Freedom (47 page)

“Get the hell out of the way, damnit! Let me see the screen. Have that soldier focus his camera on that television screen!”

The captain dodged out of the way and the helmet cam focused on what looked to be an infomercial already in progress. Cheerful music accompanied a montage of images showing darknet operatives working together. Smiling young faces, wearing HUD glasses, working with fab lab equipment, fiber optics, agriculture, and alternative energy.

“Bring up the sound!”

The distant infomercial music crackled as it filled the speakers in the big command center. The montage faded out and to everyone’s horror dissolved into a familiar face—Matthew Sobol. He was sitting in a wing chair next to a roaring fireplace and looked healthy. Words appeared at the bottom of the screen:

Sobol nodded to the camera as the music came to a close. “Hi. If you’re watching this video, it means you just tried to take over the world. Now, you all know who
I
was. But until now, I couldn’t be certain who
you
were. Thankfully, your recent actions helped to clarify things.” He took a moment to place another log on the fire, and he stabbed at the flames with a poker.

Connelly, Johnston, the Weyburn Labs team, and the entire data strike force watched the video playing in every data center in simulcast.

Sobol looked up again after putting the fire poker away. “I knew it would only be a matter of time until you broke into the darknet. No system is completely secure. Of course, you would scour my code for flaws. So I gave you some good ones.” Sobol smiled amiably. “As we sit here, the companies you attempted to harm are perfectly safe. However, the Daemon is deleting
your
personal and business wealth, and is, in fact, destroying all the data and backup tapes of the companies you sought to protect.”

He held up his hands reassuringly. “Now, please don’t get agitated and head for the doors because it’s already too late. Your greed caused you to concentrate your investments in a very specific way among a handful of companies—companies that someone just tried to defend with a lame-ass formatstring hack—even while the rest of the corporate world was targeted en masse with the Destroy function. That’s what we call an
anomaly
, and it has a signature that can be detected. The private individuals who were involved in this activity are now known to the Daemon. And what’s more, most of your wealth, the source of all your power, no longer exists. Money, after all, is just data, and yours has been erased.”

Connelly looked up at the network analyst. “Damnit, if the power’s back on, get on the phone with our people and find out if this is just nonsense!”

The network analyst got busy, but a lot of the other people in the room were looking concerned.

Sobol was already talking again on screen. “What’s more, the Daemon will continue to destroy the resources of these individuals wherever they appear—in whatever form. And a log of your recent actions will be submitted to pertinent law enforcement agencies and the companies you were targeting. And as for the people who helped make all this possible? The assistants, lawyers, brokers, programmers, accountants, and security forces? To those people I say: your employers
have no money
. So do the smart thing—and just walk away.”

The cavorting corporate Muzak returned, along with manic studio audience applause. Sobol waved. “Thanks for invoking this event, and remember, if you’re not playing the game, it’s playing
you
. Bye-bye now!”

Credits began to roll at double-fast speed.

“Turn it off!”

The screen went black and Connelly looked up at the nearest network analyst. “Well? Can we confirm if our networks are intact? Have our companies been affected?”

The analyst just cast a look at Connelly, then picked up his coat and hurried for the door.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“We don’t work here anymore. And neither do you.”

Connelly turned to Johnston.

Johnston just shook his head. “That’s ridiculous!”

Suddenly one of the board operators turned on the broadcast and cable news stations again, and there, on almost every channel, was Anji Anderson. She was sitting at a conference table. It looked to be surveillance footage as seen from up near the ceiling—but the individual on-screen was unmistakably Anji Anderson, the famous newscaster.

Connelly stared at the screens in confusion. “What the hell is this?”

The board operator was grabbing his coat, too. “It’s playing on every station. Someone hijacked the emergency uplink we were going to use after the blackout. They somehow got footage from the surveillance system.”

Everyone in the control center looked up at the camera pods mounted on the ceiling.

“Good god . . .”

“I advise that you try to escape as best you can, General. We have no secrets anymore.”

Connelly looked back at the live television monitors. On-screen Anji Anderson was nodding, as what looked to be consultants conferred with her.

Anderson nodded.
“And the blackout does that?”

Another market consultant held up sample graphics on a foam core board.
“We’re calling it Cybergeddon.”

A
fter the darknet came back online, Sebeck got busy examining darknet video streams from the thousands of operatives swarming over the ranch. He grabbed Price and hopped on a pickup truck loaded down with darknet Fighters brandishing automatic weapons. As they drove the final miles past wrecked military equipment and dead mercenaries, Sebeck watched D-Space video clips of Loki’s mechanical army smashing through the defenses. Swarms of his razorbacks, AutoM8s, and microjets were spreading through Sky Ranch’s network of roads, tearing into every soldier or worker they came across. As the private military’s disorder spread and their radio communications disintegrated, the mercenaries retreated back toward the main ranch house, only to encounter a wave of mercenaries going in the other direction—telling tales of bankruptcy and trying to escape the ranch.

But thousands of darknet operatives were storming the ranch from every direction now, breaking into large complexes and warehouses filled with luxury consumer products, barrels of wine, pharmaceuticals, and racks upon racks of spare machinery and parts. As darknet journalists posted their reports, it became increasingly clear that the residents of Sky Ranch were planning on being here for a while. Perhaps waiting out an unfolding chaos they’d helped to cause in the outside world.

