by Gerald Huff
“Then I thought about everything Sara had been saying. I thought about her call to invest in technologies that would truly help humanity, I thought about her call to provide a life of dignity to every citizen with a guaranteed income. And you know what? To me, that sounded like exactly what California should be doing.” The crowd cheered. “To me, that sounded like what California is uniquely qualified to do. We are the most technologically advanced state in the country. We are the most progressive in our social policies. We have the world’s best creative and storytelling talent right here in Los Angeles. We should be able to build this future, explain this future, starting right here in California.” The cheers grew louder, building continuously.
“It won’t be easy. There will be fierce opposition. There are entrenched interests. Senator McCutcheon described what she ran into with ALPHA in Washington. But I pledge to you, on this first Message Day, that I will use Sara’s message as a blueprint for a better California, one that I hope will set a shining example for the rest of the country and the world. I will use every tool at my disposal to make this happen.
“We are at a great tipping point, a key transition in the history of this great nation. Together, we can make it through this period and emerge stronger. Together, we can enter a new era where the bounty from the incredible technology humanity is creating can be shared amongst all citizens to provide for everyone’s needs. I see your signs. And I agree. Technology can set us free. Free to pursue our dreams, our passions, our obligations to one another as family and citizens. Thank you, Californians, I look forward to this journey together!”
Thunderous applause and cheering met this unexpected turn of events. No other major politician had endorsed Sara’s ideas so completely and committed to pursuing them. Tenesha stood by the edge of the stage and cried, tears of sadness and hope soaking the shoulder of Nate’s sweatshirt after he pulled her close and whispered, “You did it.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
HOLOCONFERENCE/WASHINGTON - JANUARY 26
HOLOCONFERENCE
Thoreau was more than forty minutes late to joining holoconference and Pam and JT were beginning to get worried. The FBI computer specialist was supposed to be preparing for the release of their final generation of worms. The timing was critical—the deluge of stories from their data dump was starting to taper off and the Collective was worried focus would return to Sara’s assassination, especially with Jacob’s initial arraignment coming up.
Miles O’Connell finally came online.
“Sorry about that. Everyone’s twenty-four seven here and it was hard for me to break away. You got the package ready?”
“Yes,” said JT. “Can we send it on this channel?”
“Sure, let me set up a receiver. Hang on. Okay, go ahead and transmit.” JT grabbed a dozen files and dragged them onto the connection icon. “Sending.”
“Got ‘em. They got instructions?” asked Miles.
“Yes, first file in the batch. It’s a little complicated, hit us up if something’s not clear. The most important thing is the kill switch.”
“What’s the kill switch?”
“When you launch the worms you need to provide a pass phrase,” said JT. “There’s a script named ‘cancel’ that will send a signal to all the active worms to stop their activity and self-destruct. We put it in as a fail-safe in case we decide to halt the attack. You will need to provide the same pass phrase to the ‘cancel’ script, so don’t forget it.”
“Okay, got it,” said Miles.
“When will you start distributing the worms?” asked Pam.
“Immediately,” said Miles. “I’m pretty sure they’re concluding that the big document dump could only have come from the new backdoors installed by DTTF and that it’s an inside job. But they’re scared shitless that it’ll come out, so they are desperately and quietly searching for who did it. They don’t know who to trust, so they’re farming out the work to multiple sys admins. I’m one of them, so I’m getting little tasks, but we all talk more than they think, so we know there’s a hunt going on.”
“I’m really surprised they haven’t shut down the access,” said JT. “Don’t they understand the risk they’re taking?”
“Yeah I bet they’re arguing about that big time. There are so many leads coming in, there’s no way they could get warrants for everything. They must be convinced the only way to find LKC is with these backdoors in place. They have added extra security against insiders, but they’re using my designs, so the joke’s on them.”
“Stay safe, Thoreau,” said Pam. “And—thank you. We’ll get our omnipresence broadcasts ready.”
“Good luck, Thoreau,” said JT.
“You too. I’m not the only one they’re hunting, you know.”
Miles disconnected from the conference and inspected the files from Zurich and Geneva. He spent about half an hour practicing installing them on virtual machines he set up to simulate the corporate networks he was targeting. Once he felt comfortable, he compressed and encrypted the files and returned to work.
Once Miles logged in and took care of urgent requests that had accumulated during his break, he copied the files to a private server he had set up in an unmonitored cluster. All he had to do was point his installation script at the DTTF database of unprotected corporate IP addresses. He was prompted for the kill-switch pass phrase. He typed endless waves of glorious destruction and pressed Enter. The program spawned a hundred threads and began infecting thousands of corporate computers in data centers all over the country using DTTF backdoors in routers and firewalls.
Once inside the corporate networks, the worms started shutting down machines, scrambling data in memory and on disk, and spreading to every connected device. Internal applications and external web sites began failing immediately. Security software operating with the highest privilege tried to hunt down and quarantine the worms, but they had a built-in evolutionary process that mutated them constantly, so the security apps struggled to keep up.
