Motherland

by Russ Linton

  "Right. My private TED talk with him filled in the gaps from what Mom told us." I cringe as I say her name and make sure not to check Emily's reaction. "Shortwave's got this idea he's going to replace the global economy with his cryptocurrency then create a borderless state. AI and machines will become citizens. It's all very..."

  "Brilliant," Eric mutters. He throws up his hands under some added scrutiny. "What? Just saying. Dude's out of his mind, though."

  Dad keeps his thoughts to himself and studies the viral heat map as it resets and spreads again. Maybe it would have been best to program those pixels as something other than red because I can sense Hound's incoming rebuttal.

  "Brilliant? Sounds like Communism, son. Wouldn't expect nothin' more from Sergei."

  "I don't know," says Eric. "I mean banks are solvent right now because citizens bailed them out, right? How's that different? Maybe we'd have already gotten where Shortwave's headed if—"

  "No politics," Dad interrupts. "We're out of that game. But I can't say Sergei and his associates' connections to Russia shouldn't concern us. What we need to do is assess what kind of damage this will cause and determine how we stop it."

  "Which brings me to who we call next," I say.

  "Xamse." The name is a chorus from both Eric and Dad.

  "You're dealing with that maniac too?" Emily's voice shifts up an octave. She's never met him. I did share my mano y minion experience with her, though. She'd cried and latched on. Like when I'd shown her the selfie with the battle robot. Reminds me of another reason I came here—to maintain the balancing act between sanity and the irrational stupidity of a powerless geek trading blows with Augments.

  For now, I need to borrow a page from Dad's book and play it cool.

  "Long story, Emily," I say and turn my attention back to the feed. "He's got links to all the nanomechs he's ever sold, for one."

  "Nothing nefarious about that," Emily scoffs.

  "And he can help provide some sort of defense."

  "That may be true," says Dad. "But wouldn't that involve informing him of the potential targets and disclosing their vulnerabilities?"

  I'm impressed he caught on that fast. No technical wizard, yet his tactical thinking allows him to evaluate threats he might not quite understand. I should work on that as a life skill. And stop doubting him so damn much.

  "Then we'll do the nanomech programming ourselves," says Eric. "I can handle that. All I need to know is which of these systems might have been sold with the nanos. I could track them down manually, too but it would take time."

  "How much of that we got?" asks Hound.

  Everyone, even Dad is waiting for me to respond. "I don't know. Seems he's got all the pieces in place."

  "None then," says Dad before launching into command mode. "Eric, start researching the contracts with Nanomech, Inc. in case Xamse doesn't want to cooperate. Hound, Ember, we're going to work up a plan to get Aurora out of there."

  Ember's hands glow, and the air shimmers with heat. "And Danger? If he's really flipped, they'll see us coming."

  Hound seems surprisingly quiet on the issue.

  "We'll need to plan something he won't see. You've got the most time in the field with him, Hound. Think it can be done?" Dad asks.

  "I'll figure somethin' out," Hound grumbles, not his usual grab-'em-by-the-balls self.

  "Spencer," says Dad. "I need you to make that call."

  "What call?"

  "To Xamse. He trusts you. Right now, he sees me, the rest of the team, as liabilities. A new face will be good."

  "I don't know..." I immediately check Emily. Restless, she's tapping a finger on her desk, dutifully keeping a scathing objection to herself. I know she promised she'd stop treating me like her little brother, even if I don't mind it. It's a tough ask when I'm always getting into trouble. "I'll do it," I say. "No promises though."

  "None assumed," says Dad. "What do you need to make it happen?"

  "I'll figure that out on my end."

  "This means you're staying in the field?" Dad's way of asking if I'm ever coming home.

  Mom slinks out of the shadows. Emily's concern has helped bring everything into focus once more. Mom, Dad, they've always been hovering or smothering in their way, so it's easy to tune them out. But watching them on the screen, together, I want to be there.

  No, I want them elsewhere, too. Living a normal life in a normal home where I can visit from college and have Mom wake me up for pancakes in the morning. When I see the image though, it's the frail, scarred form of Charlotte at the stove. Things can't ever be that way, can they?