Darknet troops had begun accepting the mass surrender of mercenaries from dozens of companies, stripping them of weapons, and taking iris scans and fingerprints. No longer employed, the multinational army of mercs wasn’t up for a fight—especially when it was outnumbered forty to one.

But at the center of the ranch Loki’s machines were still marauding. Razorbacks, AutoM8s, and low-flying microjets were crisscrossing the gardens around the house, parking lots, roads, and kitchens, killing any non-darknet member they found—without exception.

There was sheer terror around the central compound as surrendering household staff members pleaded with darknet operatives—who could not prevent the blood-soaked machines from hacking their captives to death.

Sebeck and Price reached the grounds of the mansion and joined a large crowd of operatives already surrounding it. All eyes were on Loki Stormbringer, as darknet feeds denounced him. People everywhere downvoted him, but Loki’s reputation score already could go no lower. In the broad plaza before the mansion, Loki stared with lifeless eyes from a position on his Ducati street bike. He had formed hundreds of razorbacks into a ring around the main house, where the international financiers with their wives and children had barricaded the ornate doors. Loki appeared to be sensing the world through the eyes of his numberless minions, through their sensors, scouring every inch of this place, every culvert—searching for people in hiding. He seemed ready to tear down every brick of the place until he found The Major. And in the process was apparently going to kill every one of the plutocrats who cowered in the massive house—along with their trophy wives and their pampered offspring. Loki seemed ready to make them all pay.

Sebeck watched a video feed even now when a group of bankers tried to escape to the airfield to board their private jet and resume their lives as if this never happened. But Loki’s distant razorbacks were shown forcing their Bentley off the road, dragging out the screaming occupants, and . . .

Sebeck closed the video inset in his HUD display. He’d seen enough death.

Hundreds of darknet members had gathered around the mansion to watch in dismay as Loki prepared his attack, while women and children held out surrender flags and pleaded for mercy.

Loki’s new booming, synthetic voice tore into the air. “Major! I’m going to kill you—and every man, woman, and child who’s hiding with you!”

The crowd booed, and Loki turned to face them, his voice truly booming now. “What can you do about it? None of this would have happened if not for me! I
am
the darknet!”

Ross and Philips arrived, apparently using D-Space coordinates to locate Sebeck and Price in the crowd.

Ross shouted over the noise of the razorbacks. “Sergeant! What is Loki doing?”

Sebeck pointed at Doctor Philips. “Jon, get her out of here! Loki’s killing every civilian he finds.”

“It’s okay. . . .” He gestured to the amulet she wore, which gave off a soft D-Space glow. “Amulet of Protection. She’s safe.” Ross regarded the scene of Loki’s swarming razorbacks.

Sebeck turned back toward the mansion. “Loki’s getting ready to kill everyone in the mansion. He’s hunting for The Major.”

“Has anyone seen The Major?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Philips just sucked in a breath at the sight of Loki amid a hundred razorbacks, while still more circled the mansion. “This is what I was afraid of, Jon. ”

Ross, Sebeck, and Price turned to her. Sebeck asked, “Afraid of what?”

“The darknet is no different from any other social system. The powerful ignore the weak. Look at him. . . .” She gestured to Loki.

Sebeck ran his hand over his scalp. “She’s right. You saw the feeds; the plutocrats are bankrupt. We’ve taken back our freedom already—so then why hasn’t my quest been satisfied? Why don’t I see the path to the Cloud Gate?”

Price leaned in. “Do you see your quest Thread, Sergeant?”

Sebeck shook his head. He hadn’t noticed it in all the insanity, but he no longer had a Thread to follow. “No. Which means this is where I need to be. It’s not finished yet.” He looked to Price and the others. “Stay here . . .”

“Sergeant, where are you going?”

Sebeck pushed through the crowd, making his way across the wide plaza that surrounded the house. As he came into view, with his well-known high-quest icon, the crowd roared their approval and parted to let him pass.

He finally reached the line of razorbacks , and as he tried to slip by, they moved to block his path. He knew they couldn’t attack him—he was a member of the darknet—but neither would they let him through.

Loki’s booming voice spoke in the air nearby while Loki watched from a hundred feet away. “What do you think you’re going to do, Sergeant? You’ll never get near me.”

“Whether you like it or not, Loki, you’re one of us.” Sebeck could see the darknet feeds in his HUD display going haywire with news of the defeat of the plutocrats—but also at the rise of Loki. Hundreds of thousands of network members responded as they saw live video of Loki facing down the Unnamed One, and no one able to constrain him.

And then a D-Space light flashed and a familiar form emerged from the network. Roy Merritt’s avatar started walking through the swarms of razorbacks—straight toward Loki. His two-hundredth-level call-out was burning above him. The crowd went completely silent.

Loki just stared, obviously trying to figure out what to do, but still the Merritt avatar walked on.

Merritt’s avatar walked past Sebeck, who stared in shock.

Video of the encounter was being taken by a hundred darknet cameras in the crowd and simulcast throughout the network. The crowd listened closely as Merritt came alongside Loki. Merritt’s voice appeared in the air as well, calm and in control.

Loki looked around to the crowd. “What is this?”

“Fuck you! Roy Merritt . . . you’re a toy, an AI puppet that all these little users have put together.”