Attribution

by Christine Horner

  “I was a precocious child. Oh, you mean when hackers hijacked chunks of the internet, posting their manifesto until a crack team of our government’s own could seize it back. That?”

  “No doubt the same people!”

  “Thank you, Cadence.” Truby carefully gathered her thoughts together. “In the name of freedom, members of Congress took the opportunity to fearmonger, drafting a bill that would seize control of the U.S.’s internet.”

  Hector cut in, “The People for a Neutral Net was an oxymoron since it meant the end of independent media. Only preapproved media outlets are issued permits to disseminate content directly to a central feed. Vague language within the bill allows a handful of people to label any site alternative news and shut it down.”

  From his computer, Hector launched a 3D PNN sphere that rotated above the fireplace in front of the blank wall. “Man, I’d love to have been a fly on the wall when Zuckerberg got told his services were no longer required,” he grinned.

  Standing beneath the holographic globe, Truby unexpectedly faced the residents of the Inn. The past three decades of her own life flashed before her. If only she’d made better decisions. In hindsight, she would have chosen differently if she’d had more information.

  Her conscience gnawed at her like gnats circling an open flesh wound. “I’ve not been entirely upfront with you.”

  The PNN news sphere announced, “Live international coverage of the opening ceremony of the Global Security Council’s Worldwide Renewable Energy Now to begin in ninety seconds.”

  Truby tried again, “Look, I need to tell you this, and then if you decide to back out—”

  She wouldn’t take any more unsuspecting innocents to slaughter, though she doubted these three were entirely innocent. Her investigative reporter instincts told her more likely they’d been sent there under similar conditions. Pete was innocent, but the pure-hearted were always innocent. She’d make sure he stayed that way.

  “Man, we get it. You’re getting cold feet!” said Zedd, the one who had emerged as the fiery if not impulsive one. “We all do what we gotta do.”

  Unnerved, it was as if he had been reading her thoughts. “But what I’m going to say may change things.”

  “Were you going to say how important people like us are to keep the spark of hope alive in the world?” asked an equally passionate and quixotic Cadence.

  Truby had always wondered why the California-via-Hawaii transplant hadn’t picked the flashier Zedd over Hector. The most exciting thing about Hector in all the time Truby had known him was that he’d decided to let his salt and pepper hair grow past his collar.

  Sidestepping frivolity, Hector only spoke when he felt passionate about a subject—or someone. “What she said.”

  Cadence slipped in next to Hector to show her support by grabbing onto his hand, holding onto his arm possessively with the other. Zedd moved in next to Cadence to show his support of her. Maybe too close.

  Truby would have smiled at the three of them if she hadn’t felt a sharp edge of the uneven rock cutting into her sweaty palm. She hadn’t expected this—any of it. Old Faithful, sweaty palms, this moment, not even a cryptic package containing a message she couldn’t yet decipher. She looked at the unremarkable rock as if it was an oracle that could predict the future. That’s when she and the others smelled something on fire. Truby opened her mouth to speak, but Pete did it for her.

  Pete sat in lotus position, palms facing upward on his knees, thumb and ring finger connected in Surya Ravi mudra like a yogi. Except, a lit pipe hung out the side of his mouth sending puffs of light gray smoke into the air.

  Opening sealed eyes, “The loss of independent media is the death of democracy. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling these kids?”

  Truby was overwhelmed. They trusted her blindly, even encouraging her.

  “I think you dropped something there,” Pete coughed a little.

  Truby would have become emotional, but she turned to find her bra lying on the floor. A little humility was a good thing. All the same, the way things were going today, she could probably easily convince Pete to burn it for her.

  CHAPTER 13

  Dean loitered as closely as possible to the now bustling outdoor multiplex to observe Loren Studebaker without being seen. Hours earlier that morning, Dean had stood nearly exactly where Studebaker was seated filing a fluff piece for PNN before the opening ceremony. Dean had casually strolled across a perfectly manicured grassy common area, a plastic smile on his face. A video drone keeping pace, he narrated as the common area converted itself via robotics into a covered mini-Amphitheatre as one of the many wonders contained within DupliCity.

