“No, sir,” Martin admitted. “The USB chip and the note were left anonymously on Alicia’s desk after she went to sleep. Unfortunately, because of the problems we’ve been having with the surveillance cameras, there’s no video record of who did it. It wouldn’t have been any trouble at all for someone to sneak into Crapmobile while it was powering up and make a quick trip over.”
“Anyone but us,” Peter muttered. “Note how the Administration has very carefully kept it parked at the apartment every night this week? It is, after all, one of the key support columns in their power structure. Do we have any idea where it is now?”
“Absolutely, sir. It’s downstairs, unloading a shipment of five-gallon water jugs. Remember? You demanded that as a part of last night’s round of negotiation. Valerie agreed to send it in exchange for re-opening the discussion regarding our scavenge initiatives.”
“Ah, yes,” Peter said, scowling. “I remember. She wants us to suspend our operations until her regulators can declare us safe, as if we weren’t desperate enough already. And here I have several people begging – begging me, Phillips – to be allowed to join the teams. That should be the best scale for measuring the operation’s level of safety.”
He paused, looking thoughtful.
“Downstairs, eh? Hmm.”
His gaze took on a far away look, and he shifted in his big, comfortable chair.
“I think,” he said, after a moment, “that today is a bright, new day.”
“Sir?”
Peter shook off his thoughts and stood up from his desk.
“Get Franklin in here immediately. And I’ll need Alicia, Margaret, you of course, Mr. Phillips, Doug and Cathy, Gus and Dave. And have Franklin bring in his entire auxiliary. Do you understand? Everyone.”
“Right away, sir,” Martin answered, and he sped off.
“Kumar! You have to get up.”
Unconscious on Marshal’s leather couch with a pillow and a blanket tangled around him like a boa constrictor, the young man thrashed once and sat up unsteadily. His eyes looked glazed and unresponsive, and a stray sock appeared to have wormed its way upward and glued itself to the left half of his face.
“Ugumup, ummup,” he mumbled, reaching up with one hand to flail away at the sock until it gave up and fell off.
“The computers aren’t working!” Valerie shouted at him, even as Kumar looked like he was about to fall over again. “Kumar!”
“Yghh,” Kumar said, straightening up and rubbing one eye. Torstein, who’d passed out on the second couch after the strategy session from the night before, flipped over once and went back to sleep.
“I need you to fix the computers,” Valerie said more quietly.
“Did you try turning it off and back on again?” he asked.
“This isn’t funny, Kumar,” she snapped, shaking his shoulder. “All the computers are down. Networks, security cameras… they won’t even run simple programs. Nothing’s working. We’re completely locked out.”
That woke him up, and his head snapped around to look at her.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“The computers are all down,” Valerie repeated. “Our security net is completely blind. We can’t even-”
Kumar was on his feet and running towards his workstation.
“What?” he murmured, gazing at the flickering, blue screen in horror. “No.” He typed on the keyboard with frantic stabs of his fingers. “No, no, no... Fuck!”
“Can you fix it?” Valerie asked.
Kumar jumped back to his feet and started fidgeting with the wires at the back of the computer. Without looking, he pulled out a spare laptop, hooked it up to the desktop, and turned it on.
“Kumar!” Valerie shouted, loud enough that Torstein woke up.
“What’s...” the construction worker mumbled, rubbing the sleep his eyes. A yawn cut off whatever he’d intended to say.
“When I get my hands on the son of a bitch that did this,” Kumar snarled, working furiously. Then, he laughed harshly. “As if I didn’t know who it is.”
“What are you talking about?” Valerie demanded. “Who’s doing this?”
“Fucking Doug is doing this,” Kumar shouted, and the computer screen from his laptop fired to life. “Peter Hanson’s fucking IT hamster! He’s a no-talent code-monkey who only got a job in IT because most of the non-programming world couldn’t recognize their own ass from a holy prophet if it turned their web-works into wine.”
“What’s he done?”
