“There’s a right time for everything,” Wilberforce said. “I’d say you’ve chosen it.”
Gordon thumped his hands on the table. “All right, gentlemen, that’s a wrap. I’ll brief Jason and Ben on the details of the plan we’ll execute on the ground two days from now.”
Wilberforce left the table. The old politician had regained the energy and enthusiasm of his famous campaign. His speech promised to be a watershed moment.
Forty-Two
GORDON STOOD AND lifted his chair, tipped it up, used a neodymium magnet to pull a perfectly camouflaged wooden plug from the leg’s end, and removed a tightly rolled sheet of paper from inside. He replaced the plug and sat down.
“The kinetic weapon is a massive nickel-iron bolt clad with highly polished aluminum panels that we’ve tweaked at the atomic level to raise reflectivity even higher. Basically it’s cold and dark, except for a few narrow points of view with a direct solar reflection. It’s also shaped for radar stealth. Even so, the satellite can detect it in the final nine or ten minutes before impact. For luck we’ll jam it for twelve minutes. After the jammer activates, we defend it until atmospheric entry, or else.”
Gordon unrolled and flattened the paper, revealing an aerial photograph. “This is a commercial and light-industrial development built during the Strife. The idea was to get away from the more volatile areas near major cities.”
The photo showed a square industrial park divided into four blocks in a two-by-two grid. A smaller round block formed the center and cut the four inner corners of the other blocks. An access road stretched off the map on the east and west sides.
Gordon pointed at a low ridge off the west end of the development. “For us it’s convenient because we can place our jammer up the slope here with these buildings lying on a direct route between the jammer and the target. Now, this . . .”
He pointed to a building in the southwest lobe, near the center of the park.
“This is the three-story Archer Micro-Robotics building. Most others are two stories. We have someone who can get us in here without any risk of police attention. We’ll put a decoy antenna on the roof.”
“Are you sure the goons will come through the industrial park while they track the jammer?” Jason asked.
“It’s on the shortest route between the communication facility and our real jammer. The surrounding terrain sucks for fast travel.”
“So we make sure our decoy sticks out like a dog’s nuts and delay the goons near it long enough for the weapon to enter the atmosphere.”
“Exactly. The kinetic strike hits about ten minutes before seven on Sunday morning. Few people will be around. We expect a massive shock wave radiating out from the CMC bunker, but it won’t be lethal at the distance of the nearest populated area. It’ll be wild though.”
“Not as wild as holding off the goons and whatever else they throw at us.”
“True. Our strategy is to cause as much chaos and confusion as possible to stall them while they’re trying to get the wrong target. Defend the decoy until they destroy it or until it’s too late to search for the real one. Hopefully they’ll think it’s on another building further back.”
Gordon pointed at a building on the southern edge of the round center block, closer to the enemy approach.
“This is four stories high—the Duke building. It’s the highest point in the park. Goons might want to get up there and survey the area if they destroy the decoy and find out the jammer is still active. I want to make a stand here. We can fall back if the decoy is destroyed but it’s better to deny them access to this building.”
“This will be heavy,” Jason said.
“Yes it will. Expect these men to be determined. Our information says the CMC avoided any military involvement. Not surprising given the cleverly crafted rumors we’ve spread about the CMC staging the nuke theft, which killed two military personnel. All of which are true.”
“I believe it,” Jason said.
“The men at the comm facility probably work for this Lowgrave character, but they seem to have some military-grade hardware.”
“What if they have tanks?”
“We have Molotovs and a makeshift weapon that I hope will be enough. We have access only to the Archer rooftop in advance. When the shooting starts men will break into other buildings and go up.”
“No police attention until then.”
“Right. For the opening salvo we will blow up the car carrying the radio direction-finding equipment, if we can identify it. Someone will have to go forward and hide to do that. They’ll be stuck behind enemy lines afterward, but it’s worth it.”
“I’ll do it,” Jason said.
“It’s almost a suicide mission. You sure about that?”
“I’ve been behind enemy lines, kind of. Have any of your other soldiers?”
“No, not really.”
“Then I’m it.”
“Then so you are. I have a suppressed pistol for you, which may come in handy. Now, after Half-Bit is destroyed, this entire secret police organization will remain a grave threat. Fortunately the leadership seems to work mostly in the CMC bunker itself.”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “They’ve got a fine system for making toadies down there. I have a confession to make—I let slip to Lowgrave that you guys know about CMC theories before they’re implemented.”
Gordon laughed. “Not a bad thing. The obvious conclusion is we have a mole among Lowgrave’s men. He’s probably wasted time trying to find one who never existed. Anyway, the whole place will soon be rubble in a pool of molten rock. Get some sleep, gentlemen. Up at five for weapons practice.”
Forty-Three
JASON AWOKE WITH a vague feeling that something was amiss. He strained to identify dark formless shapes while trying to work out the time. Only the sounds of relaxed breathing came from the other beds. It felt like the early hours of the morning. After a few seconds his eyes managed to process the vague patterns that he could make out.
Someone stood beside his cot. Jason held his breath.
