell had the contact gone? Maybe he was waiting in the motel because of goon activity in the area. Jason sat for a minute, grabbed a soda to occupy himself with, and then left the vehicle.
Act normal and drink soda. But try not to look like you’re acting normal. Damn it.
Maybe he was overthinking it a bit. Look at that guy drinking soda. Off to the death camp with him!
He followed the sidewalk and the motel came into view. The two men from the SUV were walking back to the vehicle with a third man between them. To the casual observer it was just three guys, but one was walking awkwardly close to the new man, with one arm hidden, like he was bending back a finger or holding a gun to him. The prisoner’s sweaty face said terror and resignation.
The man had a bald scalp with hair on either side and a handlebar mustache. The contact? He looked older than midthirties, but maybe stress had gotten to him in the last year. If only Susan had provided a better description.
He averted his eyes and kept walking while sipping soda. Further down he stopped at a burger shop and looked at the menu. He glanced back toward the motel. The SUV was leaving.
Jason walked back the way he’d come.
Just before the motel, he encountered a man of about fifty who walked toward him with perfect posture and confidence but had an unkempt beard and faded casual clothes. He eyed Jason with a slightly questioning look.
Susan had given Jason a secret question that he could ask the wrong person without causing suspicion. Why not try it? At least this guy stood out.
As the man was about to pass, Jason looked him in the eyes and said, “Hey, is there a pet shop around here?”
“It closed down,” the man replied. “I bought a T. rex there once. It ate my grandmother.”
“You should have kept it on a leash.”
Jason and the stranger both laughed.
“Susan’s sense of humor,” Jason said.
“As always.”
“What happened to the other guy?”
“Looked like he had heat on him. He’s holed up in my trailer. I live in an off-grid community near here.”
“You’re a Gridder? I’ve heard of you guys, but I’ve never seen anything in the media about it.”
“No chance of that. Half-Bit doesn’t want us mentioned at all.” He extended his hand. “I’m Bob.”
Jason introduced himself and shook Bob’s hand. They headed toward the SUV.
“Your community,” Jason said. “How does it work?”
“People have been doing this for a long time, but it’s much more organized now.”
“Highly organized simplicity,” Jason said.
Bob laughed. “Yeah. We have about two dozen trailers and cabins in a secluded spot. Solar power and rainwater. We have many contacts in the mainstream community, so we go out and do jobs in return for goods at an agreed value, or services in kind. A barter economy of a sort. We have no network connections, no utilities, nothing in our names anywhere. I’ve heard there are some communities that produce everything they need and are completely cut off. Hard-core, those are. I bet they’re pretty poor though.”
“They would be. You guys have no vehicles?”
“None. Don’t miss ’em personally. I remember when you took responsibility for yourself instead of having a computerized nanny haul your ass around inside a damned motorized baby carriage.”
“Computer control saved a lot of lives.”
“Yeah, I get you. Everything’s a compromise. We’ve lost something though. Would you believe I was a robotics engineer?”
“Ironic.”
“Maybe I’d still do it if I wasn’t excommunicated.”
“Oh,” Jason said. “You’re the first I’ve met.”
The CMC allowed nobody to use that word due to the religious connotation. Officially it had declared Bob a “Disruptive Individual” and prevented him from accessing the Internet.
“How effective is it?” Jason asked.
“I could use an Internet café if I didn’t write much or communicate with old associates. It’s amazing how easily it detects you based on a few words, keystroke timings, mouse technique, and who you’re talking to.”
“Well they’re putting face-recognition cameras in Internet cafés now, so you can’t use the net there either.”
Bob chuckled. “I bet they are. I saw that coming and made sure I didn’t need them.”
“So it made being a Gridder an attractive idea?”
“Ever tried to pay a utility account—or any account—without going online? You can’t anymore.”
“Can’t you get somebody to pay it for you?”
“That’s classed as providing Internet access for the excommunicated. Illegal! But I don’t care anymore. I have a community.”
“What work do you do?”
“Maintain most of the mechanical things. I find it meaningful. But you kids can probably build an automated world that works if you overthrow this tyrannical mess.”
Jason laughed. “Am doing that, apparently. How do you guys travel out to jobs?”
“A guy who owns a small bus, but he’s not one of our people. He takes us out in the morning, and back in the evening, for a small price. But he didn’t show yesterday or today.”
“Guy with a bald scalp, hair on either side, and a handlebar mustache?”
Bob raised his eyebrows. “That’s him. He here?”