  "I'll be back," I say. "I need a little time to get my shit together."

  "Understood," says Crimson Mask.

  "We'll miss you," Mom speaks as if she's afraid to be heard. "Don't be too long."

  Hound throws a stiff but abbreviated salute into the mix, well off his normal regulation demeanor. Eric rattles off code for over and out and cuts the feed. Seems my short yet disastrous stint as a field operative still rubs him the wrong way.

  I make plans while Emily dives into her own coping mechanism, research. I have to admit it's much better than undertaking suicidal missions. The next step shouldn't be too risky, though. Burner phone with a data plan so I can get hacking, a few apps, and I’ll be able to get a call through to Xamse. Hopefully, he answers the phone.

  "THIS MUST BE SPENCER. I would not take this call except for your creative means."

  I'd spoofed the IP and routed it through the tower near Whispering Pines before hacking directly into his internal data center and digital switchboard. A gamble of mine he'd not ignore the nuanced security breach, and he'd be intrigued by the point of origin. Hell, he might even know I'm lying on a bunk bed in the GMU bio-lab, knowing this guy's resources and leet skillz. An Eric, but with unlimited funds.

  "Creative, huh? Much better than 'I've called the FBI.' I take it you've got a minute?"

  "One. Maybe two. What do you bring me?"

  "Remember when you thanked me for helping you out with your Beetle infestation?"

  "As I remember, we indeed helped each other."

  He's got me there. As much as I want to have never seen Beetle's gray matter splash out the back of his skull, I would've been beaten to a pulp if not for Xamse.

  "Okay, you got me. Look, I need a file sent to Whispering Pines, one which contains your client list."

  When he doesn't answer right away I can tell he's trying to make the next leap, stay ahead of what I've got coming. I'm not sure he can do anything about my hole card, though: GPS coordinates to a certain dead super villain.

  "Why would I do such things? I am closer to severing ties than forging new ones with your friends. Your father has caused very many problems as of late."

  "Would it help if I said we're trying to save the world?"

  "You try to save the world always," he laughs. "But whose world? The one I came to or the one I am from? The answer is never the right one."

  "This is big. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't."

  "I am sorry, Spencer. I protect my clients’ privacy and have little reason to trust your motives."

  "Do me a favor. Check your public router, the one your employees use to access the internet. You will have been compromised by a rogue access point attack which evades detection and seeks out user devices and other APs. Eric worked up a detection algorithm which I've messaged to you. Standard methods won't uncover the attack. I'll have this phone for another hour."

  I hang up. Seems the right way to put an exclamation point on things. Opting voice only for this communication was the proper move. There's a cold, hard look to Xamse, a constant reminder of what he's capable of doing. Might have lost my nerve staring into that abyss.

  Within twenty minutes, he's on the line.

  "Interesting. Talk."

  "There's more where that came from. These attacks are a bridge to internal systems everywhere in order to back door some serious hardware pain. Your nanomechs might be
the quickest way to inoculate any targets which they're installed on. We've got little time until the attack and not many people have the expertise to open up their machines and reprogram chips on the fly."

  "I would agree. That is why I must ask you to provide me your data on this threat. I will then protect clients who may be exposed."

  And here is where the conversation gets interesting.

  "No can do, X-man. We need to keep our list of compromised systems and the vulnerabilities to ourselves, Crimson Mask's orders. I agree with him."

  "I am to trust you, but you are not to trust me?"

  "When you put it that way...yes."

  "This does not fit your profile. Vulnerabilities are for the public to know. You provide them to everyone for corrections to take place."

  Right. I'm violating Hacker Ethics 101. Funny, because it's similar in spirit to the freedoms and ideals Shortwave proposes. I can't even say I disagree or this vision of his isn't a future where I would want to live. Cryptocurrency and everyone getting their fair share without monolithic governments and giant corporations sweeping up everything for themselves. How is that a bad idea?