Calls and messages started pouring into DTTF from the stricken companies pleading for help. Miles had to suppress a smile as he valiantly pitched in to try to figure out what was going on. It’s all going to burn down, he thought, and I’m the one that lit the match.
WASHINGTON, DC
“Madame President, there’s an urgent holochat request coming in from Kara Morrigan.”
“Put her through.” She donned the hologlasses and turned to face the cameras in the working space of the White House residence. The US Chief Technology Officer appeared from behind an office desk. There was a bullpen area behind her with dozens of technicians arrayed in front of some wall-sized monitors.
“What is it, Kara?”
“Madame President, I’ve got some bad news.”
“Oh, shit, Kara. More leaks?”
“Worse. We’re seeing a rolling shutdown of key infrastructure and corporate systems across the country.”
“Goddamn it. How bad is it?” she asked.
“It’s very bad, ma’am. As you well know, everything is interconnected. Take down hydro plants in Washington and the data centers there lose power. They’ve got backup for a little while, but they throttle down activity to keep things cool. Other services depend on those data centers and when they don’t get quick responses, they slow down or shut down. It cascades. The infection rate of whatever is hitting them continues to increase. It’s not isolated. And it’s spreading quickly.”
“What’s the worst case scenario?”
“We’re looking at power outages across most of the country. Supply chains and manufacturing completely stopped. Already two of the three big automated transport companies are grounded. Most cities have a day or two of food and water on hand. I’m not sure how long it’ll take to get things back, but those reserves may not be enough.”
“We’ve got FEMA emergency supplies stockpiled all over,” said Teasley.
“Well I’m no expert, but I think
those are intended for a single disaster area, not nationwide. And there’s no working transportation system to move them around.”
“Can we stop it, Kara?”
“We’re working on it, ma’am. We’re trying to quarantine the infected systems, but we have limited access. What we can’t figure out is how these attacks are burrowing so deeply into the target systems. It’s like they have a backdoor past all the perimeter defenses.”
“Oh my God,” said the President. “Kara, you need to talk to Mark Geiger at DTTF right away. They have a deep access program, I don’t understand all the details.” The CTO’s eyes widened and bored into her.
“Are you fucking kidding me? DTTF has backdoors to corporate systems and no one thought to tell me about it? God damn it!”
“It’s a Top Secret program, Kara, need to know basis.” Teasley felt her face flush recalling the arguments leading up to the executive order.
“Yeah well it looks like I had a need to know, Madame President. I would have killed that thing in a nanosecond, for exactly this reason. You can’t control the humans in the system. LKC must have someone inside DTTF. We fucking opened the door wide open for them.”
A news flash appeared in both their overlays. Kara groaned. “And there we go. LKC has claimed responsibility.”
“Kara, I’m sorry about keeping you out of the loop, but right now we need to stop this thing. You tell me what authority I need to put into an executive order to give you the ability to stop it and I’ll make it happen.”
“Yes, Madam President. I’m going to get with Geiger right away and after I’m done chopping his head off we’ll create a plan. As soon as I know enough I’ll get back to you. First, we need to stop—”. The holochat cut out and the lights in the residence blinked off for a few seconds, then returned on the emergency White House grid. Alarms went off and two Secret Service agents rushed into the room. “Madame President, come with us immediately. We’re scrambling you to the bunker.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
PHOENIX - JANUARY 29
Ed Blanchard stared at the dark, lifeless screens surrounding him. His power had been out for three days. He had been able to follow the breathless news reports about the massive cyberattack on his PNA for a day and half before it ran out of juice. The scale of the attack was unprecedented. Thousands of companies had been hit all at once. Every aspect of everyday life was digitally integrated in complex networks and without power and computer applications running, the entire economy was grinding to a halt. When he started to run out of fresh food, Ed decided to take a walk to the nearby Albertsons to get some supplies.
He stepped out into the mild sixty-seven-degree weather and headed south on the six block journey. He noticed the lack of cars immediately. The self-driving ride share services relied on dispatching algorithms running in the cloud and people having power for their PNAs. With neither in place, a lot more people were walking or biking.
As he neared the halfway mark Ed could hear faint sounds of a commotion ahead. One block away he was able to make out a large crowd of people milling around and a lot of shouting. He considered turning back, but he really did need some canned and dry goods. Ed prided himself on his diet of fresh vegetables, meats and fruits, which meant he had little in the way of packaged food around the house.
The Albertsons was closed. A man in black pants and a white shirt with a logo on it was standing the front of the store. He spoke into a bullhorn. “Hello again everyone. For those who have just arrived, my name is Kenny and I’m the manager of this store. I recognize many of you as loyal customers over the years and I really appreciate your business. Unfortunately, the store is closed because like all of you in the neighborhood we have no power. And even if we had power we’d have no way to accept payment since all our corporate systems are down from the cyberattack. I can’t really say when things will be back online, so I suggest you come back later today or tomorrow morning.”
“I just need formula for my babies,” shouted one woman in a tennis outfit. “I’ll give you some q-coins!”