He let his eyelids fall but held them open enough to keep watching. Shielded by the sheet, which was pulled up high around his face, he hoped his eyes were too dark for the standing figure to know he’d woken.
The faintest rustle of fabric accompanied the person’s movement to the stairs and up toward the basement door. Quietly the door opened and closed.
Jason felt for his Glock and waited for a minute before sneaking upstairs himself. He paused at the open door and looked around inside the house. Silence. None of the shadows moved.
A faint click came from the kitchen.
Like a cat he moved to the kitchen entrance and stuck one eye around the corner. The soft glow of a phone screen revealed Ben with his back to Jason, typing something into the homeowner’s cell phone, which lay charging on the counter.
Silently Jason moved past the kitchen entrance to the living room and sneaked behind an armchair. That position afforded a view of the phone screen, which bore a one-line message too far away to see. An even shorter reply appeared. Ben opened the menu and deleted both his message and the reply. He began moving toward the hall.
Jason crept further around the armchair to stay hidden. Ben softly opened the front door and slipped outside. It made a near-inaudible thump when he closed it.
Half a minute later Jason opened it again and stopped halfway across the threshold to observe. Bathed in crescent moon light, Ben ran the hundred yards to the fence and then vaulted it. Skillfully he landed on his feet and continued across the neighbor’s land.
Jason made a stealthy sprint halfway to the fence and into concealment behind a tree.
Across the neighbor’s lot Ben jumped the fence to the roadside. There he sat on the patchy grass and waited. He turned and scanned the ground behind him for a while before focusing his attention down the road.
Jason would be exposed if he followed Ben’s path, but a massive tree grew halfway across the neighbor’s land be
tween him and Ben. Jason quietly jogged toward Ben’s position, keeping the tree between them. Silently he slipped across the first fence, then covered the remaining ground to the tree.
Through a tuft of grass beside the tree trunk he watched his quarry, who still stared expectantly down the road. Some distance away the neighbor’s house looked small and peaceful in the gloom. Another tree grew near the fence close to Ben’s position, but Jason would have no cover on the way there.
Once more Ben looked around behind him like a prey animal searching for a hidden lion.
He turned to face down the road.
Jason broke and ran as fast as he could manage while still keeping his footsteps soft. Headlights appeared far along the road. Ben pressed his knuckles on the ground and pushed up to stand. Thirty yards away Jason slowed to a slinking walk to reach the tree. He stole toward it while watching for any sign that Ben might be turning in his direction. At last he stood sideways against the trunk.
The car began pulling off the road. Light streamed past Jason’s tree, illuminating the ground on either side. The beams swept away again as the car straightened in front of Ben and parked. A door opened.
“What’ve you got?” a voice said.
“Only the whole plan,” Ben said. He sounded pleased with himself. “Attack method, date, time, and how they intend to foil early warning systems.”
Jason snaked his hand onto the Glock. His core muscles tensed up and he drew a slow, deep breath. The entire Black Dove movement hung on the plan. Nobody had come up with any alternative.
“Excellent work. I’ll call in a raid on the house and then debrief you back at the field base. Come with me.”
From behind the tree, Jason bolted out, cleared the fence in one leap, and charged directly at Ben with the Glock in both hands.
Startled, the men gawked at him for a second before Ben said, “Shit!” and went for a concealed weapon.
Jason stopped in a wide stance on bent knees, raised his pistol, and fired three rounds.
Ben crumpled backward against the car and slid to the ground.
One down. Jason began swinging the gun to aim at the contact in the car, but the man already had a pistol in his hand and raised it to point at him.
Jason leapt aside toward the road. Bullets from two shots whizzed past. He crouched in front of the car.
Its computer beeped to indicate it had powered up. Within seconds it would run him over or reverse away to give the gunman a clear shot.
He sprang up onto the hood and rapid-fired seven rounds through the windscreen, then leapt sideways to the ground behind the open door.
The man gurgled. A heavy object clunked onto the car floor.
All late-model cars had a microphone, and if the computer detected gunshots it reported to the system automatically. He needed to alert Gordon to evacuate the safe house. But sending the goons on a wild goose chase would help the Black Doves escape, so Jason set the car’s navigation to a far destination and shut the door. As the car accelerated away with its dead passenger, Ben’s body flopped to the ground.
Headlights appeared in the distance. Jason left the body, jumped the fence, and hid again behind the tree.
Light streamed past the tree again. The car pulled up.
“It’s not him. It’s Ben,” Gordon said.
Who did they think was a traitor? If he stepped out they might shoot first. But the fact he’d come in bare feet spoke in his favor.
“Maybe they’ve got him in that car,” Wilberforce said.
“Let’s go. Be ready for a firefight,” Gordon said.
“I’m here,” Jason said, and stepped out.
“Get in. We’re bailing.”
He ran to them.
“Good work by the way,” Gordon said as Jason nearly hurled himself onto the backseat. “I set up a discreet AI video system to spot anybody moving around outside. It woke me up in time for me to see Ben leave and you tailing him.”
“He told some goon that he’d gotten our whole plan. The damned rat.”
“The goon’s in that car?” Gordon shouted. “Let’s get after him.”
