“This villa, it’s the faction hall for the Order of Merritt. Roy is widely admired, Natalie. There are whole factions based on his ideals—ideals left by a lifetime of good deeds. Read the public charters of factions like the Meritorious Raiders or the Knights of Fire.”
“It’s great that they admire him, but I don’t see how this changes anything.”
“The majority of people are good, Natalie. That’s true right around the world. And they responded to the human decency they saw in Roy.”
She stared up at the statue.
“I’m tired of burying people I care about. I don’t want to lose you. You mean too much to me.”
She felt more than anything like holding him—if it had been real life, perhaps she would have wavered.
His avatar came closer again. “Please leave the NSA. Come with me.”
“I can’t, Jon. We need to destroy the Daemon—before it becomes a force for tyranny.”
“But there’s tyranny in the world now, Nat. You can’t tell me you don’t see it. Humanity already serves a system. One that doesn’t recognize the governments we create. That doesn’t respect our laws or our values. It’s protected by people like The Major, who are just as brutal as Loki—if not more so. That system is dooming civilization in a mindless pursuit of growth.” There was a pause. “The darknet is the only thing I’ve seen that can break that system’s grip on humanity. That’s why I joined.”
“Jon, why did you lie to Roy about your father’s death?”
“Natalie. What?”
“The Communist coup wasn’t in 1991. It was in 1992. That doesn’t seem like something you’d be likely to forget. You can’t expect me to trust you if you lie. Are you even Russian?”
There was a moment of silence as his avatar just faced her. The medium of the game made it impossible for her to tell what he was thinking at this moment, and she already felt regret for having said it.
In a moment he spoke, his voice sounding sad. “The essence of my story was true, Nat. I changed some of the details to protect people I love. You must understand. I knew they would polygraph Roy. I revealed the truth about me, but not the facts.”
“You can’t tell me about yourself, but you’re asking me to betray everything I believe in. I could be put in prison for forty years just for coming here today.”
“Then why did you come?”
She stared at the screen but said nothing.
Ross’s avatar paced the terrace for a few moments. He turned back to her. “Sobol’s games always provide a turning point—a crossroad where you choose your fate. I was convinced that his Daemon would be the same—and it is. We all have a choice, Nat. We just have to make it.”
There was silence for several moments. “I’m sorry, Jon. I’ve made my choice.”
She heard him sigh. His avatar wandered over to a short marble pedestal. The top of it glowed with a blue aura, implying magical energy. Ross’s avatar held an amulet in its hand.
“If we never meet again, please remember that I loved you.”
He placed the amulet on the glowing surface of the pedestal where it disappeared in a blinding flash of light.
“Jon—”
At that moment she was suddenly ejected from the game and found herself staring at the icons of a computer desktop.
In the real world of the office, Philips heard a machine come to life in a back room, humming and whirring.
She turned to look around the monitor and saw a cable extending from the back of the computer. Philips stood up and followed the cable as it ran along the floor into what appeared to be a server room. Instead of servers though, she saw a machine about the size of a refrigerator. She leaned down and could see through a tinted window as a movable laser head blazed. It was laying down some sort of metallic material with each pass, the head moving rapidly. As she watched, it became apparent that the machine was creating the small amulet that Ross’s avatar held in its hand.
Within moments, the machine stopped, and the printing head withdrew. The front door whirred open, and the part was there in front of her.
Philips gingerly withdrew the amulet. It still felt warm and was made of a silvery metal. It also had a loop where she could fasten a chain. It was small, perhaps the size of a woman’s watch face, and it was engraved with the simple words “I love you.”
She held it tightly in her hand and wondered if she’d made the right choice.
Chapter 20: // Data Curse
Loki was standing in line at a coffeehouse, six people back, when the businessman cut in line two slots ahead of him. The woman there hadn’t closed the gap entirely, and the douchebag slipped right in, pretending not to notice the dozen people stretching toward the wall.
The mousy woman in front of him accepted it, and no one else seemed inclined to start an argument.
Loki had killed people for less.
He stepped out of line and walked with his studded leather riding boots and black riding outfit straight up to the man—whose cologne assaulted his tastebuds as much as his nostrils. “Asshole. That’s the end of the line, back there.” Loki gestured to the far wall.
The man, who stood at least half a head taller, raised his eyebrows. “What did you call me, son?”
Loki took a deep breath. The Daemon did not permit him to commit wanton murder—he had to have a legitimate infrastructure defense purpose for punching someone’s ticket. And he had to be able to pass fMRI interrogation on every kill. He took another deep breath. There were alternatives, however.
“I said—ASSHOLE—the line is back there.”
The queue advanced another slot—the man was only one person away from the register.
“Look, just grow up, son. You don’t intimidate me with your little leather outfit and your goth contact lenses.”
“If you don’t assume your rightful place in this line, I will make you regret the day you were born.”
“Are you threatening me? In public?”
“It’s not a threat. I’m telling you, that if you do not leave this position in line—you will wish you were dead.”
“This isn’t amusing, son. Now leave me alone before you get yourself in legal trouble.”
“You made your choice.”