  The virtual and live ribbon cutting ceremony was about to begin. Three-foot-tall silver robots with human faces seated dignitaries from around the world, digitally changing costume to match each VIP’s native formal wear as a show of respect and to make them feel welcome. High-ranking officials from New Zealand, Russia, Singapore, Japan, Mexico, and many more countries were present. When one row filled, a new row of self-building chairs would rise from an opening in the grass as soon as a robot delivered the guest.

  Studebaker stood out as a handsome silver fox in his foreign suit. Dean watched the elder man’s eyes scan the Amphitheater for something or someone. Becoming awkward as more people arrived, Studebaker made himself the welcome wagon greeting attendees with a toothy news anchor smile and a double-pump handshake. His head kept turning back to a particular seat.

  Dean was amused at the possibility the veteran was watching for him. Five years ago, Studebaker had popped up as an unlikely guest contributor in a small-town PNN outpost in Asheville, North Carolina where Dean was cutting his teeth. Dean knew who he was, everyone did. But, Studebaker always acted like a big shot, never introducing himself. Finally, he realized that Studebaker had appeared wherever he was every couple of years before and after North Carolina. Certainly, today’s event was a big deal, but Dean had been more than surprised when Studebaker called out his name.

  Dean saw a transparent media screen push down from somewhere within the overhanging cross beams as the mingling crowd waited for the event to begin.

  In the DupliCity Headquarters Sky Tower, General Frohm barked at Young as chaos threatened. At least in his mind. Herding global leaders was like herding cats as they impatiently called out to assistants for water, a touchup, snacks, etc., while they waited.

  “Offer him— I mean her another reminder, Terrance,” bellowed Frohm not caring who heard.

  In the two-way surveillance media screen, Frohm caught sight of China’s General Chen and his two bodyguards entering the opening ceremony’s staging area. Frohm huffed again loudly, nodding his head in the direction of the media screen.

  Great, Young thought. He had enough to deal with. Young ran off like the errand boy he was to deliver his boss’s message before the pugnacious General could find something else to grumble about. No style at all.

  Young slapped a hand on the shoulder of a junior officer about to take a bite out of his complimentary banana muffin. “Let’s go, partner. I’ve got an important job for you that’s going to change your life.”

  A little style takes you places. He’d make sure of it.

  CHAPTER 14

  Computer tablets and smart glasses synced, a large hologram of two gazelles facing one another pawed at the imaginary ground. Suddenly, the two gazelles locked horns before merging as one to leap into the 3D orbiting globe of light above them.

  “Into the belly of the PNN beast!” cried Zedd. Cadence and Hector shouted gleefully.

  Behind the bar, Truby’s computer tablet was in private media screen mode for good reason. Blinking alerts issued warnings in red across her screen. The alerts weren’t telling her she was hacked; the order was she was to look outside the window down from the bar. Out of the right corner of her eye, something was moving but she was angry enough she refused. Only one person played such games.

  A quick flash of red the
n a white laser hit the bar near her hand leaving a cigarette burn mark marring the bar’s nearly unblemished perfection. The smell of burning varnish filled her nostrils. She growled under her breath at the unnecessary destruction turning to stare into the face of a beautifully colored hummingbird drone fluttering its nearly transparent wings, throat pulsing a dazzling red.

  The delicate drone’s mouth opened, its neck growing brighter, belying its innocent facade. Truby jumped out of the way but not fast enough before the micro-blast caught a corner of her synthetic shirtsleeve, causing it to shrivel and smolder. Pulling the fabric away from her, she swiveled to run sink water over it.

  “Redundant encryption enabled,” Hector called out. “Is something overheating?”

  Truby was seething. Never had he gotten physical with her. Young was a lot of things, but his “style” was a cover for the fact that he was more passive than aggressive. She could only reason he was under as much pressure as she was.