“I’m very sorry,” said the manager. “We don’t have electricity to read q-coins and determine their value and deduct payment.”
“My kids are hungry! You should open the store and take IOUs if you have to!” said a large man in shorts and a T-shirt who had pushed his way to the front of the crowd.
“We can’t verify identity or take IOUs. Sorry. Maybe the Safeway on Greenway is open,” said the manager. Someone in the crowd shouted they had just come from there and it was also closed.
“What if this goes on for days?” asked the woman looking for formula.
“I hope it won’t take that long,” replied the manager. “I know everyone is working twenty-four seven to get the power back on and get systems back online.”
“I heard the power might be off for a month,” yelled a man in the crowd.
“A month! Oh my God! I have got to get some formula,” pleaded the woman in the tennis outfit. The manager held up his hands. “Please, don’t worry. I’m sure the utility company will get power back up real soon.”
“I’m not waiting around for that!” shouted the same anonymous voice that had claimed there would be a month long power outage. Suddenly a brick flew out of the middle of the crowd towards one of the store’s large front windows. Ed watched with the rest of the stunned crowd as the brick fractured the safety glass and the whole pane collapsed, creating a large hole to the right of the locked sliding doors. The manager was shocked. “What the hell? Why did you—who did that?” His only answer was two more bricks hurled towards the store and two more window panes destroyed.
The crowd, now several hundred strong, began to press in around the manager. Everyone was waiting, teetering on the edge between raw fear and a lifetime of middle class suburban social norms. It took a single scrawny young man in ragged shorts and a tank top racing from the crowd towards one of the empty window frames to tip the scale. A second, then a third, then a wave of people pushed forward, ignoring the manager’s pleas. When he tried to physically block them from entering the store he was shoved to the ground and had to curl up in a ball to protect himself.
Once inside, once the bonds of law-abiding behavior had been broken, it became a melee. With echoes of “the power might be off for a month” ringing in their ears, the normally easy-going neighbors began fighting over cans of soup and boxes of pasta. The woman in tennis gear raced to the baby aisle and swept dozens of cans of formula into her shopping cart. Another woman chased her down the aisle. “You can’t take all of that!” she yelled. When the woman with the formula didn’t stop, her pursuer reached out and grabbed her by the pony tail and yanked her to the ground.
“Ow! Damn you!” As the two of them tussled on the floor, a third young mother ran by, grabbed the cart and raced around the corner. Three aisles over, the confrontation over packaged Thai Noodle Dinners was more dangerous. Two middle-aged men taking advantage of Arizona’s open carry laws had pulled handguns on each other. “Take it easy, there, friend,” said the taller one wearing a baseball cap.
“No, you take it easy,” said the other man. “I was here first.”
“I don’t think so, buddy.”
“There’s plenty of food in this aisle, let’s just agree to take different stuff.” Then they looked around and saw a dozen men and women stripping shelves bare, leaving just their island of Thai Noodle Dinners. “Looks like we’re going to have to divide up what’s left. Only smart thing to do.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve got four kids and a bigger gun.”
“Might be bigger, but it’s not the gun that counts, it’s the man behind it.” Without warning, the man in the baseball cap fired a round, hitting his opponent in the right shoulder. Someone in their aisle screamed.
“You fucker!” shouted the wounded man. He tried to shift the gun from his right to left hand but the gunman kicked it spinning away down the aisle. “Get the hell out of my
way,” he said, shoveling all the remaining food into his cart. He ran away and fired once more into the air to clear a path for his cart. His victim sank to the floor, moaning and pressing his left hand against the wound.
Ed Blanchard, who had stayed outside the store in astonishment, darted behind a car when he heard the gunshots. He found the manager sitting on the ground with his back to the car, a large bruise forming on his cheek. “Are you okay?” Ed asked.
“What?” said the man looking up at him with a dazed expression.
“Are you okay?” Ed repeated.
“I’m…I don’t know. I can’t believe that just happened. These people are crazy!” Another gunshot rang out near the store. Ed sat down next to the manager.
“They’re not crazy,” said Ed. “They’re scared. What if this does go on for weeks? People are going to start dying without food.” The manager’s eyes widened.
“You think it could go on for weeks?”
“I don’t know! When there’s a natural disaster in an area, the rest of the country can send people and supplies to help. This thing is hitting the whole country at once. No one is going to come and save us.” The men sat and watched as dozens of their neighbors raced away with shopping carts full of stolen food. Within hours their homes would be locked and barricaded, many with hand-drawn signs in bold letters: STAY AWAY MY AR-15 IS READY FOR YOU.
CHAPTER SIXTY
LONDON/WASHINGTON - JANUARY 29
LONDON
Frances waited impatiently outside David Livingstone’s office. “I’m so sorry,” apologized the RezMat CEO’s assistant for the third time. “As you know, this crisis in the States—”
“Yes, I am well aware,” she said curtly. “That is precisely why I am here. I’ve been trying to see him for more than a week.”