“No, no, I shot him too. Sent his car away myself.”
“You cunning devil. But my brother knew that when he recruited you.”
Gordon had already lifted the speed restrictions, so the car sped away from the area. Jason couldn’t help but think of the one percent risk per ten miles, but soon the goons would figure out that their errant spy handler was dead in his vehicle and mount a wider search. Jason once again found himself unconsciously reaching down to grip the seat as the computer flung the vehicle into all-too-risky turns.
The new safe house stood near the future battle site, as Gordon figured that with the goons on high alert, it was better to cover most of the distance right away and drive a short route on the morning of the fight. After ten minutes, he restored normal mode and the men relaxed.
“One thing’s been bugging me,” Jason said. “Lowgrave and Half-Bit said that society has been gradually going crazy. Sure seemed like it during the Strife, and then we appointed an insane computer to rule us. What’s the real answer?”
“I’ve looked deeply into that question,” Gordon replied. “As Edward Edinger said many decades ago, ‘We know from the work of historians and anthropologists that in order for a human society to remain alive and soundly functioning it requires a central operative myth.’ You might reply that we are rational and have no need for myths. But knowing what the world is made of and the laws of nature that govern it cannot tell you what to value, and without values you have no idea what to do. Your myth tells you what life is about and what is meaningful and what goals to pursue. Without a myth you die or go insane. Our myth was blown all to hell, and here we are. Many of us had enough intact fragments of it to carry on, but many didn’t.
“Some people replaced their lost myth with status, cheap thrills, sex, distractions, and junk food, and they think the next thing they buy will satisfy their empty craving, but it never does. Or they see the world as an incoherent nightmare where they have no idea what’s happening or what to do. Or their new myth is an expression of all the reasons why you should just curl up and die. Or it’s the story of their divine mission to destroy humanity and all creation because its existence is a crime.
“Do you know what zombies are? They’re still alive but their myth is erased. That’s what zombies represent.
“Some people grasp hold of ideologies cut off from the human heart, and they think all those who disagree represent absolute evil. They destroy them, take those who remain, and see what system they can use them as components of. To them, what else are humans for?
“So instead we made this computer, and it’s a genius, so surely it knows what to do. But human life can’t be calculated. Imagine living a life calculated from start to finish. The thought alone is pure suffering. Or they think maybe it can use its genius to make stuff for us, and we can cling to our stuff for happiness. That, too, ends in madness. I don’t believe Half-Bit is conscious. That’s an illusion. A true test of consciousness is not possible, for all tests are rational. True consciousness can be evaluated only by the human heart. Our consciousness sees the truth and allows us to correct our course. The computer is blind, and so is any human being who attempts to calculate their own existence.
“We must discover the answer by setting aside our divisions and speaking openly. Not to persuade or denounce or prove a point or any of these mad things. We all speak the truth as it appears to us. Criticize but never condemn the truths of others. Maybe the Western world will form new myths—modern ones. Maybe people will be drawn to different foundational myths but won’t see the others as enemies.”
“A breakup into smaller nation-states?” Jason asked.
“Possibly. Maybe we’ve been trying to hold together that which broke apart in spirit some time ago. If so, the CMC governing fifteen countries was exactly the wrong response.”
Jason contemplated Gordon’s wor
ds in silence. He wanted a concrete answer as a foundation for future hope, but the plan sounded vague and uncertain. Maybe that was life.
Forty-Four
AFTER A DAY and a night in hiding, they left for the mission. The early-morning sun cast a long shadow behind the van. Through the rear window, Jason gazed out at receding rocks and tiny patches of hardy vegetation. He was traveling to the battleground with Gordon and other Black Doves to decide their final fate. Failure would mean a gray world where people awoke every morning to gray light, spent the day saying nothing of any meaning whatever, and traveled home through gray streets. Devoid of hope, they would raise no children, but somehow Half-Bit would fix that problem too.
Sitting opposite him, Gordon also gazed out the rear window. Two Black Dove soldiers rode next to Jason in the rear of the van. Beside Gordon sat the radio expert, Alan. With him he’d brought the jamming transmitter and antenna. Alan had trained on the equipment and he had filled in Jason on its use.
“We’re dead,” Gordon said.
“What?” Jason asked.
“We begin this fight as dead men. If you find yourself alive at the end, you’ve received a gift. You have no say in whether you receive that gift or not. Fight the best way you know how, and let it be.”
The van would arrive from the direction opposite that of the enemy’s approach. Many other Black Dove fighters were inbound and would converge there at the same time. Jason inserted his encrypted radio earpiece and switched it on.
They neared the slope on the left. Over the radio a lookout said, “All locked up.” It meant all was clear to deploy the jammer.
Ahead the road curved around the slope and became the central east-west street through the industrial park. The van turned left at the crossroads and parked at the foot of the slope. Alan slung the transmitter on his back hidden in a gray pack. Jason carried the dish antenna, which was wrapped in gray cloth and hung with backpack straps. Wearing overalls, they left the van and walked casually up the hill as if they had every right to be there.
Silicon Uprising Page 23
