“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Go get some rest.”
She put the datapad down, then checked the live feed from the monitoring systems. Someone had installed a set of monitoring systems, then a set of systems to monitor the monitoring systems ... it made her wonder if someone had had to use up the reminder of their budget in a hurry. It had probably never occurred to them to simply hand it out to their staff as a bonus.
Yasser looked nervous. “Should ... should I even try to go home?”
“The streets are fairly safe,” Meade lied. She had her doubts. She’d picked up plenty of police reports about riots and stabbings before she’d left the apartment. But Yasser would probably be safe. The colder part of her mind pointed out that the mission would only be helped if he died. He was a very skilled computer and datanet technician. “You should be fine.”
“I can stay,” Yasser said, nervously. “You might need some help ...”
“I’ll be fine,” Meade assured him. “And you need a nap.”
She turned her attention to the display as he hurried out of the room, quietly checking each of the datacores one by one. They didn't have access to the military network, but nearly everything else ran through the company’s datacores ... sooner or later. No wonder the hacker community spent so long trying to disrupt any attempt to rationalise the system. A simple modification could turn into a chokepoint that would strangle their community.
An hour passed slowly as she worked, carefully patching up a couple of the more obvious holes in the network. The hackers were out in force today, using codes they’d obtained - somehow - to crack the outer edge of the firewalls. Someone had probably been sloppy with their passwords again, Meade noted. It was astonishing how many people thought that ‘PASSWORD’ was a good password. Or the names of their children, something that half an hour of research could dig up. Someone was probably going to be in a great deal of trouble, if they were caught.
And if the police didn't have something else to worry about, she thought, as she opened one of the datacores. They’ll have a lot more to worry about after today.
She smiled as she put the access panel on the floor, then turned her attention to the datacore’s interior. A hundred ROM datachips were plugged into the core, each one providing an aspect of the authorisation procedure. She checked for unexpected surprises - like a new authorisation code for removal - then pulled one of the chips out of place. Nothing happened, so she dropped it in the disposal chute and inserted a chip she’d prepared at home. She tensed, half-expecting alarms, but - again - nothing happened. Her sabotage had gone completely unnoticed.
They’ll realise what happened, sooner or later, she thought. But it’ll take them time to find and remove the chip.
Carefully, she replaced the hatch, wiped her hands clean and hurried back to the desk. She had another three hours before she could slip out for lunch, another three hours before the messages and commands she’d uploaded into the datacore could go active. By then, the worm - and the viruses in its code - would have gone viral, using the datacores to spread itself right across the planet. The messages would go first, followed by the virus. And, if she was very lucky, someone would be careless and the worm would slip into the military network too.
All the security in the world is no help if the personnel using it are incompetent, she thought, remembering how network security had been drilled into her head. There were things you didn’t hook up to the overall datanet if you valued your life and property. And by the time they manage to remove the worm, it will be far too late.
She sat down and checked her watch. Three hours to go. And then she would vanish, leaving Yasser and the others one hell of a mess to clear up. She almost felt sorry for them. No matter how hard they worked, it would take them months to remove the viruses and safeguard the system. Admiral Singh would not be pleased.
And she’ll have worse to worry about too, Meade thought. Serves the bitch right.
***
“Got a report of a crowd massing at the Dumpster,” Constable Oat said. “Students, mainly.”
“Joy,” Constable Jon Davis said. He didn't like students - he didn't like anyone, save for his husbands and wives - but they were hardly the worst problem right now. There were riots in Falloch and a couple of other shitty areas, for crying out loud. The students might be breaking the lockdown, but they weren't causing trouble. “Let’s go chase them back to bed, shall we?”
He tossed his coffee cup out of the window and started the engine, guiding the police car onto the nearly-deserted streets. Being a policeman had guaranteed him employment for the last ten years - even as the economy took a steep dive and hundreds of thousands of workers found themselves suddenly unemployed. He’d once been proud to be a police officer, but not any longer. Too many of his fellows casually boasted of robbing civilians and raping suspects at the back of police vans.
Two years until retirement, he told himself. He was due a retirement bonus, if the department didn't try to garnish it for their own inscrutable reasons. Perhaps he’d buy a house in the country and invite the rest of his poly-family to stay. Or maybe we should go off-world.
He turned on the siren, ignoring Oat’s complaints. Yes, the students would hear them coming. That was the point. The young idiots - he’d never met a youngster who wasn't ignorant of the real world - would have ample opportunity to fade back into the shadows before he had to take official notice of their presence. He dodged a food truck with practiced ease, ignoring the nasty look the driver shot him. Harassing truckers was a good way to end up with a black mark on one’s record. Rain or shine, the city had to eat.
“Call it in,” he ordered, as he turned the corner. “We’ll take care of it and then resume our patrol.”
“No response,” Oat said.