“Arrested in that motel. Quietly.”
“Damn. What the hell was he doing there? He didn’t live there.”
“Holed up maybe. Who knows what’s going on, it’s messed up.”
They got into the SUV.
Jason said, “Half-Bit has microphones in public places and in all new cars now, officially to monitor incidents. It can detect violence by listening in, that’s true enough.”
“Yeah, there’s always a ‘true enough’ or a ‘greater good’ or whatever. And you guys get fined for saying the wrong thing now. Why put up with it?”
Jason smiled. “You get fined for complaining about the fines.”
“Gawd. Of course you do.”
“Twenty bucks for ‘wrong speech’ now. I first started getting pissed off when the ‘five-dollar speech’ propaganda wave hit. Half-Bit isn’t creative enough to come up with the propaganda it’s been using. A cynical totalitarian asshole has to be behind it.”
“Interesting,” Bob replied. “That’s a dangerous combination. Him and the AI.”
“Worse, people who report you for saying one unacceptable thing or another get one of their own fines waived. So everyone has shut up around anyone they don’t trust.”
“Let me guess—Half-Bit takes the silence as a sign of increased order.”
“A success, yes,” Jason said.
Bob nodded. “Another reason why our community grows.”
“Maybe they arrested the bus owner to make it harder for you. They can’t spare the manpower to bust up all of the Gridder communities,” Jason said.
“Well, we’re not going voluntarily. We’ll ride bicycles into town instead. Meanwhile, you’d better meet your contact and clear out before any shit hits.”
“Do you know if this car is too old to upload data, like butts on seats, trip information?”
“It is. You’re clear. Expect a change in the law to force it to the scrap yard soon enough, though.”
“Won’t need it for that long.”
Ten minutes out of town, they turned down a dirt road, drove through a wooded area, and arrived on the edge of a cluster of trailers and small cabins, arranged at various angles to each other and separated by curvy, winding paths. The settlement lay next to small fields of wheat and corn, with a large patch of various vegetables in the nearest corner. The crops weren’t in great condition.
“Hard growing here,” Jason said.
“Yeah, not great. But it’ll do.”
Bob led him to a trailer near the entrance, knocked on the door, and motioned for Jason to step inside, then closed the door without entering.
Jason noticed immediately the fit man in his thirties sitting on a couch against the long wall at the far end. Somehow he seemed like a wise king in a palace instead of a man in a trailer. He rose to greet Jason.
“You must be Jason. I’m Michael.”
They shook hands.
Something had torn through his neck at some point and left a scar below chin level under his right ear. He possessed the inner peace of a man whom darkness had done its best to destroy, but who’d survived. He looked upon Jason with a smile that wanted nothing from him.
Michael motioned at the chair opposite. “Sit down. I heard you made a dramatic entrance into our little organization.”
“It was pretty ballistic,” Jason replied as he dropped into the seat. “But my friend never made it that far.”
“Yes, I’m sorry to hear about that. Things are heating up,” Michael replied. Something in the pattern and vibration of his voice calmed any anxious energy that stirred in Jason’s heart. As if everything would be all right, even if he died.
“You will train with me for a while. We need to get to know you. But it won’t be long before we’ll ask a lot of you. We don’t really get to decide the schedule. The CMC does that.”
Jason shrugged. “That thing at Zarather’s mansion kind of dumped me into the frying pan, but I have no skills for this crap. Just so you know.”
“We all feel that way in the beginning. You can do more than you realize. We’re going to stay with friends of the Black Doves on a large block of land. I’ll train you there.”
Jason gave him a wily smile. “You not being at the meeting place was a test.”
“Wanted to see how you handled a small problem first. You passed. I didn’t plan for some goons to roll right past you but it was perfect.”
Bob burst through the door, panting. “Police! They’re on the road. A long line of cars.”
Jason leapt to his feet. “Normal police or gray cars?”
“Normal. Get the hell out of here. There’s a back road through the woods. Starts on the far side of the vegetable garden. Rough as guts but usable.”
Michael waved Jason out ahead of him. “You take your car. I’ll use mine.”
Jason flung himself into the SUV and began activating the computer even before he slammed the door. He kept his eyes peeled for cops arriving at the main entrance as his vehicle drove around the perimeter road. After the entrance passed out of sight, he turned his attention ahead.
A track led off into the trees in about the right place. He directed the SUV down it. Michael’s car came charging around the vegetable garden and followed him. Fortunately the ground was damp enough not to raise much dust.