  Sweating now, “Uh . . . Okay, let’s send a little pre-celebration reality check to the world, shall we? This is not a drill. Just like we practiced.”

  “Uploading. Stand by,” said Cadence.

  On the media projection screen on the wall, PNN went live to DupliCity’s Family Fun Amusement Complex.

  “Oh, man! Let’s go there!”

  “Totally overrated, Zedd,” said Truby.

  “Well, maybe you’ll wake up, and I’ll be gone.”

  “I’ll miss you!” Hector chided.

  “Shut up, you two! There it is!” Cadence jumped onto the chair to pump her fist in the air at what she saw. A matrix-like shadow glimmered across the screen. “Hold on; I’ve got this.”

  Jumping off her perch, hands worked quickly, hovering slightly above her computer as if performing a magic trick. The shadow disappeared.

  PNN’s proprietary air time was in the control of Truby and her crew. They were about to air an unauthorized mini-documentary featuring the history of New Las Vegas and WREN the likes the public would never see on PNN.

  “Come on, baby! Tell it, don’t sell it!” yelled Hector.

  “That’s my man!”

  “Truth, truth, truth!” launched Zedd, all three joining the chant.

  Truby could only silently watch from behind the bar, her face indecipherable. She’d do what she was ordered to do, but not for free. She keyed in the sequence that told Young her gazelle was at the watering hole. Even from here she’d make them pay. That was the cost of doing business with a rogue. You do what they pay or force you to do, and then you burn them in the end. Something governments had failed to learn or chose to ignore.

  The blinking alerts disappeared from her computer tablet screen. Truby’s carefully crafted montage began to air across the big media screen overhead.

  Images played, the entire western U.S. morphing into an arid desert and then the massive fires. A computerized female voice began to narrate: “As the Earth’s clean water supply diminished due to environmental changes and contamination from human activity, black-ops digital warfare between nations escalated into an undeclared World War III.”

  Video clips of men, women, and children collecting fetid water worldwide; desperate immigrants waiting hopelessly in camps; erupting global conflict.

  “Viewing government as the problem, citizens en masse began establishing self-sustainable, off-grid communities.”

  A montage of inventive, self-governed communities; organic farming; shared resources and knowledge; volunteerism; models of self-sufficiency.

  “World leaders found the common enemy of the state they needed to overcome their differences to unite behind closed doors to deal with dwindling natural resources. Bypassing the inefficiency and complexity plaguing current intergovernmental organizations, the world’s elite gathered to form the Global Security Council. Chartered as a conservancy, the GSC’s sole mission was to partner with governments and business to protect Earth’s natural resources for future generations.”

  International delegates shake hands inside the new GSC headquarters before touring the impressive campus.

  “In 2024, a historic secret multinational water rights agreement evades public scrutiny to name the United States as the first site of an ambitious green energy initiative spanning all seven continents. Designed by three child prodigies, Worldwide Renewable Energy Now, or WREN, would not only solve the water crisis, it would supply renewable energy while simultaneously combatting global warming. But, not without a price.”

  “Viva la Old Faithful!” Pete cried defiantly from the back of the room as he watched the last of the images on the media screen.

  Disappointed visitors walk away from an Old Faithful gone dry; Old Faithful closes. Convoys of heavy equipment chained to semitruck beds move down freeways. Picketers protest the construction of pipelines around the U.S. including near the Grand Canyon, Yosemite Nat’l Park, and through off-grid communities on private property.

  Cadence, Hector, and Zedd erupted into cheers, standing to high-five one another.

  “PNN can shove it up their—”

  Cadence cut Hector short, jumping on his back, “I love you, hot stuff!”

  “And what is the price? The Grand Canyon? Old Faithful?” inquired Pete who had taken a seat to work a crossword puzzle.

  “My gut says more.” Truby turned to look out the nearby window before glancing back at Pete looking over his first clue. “Hector, don’t close out that I.P. just yet.”

  “We’re still secure, but I don’t know for how long until I find out what happened before. Why?”