“I don’t know yet,” Kumar said, gazing intently at his laptop screen. “More to the point, I don’t know how he did it. He’s not this good. Somehow, against my wishes, he got through my firewalls and ran amok through my… oh, you motherf-… I am going to destroy you!”
“What? Kumar, fill me in!”
“He changed all the passwords,” Kumar snapped. “The untalented little shit got into my computer and… and that’s not all of it. He dropped a virus into my personal computer. He probably thought he was getting back at me, except that my computer is the cornerstone of the mainframe, so without meaning to, he’s basically carpet-bombed our entire defense network. We’re completely fucked!”
“That son of a bitch!” Torstein muttered.
“Are you serious, or are you just being dramatic?” Valerie demanded.
“I’m serious enough to tell you that Krissy needs to arrest him,” Kumar answered. “This is flat-out sabotage. This crap endangers the entire community.”
“Sounds good enough to me,” Krissy said, appearing from the direction of one of the bedrooms. Brian stood beside her. “Paul should have finished dropping off those water jugs an hour ago. I’ll radio him and-”
“We can’t radio Paul,” Kumar snapped. “We can’t do anything! Our whole communication system runs through this network. We’re completely cut off. From Crapmobile, the gymnasium, the slaughterhouse, and the hospital. And First Canadian Place is so screwed up now you couldn’t unscrew it with a dilithium power drill. The point is that if you want to tell Paul anything, you’re going to have to wait until he gets back with Crapmobile.”
Elizabeth and Steve appeared from the same hallway that Krissy and Brian had just emerged from, and Vandermeer arrived right behind them.
“What’s all this shouting?” Elizabeth demanded. She plopped herself on the leather couch, while Steve turned into the kitchen area to make coffee.
“Why would Peter do this?” Valerie asked angrily. “He has nothing to gain. We spent all last night negotiating terms for his takeover, for heaven’s sake. Tearing down the whole security net puts everyone in danger.”
“Peter did what?” Elizabeth demanded.
“How can they be so stupid?” Krissy exclaimed.
“Not stupid,” Scratchard said, entering the room from the front hall. Along with Eva, Samuels, and a couple of the more advanced students, he’d set up his laboratory in the confines of the apartment’s hidden storage area.
He pushed past Krissy and took a quick glance at Kumar’s computer. He shook his head at what he saw and took a drag from his ever-present cigarette.
“Peter Hanson is an opportunist,” he announced. “He’s a liar, a sponge, and a parasite. But he’s not stupid. He arrived in this community with one ambition in mind, and he’s manipulated his way into arms reach of his goal. With the continued absence of this Marshal fellow you all speak so highly of, his path was clear. You failed to take his threat seriously, and now he’s achieved too much inertia to turn aside without bloodshed. I imagine he sees Kumar and Marshal’s security net as an acceptable sacrifice in order to achieve power.”
“But why sacrifice it at all?” Valerie demanded. “He’d already won.”
“You should ask him,” Scratchard said. “I imagine he’ll be delighted to tell you.”
“I intend to,” Valerie said, “as soon as I’m able to contact him.”
Scratchard turned to look at her with a bland expression.
“Th
at may be sooner than you think, Valerie,” he said, and he looked pointedly at the entrance to the front hall.
Everyone turned in shock to see Peter Hanson himself step into the room, wearing a smart-looking overcoat, hat, and traveling gloves.
“He and his box of cornflakes just arrived,” Scratchard said.
“You were correct, Professor Scratchard,” Peter said, looking down as he removed his gloves, finger by finger. “I am not stupid. This is all happening for a reason. And to answer your question, Ms. Hunter, a good businessman should always know when to sacrifice a good deal for a better one.”
He crossed the floor, impervious to the angry or incredulous stares he was receiving, removed his coat and sat down on a hard, wooden chair that was pushed up against one wall.
“It’s time to put this nonsense behind us,” he said, removing his hat. “You’ve lost.”
A scrape from the doorway caused them all to look again. Large men were now entering the room, each armed with tasers. The largest of these, Franklin, moved forward to stand next to Peter Hanson, and silently took his coat and gloves.