Jon shrugged. The communications network had been so overloaded, over the past few hours, that it was a minor miracle they’d even heard about the student gathering. Something had definitely happened, although he had no idea what. The handful of messages that had been sent in the clear hadn't been particularly specific, while the news media had been completely off the air. He rather suspected that meant that no one could decide what lies they were going to tell the public.
He turned the corner and screeched towards the Dumpster. Despite the name, it was a perfectly decent-looking building, a nightclub where student life met the young working professionals who wanted to capture some of their lost youth. Jon felt his lips twitch in disgust at the thought - there was something creepy about a thirty-year-old worker hitting on a nineteen-year-old student, even if it was technically legal - and told himself, again, that his family’s children weren’t going to university. They could go to a technical college and learn a trade.
The students hadn’t dispersed, he realised. There was an entire mob of students, male and female, infesting the street. Half of them wore masks, hiding their features ... a number of the others wore scarves that covered their mouths. A chill ran down his spine as he realised the students were angry. Their defiant gazes suggested they were no longer scared.
Shit, he thought.
He keyed the megaphone. “THE CITY IS IN LOCKDOWN,” he said. A number of students flinched, but others held their ground. “RETURN TO YOUR HOMES. I REPEAT, RETURN TO YOUR HOMES.”
The students glared at him. A moment later, pieces of junk started flying through the air and crashing into the car. The police vehicle was bulletproof, but it wasn't designed to stand up to so many impacts. And yet, Jon wasn't sure what to do. He could trigger the gas nozzles or even the guns, but that would be a slaughter. The gas would make the students panic and run, trampling their former comrades under their feet. He'd seen the aftermath of riots before, even the ones that had ended without the riot squad turning up and opening fire. Hundreds of youngsters might end up dead ...
Something crashed into the back of the car. The rear window shattered, the framework twisting out of shape. He turned, just in time to see another car p
ulling back, blocking their line of retreat. The students howled and ran forward, their faces contorted with hatred and rage. Jon had no time to decide what to do before they were swarming over the vehicle, tearing their way into the car with the bare hands. Oat grabbed his pistol and opened fire, but it was too late. A moment later, Jon felt strong hands yanking him back, dragging him out of the police car. He landed on the ground and stared up. Hate-filled faces glared down at him, their feet raising in unison.
Jon closed his eyes.
***
Paula hurried into Rani’s office, her face pale. Rani knew it was bad news.
She scowled. She’d spent the morning fielding angry demands from all eleven of the remaining corporate directors, while doing everything in her power to track down Mouganthu before it was too late. The directors hadn't believed her assurances while Mouganthu had refused to be found. Rani didn't think the bastard had managed to escape the city, but she wouldn't have bet against it. Or against the asshole hiding out in one of the other towers and spreading lies to his former allies.
Paula came to a halt. “Admiral, we’re losing control of the streets,” she said. At least she wasn't trying to sugar-coat it. “The police are coming under increasingly heavy attack ... there are hundreds of reports. The computer network itself is under attack. Gunfire, stabbings ... even improvised bombs! This is a planned uprising!”
“It certainly looks that way,” Rani agreed.
She forced herself to bite down on her anger and think. So far, the various corporate armies - and their clients in the military - didn't seem to be moving, but that could change at any moment. Her grip on power hung by a thread. The riots on the streets weren't threatening, in and of themselves, but there were other problems. She didn't know how far she could trust the military forces outside the fortress.
And I have to stamp on this as quickly as possible, she thought, grimly. Or else it will get out of hand.
“Order the police to clear the streets,” she said. The communications problems were bound to make that difficult, but it had to be done. “They are authorised to use maximum force.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Paula said.
Rani gritted her teeth. The timing was appalling. Two-thirds of her starship crews were on the surface, celebrating their great victory. Getting them out of the city and back into orbit was going to be a nightmare. Hell, given how far their enemy had already gone, she had no doubt they’d start targeting the spacers too. It would be a really simple way to put a crimp in her plans.
“And order the spacers to report to the spaceports at once,” she added. Getting them out of the city came first. They could be sorted out later, once they were in orbit. “I want them out of danger.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Paula said.
***
Joshua had expected to be arrested, the moment he’d returned to the station to report his failure. If there was a silver lining in the endless stream of disastrous reports flowing into the computer network, it was that his failure was far from the only one. Someone had sniped a trio of policemen on Bradshaw Gate, someone else had knifed two spacers before being beaten to death ... looting, riots and arson attacks were breaking out everywhere. He had no doubt he’d be punished, eventually, but for the moment his superiors just didn't have time.
“Take your squad to Riverside,” Colonel Patterson ordered. “The station there is under siege.”
“Yes, sir,” Joshua said. He’d been based on Riverside, two years ago. The area had been poor, but relatively honest. He found it hard to imagine that that much had changed. “I’ll deal with it at once.”