  Truby was out of time. A digital hummingbird perniciously appeared on her computer screen, exploding like a colorful firework display before it faded out followed by bold letters, “SEND IT FOR YOU, NOT FOR ME.”

  Beads of sweat popped from Truby’s hairline. Over her right shoulder, the hummingbird drone fluttered furiously, its throat blinking bright red. Finger hovering over the send button, her eyes darted around the room to find everyone occupied. Heart pounding, a trembling digit tapped the keyboard lightly.

  A large file began its lengthy journey to the mother ship.

  CHAPTER 15

  Dean sidled inconspicuously into the end seat reserved for him five minutes into the ribbon cutting ceremony. After Studebaker had been forced to sit when guests were asked to take their seats, Dean noticed Studebaker glancing over toward Dean’s seat several times with a look of concern on his chiseled face.

  Amused, Dean decided to turn the tables and make Studebaker mouse to his cat. When Dean caught Studebaker taking another glance his way, Dean wiggled his fingers in greeting, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Studebaker flushed red in the face, quickly turning his attention toward the full-sized media screen that went all the way to the ground.

  To Dean and the rest of the attendees, it appeared as if the dignitaries on the media screen were just as alive and present as they themselves were. The DupliCity Headquarters Sky Tower used the two-way media screen to seamlessly blend into the landscape surrounding the amphitheater, the signal bouncing off the interior green screen of the Sky Tower. It truly was hard to distinguish what was real from what was patched in.

  Security Council General Stenberg and General Frohm smiled broadly for the seated crowd and the world. Between the two broad-shouldered men in full dress uniform stood GSC Secretary-General Arya and New Las Vegas Mayor Kingston, standing as tall as her modest five-foot-three frame would allow.

  In the bottom screen, a static ticker bar: LIVE North American Sector M9-48B :: New Las Vegas, NV/USA :: GSC Secretary-General Arya.

  Arya stepped forward, “Water. As precious as life itself. Not enough and . . .”

  Next to Dean, a Middle Eastern prime minister in a stunning teal kaftan leaned toward him huffing in a low tone, “What is this? We travel halfway around the world, and they can’t even come to their own party?”

  Arya continued, “Too much and the human body drowns in its own fluids. As the first Secr
etary-General of the Global Security Council, it is my greatest pleasure to unveil a seventeen-year dream in the making, ending global water conflict forever.”

  As Arya paused to acknowledge the applause on the other side of the two-way mirror, the media screen flickered, a black line cutting it in half before disappearing. Frohm’s undignified small fist pump—because the package was in transit— energized the momentarily confused crowd.

  At the grand opening ceremony, the ovation grew as dignitaries stood one by one. Studebaker was the only person qualified to discern the interruption in the video feed as a hack attempt rather than a technical difficulty.

  Applauding, he spoke loudly enough for Dean to hear, “Fast flickering images. Reminds me of someone I used to know!”

  ___

  At the Inn, Truby anxiously eyed the file that still had thirty-eight percent to go before the upload was complete.

  “Man, I am so there! I could kick their butts!”

  “Spoken like the ass he is!” Hector loved it when Zedd set himself up.

  On the media screen, exuberant children clamored as they lined up for a twelve-and-under contest beside the DupliCity Family Fun Amusement Complex Tropical Waterfall ride.

  A digital reporter set the scene, “And now the adults have had their fun, a challenge for the kids hosted by someone who needs no introduction.”

  Looking directly into the unmanned media camera, Guest Master of Ceremony, Loren Studebaker held an elephant trunk horn as he explained the rules of the kids’ challenge. By his side, Mayor Kingston attempted to ad lib, but clearly, this was Studebaker’s show. Kingston was livid.

  “When I sound my elephant trunk, you will have eleven minutes to use your UniKids Club Safety Beacon to find the baby animals who’ve lost their mother.

  “If your beacon’s signal color matches the signal color of the animal you find, you and your family win a lifetime pass to DupliCity’s Family Fun Amusement Complex, including the Tropical Waterfall ride! How does that sound, kids?”