“Thank you, Franklin,” Hanson said, smoothing out his suit. “Please have Ms. Richardson and Captain Vandermeer searched to be certain they are unarmed. Use extreme caution, as they are both quite dangerous. Is the back storage room secure?”
“Locked down, Mr. Hanson,” Franklin responded. He signaled to his men to search Eric and Krissy. “I left three men with Mr. Phillips and Ms. Givens to help keep order. We’re twist-tying everybody we find until you’ve have the chance to interrogate them, sir.”
“Wonderful,” Peter said, looking around. “I smell fresh coffee. Is there any chance of having a cup?”
“I just brewed it,” Steve said from the kitchen.
“It smells fantastic.” Peter signaled to one of his men. “You. What was it…? Dennis?”
The man stirred. “It’s Donald, sir.”
“Fetch me a cup of coffee, Donald, would you? Black will be fine.”
“Right away, Mr. Hanson,” Donald said, heading for the kitchen.
Peter turned his attention back to the room, making himself comfortable. Franklin and his thugs finished the job of searching the room and its occupants and now stood at attention with their tasers ready.
“All clear, Mr. Hanson,” Franklin reported.
“Is this virus your doing, Peter?” Valerie demanded. She waved to the defective computer. “Was a better bargaining position so important that you would risk the entire community?”
Peter shook his head. “Not at all. Douglas? You can come in now.”
Doug and Cathy, looking ashamed and embarrassed, slunk into the room, as if trying not to be noticed.
“You fucking weasel!” Kumar shouted, half-jumping up from his desk.
A taser leveled at his chest stopped him.
“Please, Mr. Patel,” Peter said, “step away from your station, or you will be moved.”
Kumar bristled.
“Step away, Kumar,” Valerie said, studying Peter through narrowed eyes.
With poor grace, Kumar got up and flung himself into an nearby easy chair.
“Here,” Valerie said. Turning away from Peter, she stepped forward to hold out the chair in mock politeness. “Have a seat, Doug. Please be comfortable.”
“Th-thank you,” Doug said, sitting down.
“Too messy?” She tidied up the desk, shuffling papers and removing some of Kumar’s garbage. With a tight smile, she picked up a now inactive camera and moved it up to an overhanging shelf, adjusting it with care. “Better? Good. Now please...”
She brushed some imaginary crumbs from his shoulder.
“... fix the computer that keeps everyone alive.”
“It was an accident,” Doug stammered with a nervous glance at Kumar.
“So you’ve said, Mr. Mitchell,” Peter said coldly. “Can you or can you not defeat your own virus?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Then please do so.” He met Valerie’s gaze. “Ms. Hunter. Your leadership is no longer required. Please step away from the computer and have a seat. I would prefer it if the transition of power was as seamless as it is inevitable.”
Valerie turned on him with an expression of anger. For a few seconds, their gazes locked. And then, her shoulders slumped, and the emotion seemed to drain out of her.
“And here I thought you were all ego,” Valerie said, shaking her head. She looked at him with a wry expression. “Nicholas warned me not to underestimate you, but that’s exactly what I did. Congratulations, Peter. You really are as clever as you think you are.”
“Indeed,” Peter said. “Much as I would like to take all the credit, you and your people are most to blame for this turn of events. I did attempt to negotiate. Do not feel too bad, however. You can hardly be blamed for your failure. You were handicapped by a difficult situation from the beginning.”
“How wonderfully uncritical of you,” Valerie said, looking at the ex-billionaire with disdain. “All right then, Peter, since you know so very much... Tell me. Where did I go wrong? Exactly how have I been handicapped from the beginning?”
“It’s no great mystery,” Peter answered, settling back in his chair.
“Enlighten me.”
“Very well,” he said, smiling as he considered his words. “Allow me to begin by saying that I am reminded of a story I read once regarding the Soviet revolution. More of a first person account, really. Either way, I think it pertinent. It happened around the turn of the twentieth century, when Communism was in its ascendancy. Socialism was supposed to be the balm for all mankind, and the oppressed were becoming seduced by the promises it made.”