Jason relaxed as he lost sight of the settlement through the forest. Bob wasn’t joking about the condition of the track. Bumps bounced him around in the seat and nearly knocked his head on the side window. The SUV’s computer issued a warning about excess wear on the suspension and steering, but Jason said “ignore” and it maintained the highest speed possible that would still leave the vehicle in one piece.
For five minutes he braced himself and hoped that the SUV would hold together. His attention dashed between the ground ahead, for anything destructive the AI driver might miss, and the rearview, for any police who might appear far back.
Michael’s car had fallen behind as it suffered more than the SUV on the rough track. The headlights flashed. Jason pulled over and Michael drove up alongside him.
“Not the best for this kind of terrain,” Jason said, waving a hand at the car.
“Best we could do at short notice,” Michael replied. He pointed ahead. “We’re nearly at a paved road. I’ll program your nav system with our destination. It’s a safe house a few hours’ drive from here. There we’ll go over the plan.”
“What do you suppose is happening back there?” Jason asked.
“Either they’re clearing them out or giving them notice to do so. They’ll at least search everything there to show who’s boss and collect intelligence.”
“Things are moving pretty fast now. Looks like Susan was right.”
“No time to waste. Let’s go.”
The sun had set by the time Jason arrived at a two-story house built on acreage, at the end of a long dirt driveway. He had followed Michael’s car all the way, with detours around facial recognition cameras adding an hour to the trip.
Michael climbed the stairs to speak to the old couple who owned the house, and returned with two sets of keys.
“We have the lower level to ourselves. Our friends will bring us dinner, and tomorrow morning we’ll do some shooting in the basement.” Michael raised his eyebrows and said, “Using earplugs, ’cause it’s gonna be loud down there. You handled firearms?”
“I did back when we needed them to save our asses. There are two Glocks in the SUV. You have heavier guns?”
“I don’t. You do. There are more secret compartments under the rear seats. You have two M4 carbines and two MP5 submachine guns.”
“Holy shit,” Jason said, “I’ve been driving around with an arsenal.”
“Surprised?”
“Not really, when I think about what he set up the SUV for. I bet he never expected the current situation though.”
“Well, the fact that he maintained everything suggests he thought that troubled times weren’t really over,” Michael said. “He was right.”
“I thought the same, but I was lying to myself.”
“You’re not the first.”
Ten
JASON TRAINED WITH Michael for only three days. Michael made him keep his living space, weapons, and meager belongings perfectly clean and orderly. At first the discipline was annoying, but he felt satisfied every time he returned to his neat quarters in the basement.
They ran a few miles each morning. On a patch of high ground Michael stopped
and told him to carefully observe the landscape and buildings. Jason succeeded in spotting more and more details each time, and rapidly increased his skill at making deductions from what he saw.
His firearm training did not go so well. He was less prepared for combat conditions that he liked to believe.
After shooting on the last day, Jason planted the empty pistol on the table, picked up a spent cartridge off the ground, and flung it at the target on the far side of the basement. Wildly scattered bullet holes in the paper testified to his sloppy aim. He seized the gun again and began reloading.
“You have an image in your mind,” Michael said. “Bullets hitting with perfect accuracy, and you feeling all inflated at the success. You grasp at it. The instant you grasp, you are disconnected from your body, its core, your arms, the machine you hold in your hands. It’s no wonder the shots go everywhere.”
Jason glared at the target and breathed out heavily. “Yeah. That’s interesting.”
“And your posture is all over the place. Put the gun down a moment.” Michael moved beside him and began to straighten him. “Back straight. Hips a little more forward. Your shoulders are slouched. That’s better. Now move your head toward the rear without sticking your nose in the air. Feet planted firmly so you’re like an ancient tree whose roots stretch to the Earth’s core.”
Jason felt the power of it, like all of his disparate parts suddenly became one.
“Take a deep breath.”
He breathed in, then let it slowly out. He looked down at the pistol and smiled. “The electrical solder holding Half-Bit’s circuits together is lead-free.” He grabbed the weapon. “Let’s add some.”
“That’s the cheesiest line I’ve heard all week,” Michael said.
“Yep. Bring the cheese.” He raised the pistol.
When the firing ended, the next target had a tight group of holes in the center.
“Now,” Michael said, “you’ll become too pleased with yourself and the old problem will reemerge. You must learn the lesson again and again until you find the place of balance.”
Jason sat down at the table and Michael joined him.