He picked up a handful of reinforcements, then ordered his men back on the road, pretending not to hear the grumbling from the rear. His men had been on duty for far too long ... had it really only been twelve hours since they’d plunged into Mouganthu Tower? It felt like longer, far longer. They needed rest, just as desperately as he needed redemption. And if that meant working them to the bone, he’d work them to the bone.
The streets were deserted. Even the food trucks were missing, something that worried him more than he cared to admit. The computer network seemed to be having problems, garbling genuine messages and spewing spam every couple of minutes. He couldn’t track anything happening outside his field of view as he turned into Riverside. The towering apartment blocks looked as deserted as the streets.
A chill ran down his spine. Riverside had always been full of life. But now ...
Trouble, he thought. Where are they?
A glass bottle smashed against the window, exploding into fire a second later. For a long moment, Joshua’s tired brain refused to grasp what had happened. The rebels had graduated to making and using Molotov Cocktails, filling empty bottles with fuel and lighting the fuse before throwing them at their targets. One of them wouldn't be enough to destroy a police car, but several of them ...
He cursed as bullets snapped through the air, followed by more flaming bottles. So far, they were safe, but there was no way they could get out of the vans and deploy before it was too late. And then a car, far too close to the second van, exploded with staggering force. The blast picked up the van and slammed it into the nearest wall. It caught fire a second later and began to burn.
“Pull back,” Joshua ordered. Nine men were now dead, nine more men. “We’ll form a cordon outside Riverside and call for reinforcements.”
Lieutenant Glomma glanced at him. “But what about Riverside Station?”
“They’ll have to take care of themselves,” Joshua snapped. How many men had died under his command in the last twelve hours? He was too tired to count properly. “Right now, we have lost control of the streets!”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Are you sure we’re safe here?”
Jasmine shrugged. She was surprised it had taken so long for Mouganthu to ask that question. He’d been working the terminal with surprising skill, sending messages to his allies while she’d been monitoring the live feed from across the city. The safe house was in a reasonably safe part of the city, but that could change at any moment. Meade’s data packet would see to that.
“Safe enough,” she said, dryly. “As long as they don’t get a lock on our location, they’ll need to be very lucky to catch us.”
She glanced at him. “Are you ready to move to the next step?”
“Yes,” Mouganthu said. He didn't sound confident. “You do realise this could go horrifically wrong?”
“Yeah,” Jasmine said. She could hear gunshots in the distance. Admiral Singh had been caught off guard, she suspected, but it wouldn't take her long to recover her balance. The fortress wasn't under threat. “We have to move now or the opportunity will be lost forever.”
Mouganthu stabbed at a button. “Done,” he said. “The signal is on its way.”
Jasmine hoped he was right. Meade’s virus shouldn't intercept their communications, but Jasmine had been warned - repeatedly - that the virus had been designed to mutate, rewriting its code as it passed from system to system. It was the only way to keep countermeasures from isolating the program, then purging it from the computer network. There was a chance - a better than even chance - that some future version of the virus would prove as dangerous to its senders as its targets.
“Now we wait,” she said. “Are the other directors standing by?”
“Most of them,” Mouganthu said. “They’ll move when we are ready. A handful are still trying to sit on the sidelines.”
Jasmine wasn't surprised. “They’ll wait till they know who’s coming out on top,” she commented. It wasn't unusual. “Right now, there’s too much chaos for battle lines to take shape.”
She sat back, shaking her head. It felt ... wrong to be controlling - or at least launching - a revolution from a quiet little house. She was used to being on the front lines, stabbing deep into enemy territory and launching attacks on the enemy’s rear. Instead, she was pulling strings from a distance, without being entirely sure how many of her orde
rs were being carried out. The torrent of reports streaming through the network ranged from cold descriptions of the crisis to exaggerations that were beyond belief.
Here goes nothing, she thought. We have to keep the pressure on.
***
Lieutenant Steve Coughlin had been a loyal officer in the Wolfbane Planetary Defence Network for over ten years, something that surprised some of his subordinates. He was only a lieutenant after a decade in the service, despite a sterling record and a seeming reluctance to join the navy or move to the merchant marine. But then, he had been promised - by his real superiors - that he’d be amply rewarded when the time came for him to retire. The influence they’d used to secure him his post was enough to prove they could give him more than enough to make up for the low rank and lower pay.
He glanced around the tiny compartment, feeling nervous. Despite everything - Governor Brown, Admiral Singh - he’d never really expected to receive orders to lead a mutiny against his superior officers. It had been a theoretical possibility, nothing more. But the orders had come in, only twenty minutes ago. He and his allies - and he hadn't even known he had allies until they’d made themselves known to him - were to take control of Fortress One as soon as possible, then await further instructions.
Wolf's Bane (The Empire's Corps Book 14) Page 34