  "If we release that data," I say, talking through the rationalizations. "Then he'll launch immediately. There won't be time to safeguard any vital systems."

  That's the issue. Shortwave paints a rosy picture, but he's the one in control. Nothing says he'll relinquish it. And the chaos caused by what he plans will be total.

  "This would be bad," says Xamse. "For those who do not have my nanomechs."

  This unassuming war child from a backwater in Africa ruthlessly broke the mental stranglehold the Beetle had on him. I see that wasn't an isolated incident. This is simply how he is. How he does business.

  I have to match that.

  "Could be. But there's the matter of a certain set of GPS co-ordinates."

  Chapter 30

  THIS TIME SAYING GOODBYE to Emily is easier. She doesn't give me any grief. She even arranges for a private flight on one of Martin's company planes. I've had a few hours at the stick of this one, but I keep to the passenger cabin, staring through the cockpit and out the windshield.

  The hardest part might be saying hello to Eric. I'm doubtful playing airport taxi and picking me up from the swank private hangar will help his mood. I offered to get a cab to the vicinity of Whispering Pines, but Dad wouldn't hear of it. When Eric's car pulls up, I freeze, one foot on the curb, one hand on the door. Eric isn't in the driver's seat.

  A slight figure, her head wrapped in a shawl, is at the wheel. I've accepted her as Mom, however Charlotte's face where I fully expected to see Eric's has thrown off my conviction once again. The door handle slips. I fumble awkwardly before ducking inside.

  "Wind," I lie. She knows it.

  We're almost through the airport toll booth when she speaks. "This took a lot for your father. He doesn't want me out of his sight. But I've got to help somehow."

  "You and me both," I say. "Was he ever not such a hardass?"

  It's a conversation we've never had. When I finally felt old enough to make sense of our awkward family relationship, we were interrupted by a kidnapping. Growing up, Dad was always this otherworldly being who'd drop out of the sky every once in a while, and be gone again the next morning. Thinking of him without the powers, before the experiments, hadn't even occurred to me.

  "Not always. When he started to suspect he'd been betrayed at work, that's when things got tough. You were so little." She checks over the blind spot to merge onto the highway and can't help a smile. "He used to be funny. Like you."

  "You're my mother, so I won't call bullshit," I scoff.

  "Seriously!" She playfully swats my leg with a gnarled hand. "He told jokes all the time. Corny jokes, but I couldn't help laughing."

  "Like what?"

  "When you were a little bun in the oven, he'd always ask if you were done yet." She smiles, and the crooked, disfigured face disappears. "Or he'd joke about you not needing toy cars. That you could play with ours in the driveway exactly like you did those die cast ones you loved so much."

  "I...I remember him saying that, too."

  Only differently.

  We blink from one pool of highway lamps to the next, the regular intervals inducing a meditation of sorts. Tail lights spread and oncoming lights streak. I do remember. Very differently. Very, very differently.

  As a child, I never considered anything he said as a joke. I considered this phrase in particular a benchmark of youth. Learn your ABC's, tie your shoes, flip the cars in the driveway. My failure. Who is remembering this correctly? Me or mom?

  "Are you alright?" she asks.

  "Yeah, yeah."

  "I lost you for a minute."

  "Nope. I won't let that happen again. You and Dad both are stuck with me."

  We talk for over an hour. I want more, but I can't keep my eyes open. The hypnotic drone of tires, the probably mechanically unsound but steady vibration of Eric's carrito, and I lose the battle. Next thing I know, we're pulling past the guard shack, headlights carving the Whispering Pines' weathered sign out of the wilderness.

  Mom glides into a spot and slips into neutral. Her hand stays on the shifter, and she grins. It takes her a moment to notice I'm awake and watching.

  "That was fun," she says.

  I return the smile because she's right. This was the road trip we should have had and not an "operational excursion" into Libya which ended in a Mad Max style pursuit through a wasteland.

  "Oh, what a day. What a lovely day," I exclaim, allowing more than a taste of silvered mania to split my lips. Her brow knits, and she gives me a cock-eyed look. "I'll explain later."