The man actually started a bit when Loki raised his ringed hands and pointed at him. “Vilos andre—siphood ulros—carvin sienvey.” Loki spiraled his finger in front of the guy. “I curse your data… .”
The man burst out laughing. “Is that what you’re going to do? Cast a whammy hex on me?” He laughed again.
Loki kept aiming his finger—and read the consumer data from the man’s wireless devices, which linked in moments to his identity. “Robert Wahlen—social security ending 3-9-7-3—I damn you, that you might walk cursed among men …”
The man stopped laughing. “How do you know my name? Where the hell did you get that information?”
“… that your data will forever sour. Until you seek expiation.”
“You’re a fuckin’ weirdo, you know that? I want to know how you got that information. I’ll call the police.”
“I wouldn’t call the police if I were you, Bob. There’s probably a warrant out on you for unpaid parking tickets by now.”
The man’s turn at the register had come. He glared as Loki stood nearby.
“Goddamned weirdo …”
The man ordered his coffee and a pastry, then offered his gold card. The cashier ran it, paused, and then frowned. “I’m sorry, sir. That card was declined. Do you have another one?”
“Declined? That’s impossible.”
The people in line groaned.
“Look, here …” He took out another credit card and handed it to her. Then he turned to face Loki. “Listen, I’m going to call the police if you don’t get away from me.”
“But I’m a law-abiding citizen, Bob. You should be careful who you point fingers at.”
The cashier grimaced. “Uh, I’m sorry, sir. This one has also been declined, b
ut it says that I need to confiscate it. I’m sorry.”
“What? This is ridiculous!”
“That’s what it says, sir.”
He tried to grab it back from her, but she pulled away. “Sir! The card is not your property. It’s the card company’s property.”
Wahlen turned on Loki. “You did something to me, and I’m going to phone the police.” The man stepped out of line and started dialing, but another call was already coming in. “Hello? …” Wahlen listened. Then frowned, whispering tersely. “No … no. Hold it. I don’t owe money on a boat.” He hung up.
Loki walked behind him. “Welcome to hell, Robert… .”
The man hurried out, Loki watching him go.
Loki suddenly noticed another darknet operative staring at him near the window—her handle marked her as Vienna_2, an eighth-level Chemist with a four-star reputation on a base of seven-thirty. “What are you lookin’ at?”
“That was cruel, Loki, to use your power like that. You’re liable to ruin that man’s life with a Data Curse. And over what—cutting in line?”
“Fuck you.”
She reached into D-Space and rated him one star.
He flipped her off. “If I gave a damn what you thought of me, I’d kill myself.”
Just then he received an alert in his HUD display, and his mood changed considerably as he read the notification. It was a pleasant surprise. He turned to Vienna_2. “My apologies, Vienna. As a matter of fact, here …” He rated her five stars. “For being such a civic-minded little bitch. But my day just got a lot better. If you’ll excuse me, I have to catch up with an old friend.”
Chapter 21: // Exploit
NewsX.com
Mexican Drug Gangs Fuel Violence in Midwest—In a press conference Thursday, state police officials in several Midwestern states linked a crime wave that has claimed at least two dozen lives in recent weeks to illegal immigrants operating narcotics rings in the U.S. Police contend that heavily armed Mexican gangs are fighting it out over a shrinking market in tough economic times—with average citizens getting caught in the crossfire.
Loki had always known it would only be a matter of time before he found The Major. The darknet grew more eyes every day, and the modern world left too much data in the wake of everyday transactions. If they couldn’t find The Major by his purchasing patterns, or the communities of interest in his captured telecom data, they still might catch his likeness in facial recognition systems they were putting up on bridges and highways or—more probably—in the chance detection of him by the ever-expanding network of darknet operatives. As the real-world economy continued to sink, more and more folks were joining the darknet.
Still, The Major was harder to track down than most; he worked through proxies and surrounded himself with endless numbers of expendable contractors who knew nothing of his whereabouts. He also constantly shifted from safe house to motel to hotel, switched identities—and used top-notch encryption in his communications.
But even the most stringent security precautions suffered from a fatal weakness: the human factor. This was doubly true for busy people, and there was little doubt that The Major was busy; planning a covert military campaign in the middle of the United States in coordination with a media propaganda campaign had to require long hours. The Major was probably operating on very little sleep.
Which is why Loki wasn’t surprised when a lone credit card charge for Anson Gregory Davis appeared on merchant bank networks. It was the same alias The Major had used in Georgia. The charge was for a block of rooms at a roadside motel in Hinton, Oklahoma—about a half-hour drive outside of Oklahoma City.
Loki quickly overlaid a map of Oklahoma darknet communities with that of reported acts of violence against them. Hinton looked like an easy commute to the front lines of this covert war. It was also close to several airports. By tapping nearby darknet operatives, Loki was able to confirm out-of-the-ordinary C-130 cargo plane activity at a nearby municipal strip. The tail numbers came up empty in the FAA database. Normally, running a scan for such numbers would have sent up alarm bells; government and quasi-government agencies typically put flags on covert records, so they’d know if anyone searched for them. But the Daemon had mirrored many such databases over the past two years.