He looked around at the room with a dark grin.
“Oh, and let me be clear: I’m talking about Oppression with a capital ‘O’, the kind we don’t see today outside of the Third World. Back then, there were no ‘save-the-whaler’ groups showing up in their mud-hut villages to offer them spare bits of bread, education, or inspiring tales of women’s rights. No, this oppression was monolithic, unrelenting, and its victims routinely saw humanity in its darkest heart. Thank you, Daniel.”
“It’s Donald, Mr. Hanson,” Donald said, handing him a cup of coffee.
“Yes, of course,” Peter said, taking a sip.
“Do we really need to listen to this asshole gloat?” Brian demanded.
“Let him explain,” Valerie said. “I, for one, want to hear what he has to say.”
“Thank you, Ms. Hunter. In any event, socialism was going to save the world, and then it happened: the impossible dream. The Left won control of a major, world power. Even more exciting, it was a nation where the disparity between rich and poor had been so pronounced that it’s people would have unified behind anything, if it came with a can of soup.
“The other world powers became alarmed by the events taking place in Russia. Governments, whose chief role had always been to support the wealthy at the expense of the poor, began the process of clamping down on a hopeful proletariat. These were the first fruits of socialism’s triumph.
“All throughout the rest of the world, communists were rooted out, beaten, and thrown in jail. Propaganda achieved new heights of sophistication, and people responded to it, coming to fear and loathe a form of idealism they didn’t even understand. In some cases, the propaganda was so successful that populations embraced fascism, and started putting loud men with bad facial hair into positions of power. But, of course, all of this came later.”
He looked over at Steve. “This is excellent coffee.”
“Thank you. I add a shot of scotch,” Steve admitted, taking a seat on the couch beside Elizabeth. “We’ve been under a lot of stress over here.”
“Very wise, very wise,” Peter said, eying his cup and then setting it aside.
“Please continue, Peter,” Valerie said.
“Where was I? Ah, yes. The first person account to the chaos in Russia. He was a well-regarded, left-wing ideali
st in his day and he wanted to help. You see, while right wing thinkers fretted over socialism, the left was enthralled. Even as Hemmingway would later commit himself to aiding in the Spanish civil war, so too did this fellow, along with other well-intentioned, enlightened westerners, travel to post-revolution Russia to do what he could to see that this great moment in history survived.
“And do you know what he found?”
He searched the faces of his audience for any reaction. Seeing none, he continued.
“He found chaos, disorder, and dystopia. The mice had overthrown the rule of cats, and now the voices of a thousand, arguing mice made up the body of the provisional government. Farmers wanted to focus reforms on agriculture, ignorant and uncaring of the impact this would have on the merchant class. Students wanted to focus on high idealism, soldiers on the blood they had shed, women on the rights they felt they did not have, the aged on the cares and concerns of the elderly, ethnic groups on ethnic inequality... the list was endless. Meanwhile, the wealthy were the one group that they all hated, but also the one group they all wanted to become. Everyone had been oppressed, and not one of them cared about why. Instead, they focused only on themselves. This was their chance, their moment in time, and everyone else was sexist, racist, unenlightened, elitist, or just plain callous to of the plight of the given demographic.
“So they argued. Day and night, night and day, to the point of exhaustion. A thousand equal voices that could all scream in unison “Kill the Tsar!” now screamed at each other. And each of those thousand voices demanded their pound of flesh from a hundred pound corpse. There was no consensus, no interest in sacrificing to build a better, more universal society. The only thing they were interested in was self-interest, and as always, this philosophy ruled the day. In many cases, they might even have known they were wrong, but being stubborn, unyielding, and passionate was seen as virtue, while being thoughtful, empathetic, and reasonable only meant you were easy prey. Why be sensible when you can be angry? You could get so much more that way.”
Peter shook his head in amusement.
From Oblivion's Ashes Page 67