  "Fine, later," she says as she opens the door. "You should continue that nap. You look exhausted."

  She's right of course, but we don't have the time. Our buddy Shortwave has his plan in place. It could drop any moment.

  We cross the parking lot toward the facility with her head on my shoulder. Once inside we go to the infirmary to check on Dad. He's resting too—a first. Seems they've planned to launch their rescue operation at dawn. Most special ops prefer the cover of darkness, but when one of your soldiers is an ambulatory bonfire, well, you adjust.

  A hug and we part ways. She goes to the infirmary to join Dad, and I make my way down the blistered and scorched hallway toward my room. Yep, my room. Whatever it is about this gig has seeped under my skin, and I'm ready to commit. I gave in and confessed to Danger. The thrill, the adrenaline, and more, a feeling I'm needed.

  I'll gladly accept this as home with my family if I have no other choice. Still, I've had two chances now to bring in stuff from my dorm to spruce up this box, and I've taken neither. Maybe once this latest mission is over, we can find someplace less apocalypse-chic closer to school. I can finish my degree. Dad can take a break for once. Mom can be...Mom.

  She's given up a lot for me. She's been back for weeks, and I have yet to ask about her plans for her second lease on life. There's no need to stay home and shuttle my lazy ass to school, or more likely, detention. She shouldn't have to worry about a government-funded contractor busting through the wall in his robo-suit. We'll hang out, to make up for lost time, but she's got to want a life outside all this. Wonder if she'd want to carpool to GMU?

  Lights out, flopping onto the bed is a mistake. Every support bar hammers my back. I search for the same peace from the car ride. Can't be far. Sleep found me only minutes earlier...

  A childish giggle shatters the silence.

  I'm unable to penetrate the darkness. It sounded further away. Though if she were at my bedside, how would I know?

  Again. Louder.

  She could be in my brain. Or with all the time spent close to Mom, maybe it's an echo pushed forward by grogginess and overexposure. The old monitor I used to have which I managed to burn in the D3dm4n$ Ch3$t logo. A piece of my life kept on screen for a hazardous amount of time.

  I stand, slowly, to make sure I'm not dreaming. I suppose I
have no way of knowing if I'm sleepwalking, but I feel awake. No trip to the infirmary this time. No passing out. Once in the hall, I see a familiar glow.

  I didn't even bother to check if Eric was up when we got back. Avoiding that conversation until I'd rested was a priority. His room is secured, the blue glow of Babe spilling under the door. Must be on the bridge, where the constantly running monitors make it difficult to know if anyone's there.

  Liquid crystal illumination knifes between the skewed doors of the comcen. Peering through the gap, I see the monitors cycling their typical statuses and news. It takes a rough push for the crooked door to clear the mangled floor. The rubber flap drags across jagged concrete, the scraping sending a shiver up my spine.

  Captain's chair is empty. Night seems quiet. No air time spent on strange techno-cults in the mountains of China with the fate of the world in their hands. Politics and celebrities dominate the screens, or are they one and the same? Deep thoughts for a nation of fellow insomniacs justifying whatever keeps them awake.

  I sink into the chair and soak in the indistinct chatter. Shortwave might be right. We could vastly improve on this if we only tried.

  A dark splotch crawls through the corner of one monitor and disappears into the black fringes. I keep an eye on the path, and the spot scuttles into view on an adjacent screen. A bug attracted to the glow. I'm hardly squeamish. College dorms are mostly built before buildings were hermetically sealed, and Eric's basement, where we often left pizza boxes out long enough to become something else's meal, has taught me not to care much about late night visitors. I reach out to pluck the blob off the screen and stop as my fingertips brush the smooth surface of the display.

  The critter keeps trekking, screen to screen.

  What. The. Fuck.

  I lean forward. A tiny spider, nondescript against the back lighting. It finally stops when it reaches the central display where Eric has hijacked a spy satellite and trained every onboard sensor on Jonestown.

  The spider scuttles into the middle, right above the secluded factory town, and begins to spin a web. I watch, mesmerized.