The Major wouldn’t have any idea Loki was coming.
Darkness had fallen on the Red Rock Motel just south of town. Loki sat inside his racing trailer ops center, parked in a field two miles away. He began manipulating the D-Space objects that represented the constellation of machines at his command—both in the air and on the ground.
He’d been monitoring comings and goings at the motel from several low-speed drones orbiting at ten thousand feet. Pattern tracking software had quickly identified repetitious movement—the patrolling radius of several sentries. Each of the sentries was carrying a cell phone, so tracking them now wouldn’t be a problem. He also noticed two sets of sentries sitting in vehicles near the road, watching the approaches from the north and south.
In the field outside his parked trailer, Loki arrayed two dozen razorbacks, and he now took direct control of the lead bike, bringing its camera eyes up in his HUD display. It felt like an ultra-realistic game. He slaved the other bikes to his, and then sent them down the county road at a modest speed.
Using the aerial drones to surveil the roads, he’d timed the departure of the bikes so they didn’t encounter other vehicles. When they got within a mile of the motel he switched off their engines and had them run on their electrical drive—powered by the boron/epoxy flywheel in the saddle casing. In this low-power mode, razorbacks were very quiet, although they couldn’t run like this for very long.
He sent them out into the field west of the motel. In about ten minutes they had swung around and were silently approaching through the scattered trees and grass at the edge of the motel grounds.
That’s when he sent two distant AutoM8s accelerating down the county road—one coming from the north, the other from the south. They were unmanned Dodge Charger SRT8s. With gas prices now approaching seven bucks a gallon and unemployment still rising, brand-new eight-cylinder cars were sitting on distributor lots everywhere. The Daemon was doing cheap fleet leases and insuring them against their inevitable destruction. Cars were something America had an endless quantity of.
It was a shame that these were going to be destroyed. They looked fun.
As they came roaring toward their targets, Loki motioned with his gloved hand, setting loose a hundred foot-long steel spikes from a weather-balloon-like platform floating at eighty thousand feet several miles to the east. They were just steel spikes with motorized fletching linked to a radio receiver, but they could be guided like a smart bomb to their target—either directly by a darknet operative or automatically at saved targets (using a cell phone in someone’s pocket or a Bluetooth headset ID as a beacon). Darknet operatives had taken to calling the spikes “angel teeth,” probably because they came silently out of the heavens like divine retribution. Few weapons were as cheap, since they were easy to manufacture and were often reusable. Wind and rapid movement of the target were an issue—which was why Loki dropped a hundred of them.
If he timed this correctly, he’d be able to eliminate sentries and surround The Major in his hotel room before he was even aware of Loki’s presence.
Loki glanced up at the sky through the aluminum walls of his racing trailer. He could see the D-Space call-outs of the hundred spikes spreading out as they descended, moving to their assigned targets.
Loki throttled back the two AutoM8s so they didn’t strike first.
And then, with practiced skill, the plan came together rather nicely. Aerial surveillance showed eight sentries walking in pairs suddenly being struck down by a hail of silent steel spikes coming in at terminal velocity. It wasn’t windy, so most of the spikes struck their targets.
With another gesture Loki sent the waves of razorbacks in, still on quiet electrical power. He could see video from the lead bik
e, and guided it around to the back of the motel and toward the room that was his target.
Moments later the northern AutoM8 came roaring around a bend in the county road a quarter mile away. It didn’t follow the bend, but instead came roaring straight at a Chevy parked in the parking lot of a gas station—one containing two private military contractors. It struck broadside going ninety miles an hour.
Loki winced and covered his eyes in mock horror. From the air it looked spectacular. He tagged the video and dragged it to his feed so others could check it out later.
By the time he turned to the southern AutoM8, it had already plowed through a billboard and creamed the car containing the remaining sentries. To his disappointment there was no explosion. But no one was walking away from that crash.
Now he focused on his razorbacks, powering up their massive engines, extending their blades, and roaring in to the attack. They spread out and smashed through the doors of four motel rooms almost simultaneously. Loki had also left several razorbacks behind the hotel to pick up anyone climbing out rear windows.
He needn’t have bothered. Plainclothes military contractors had already grabbed their weapons and the moment the first razorback came through the door, several M249 machine guns opened up-tracer rounds bounding around the room as they deflected off the ceramic composite cowling of the lead razorback.
Loki always found this part exciting. It really did resemble the world’s most realistic video game. He almost felt like he was there—with military contractors screaming in rage as they unloaded assault rifles and machine guns on him from behind a sofa, an overturned dining table, and the nearby bed.
Loki noticed they had all donned tinted flash goggles—so his green laser blinders wouldn’t have any effect. Damn. The Major had equipped his group well. But where was he hiding?
Loki raised his gloved hand and starting clicking on individual targets. He had to clear away all these NPCs. The razorbacks surged forward to cut them to pieces. He winced because in one of the rooms a contractor fired a forty-millimeter grenade into the doorway, damaging the lead razorback, but also stunning everyone else in the room.
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