by Guy Garcia
“You said you didn’t think Rave Plague was caused by a pathogenic virus,” Duggan said. “And it’s certainly not being caused by some flash mobber’s blog. But what if it’s being transmitted wirelessly by some sort of viral software? It would make a similar pattern, wouldn’t it? It would look just like the scout bees looking for a new place to start a hive, and the random spokes would be following the communication pattern of individuals using social networks.”
“Wow,” Eric said. “I’ve never thought of a viral infection profile like that before, but it could be possible…”
“What could be possible?” Cara asked.
“What if Swarm’s viral message is spreading through live streams sent out by the ravers themselves?”
Cara’s eyes opened wide. “You mean, the same way that the bee scouts use electromagnetic signals to instantly trade information about their flight paths.”
“Exactly!” Eric could barely contain himself. “Anyone watching a live feed of a Swarm EDM event on their phones would be exposed to the same frequencies as the people at the actual rave. Maybe less potent than the source, but still…The dancers’ own social networks become the pathway for the Swarm’s brainrave to spread!”
“Do social media platforms kept a record of who’s watching somebody’s else’s live video stream?”
“Well,” Eric answered, “they sure as hell track everything else. No offense, but good luck getting them to share it with the government.”
“Let’s let Agent Duggan worry about that,” Cara advised.
“Eric, I definitely think you’re onto something,” Duggan allowed. “But for now, let’s stick with the data we have. When you analyze the pathway of an actual pandemic, is it possible to run the sequence in reverse?”
“To locate and isolate the origination point of the outbreak,” Cara said, completing his thought. “Eric, how soon do you think you could do it?”
“I don’t know—a day or two,” Eric said. “If you guys are right, then the reverse simulation should lead us right to the point of origin, assuming it came from one place. I’ll set up the database script before I leave tonight. If we’re lucky, I could have a synthetic model by the day after tomorrow. It all depends on how fast we can populate the program to get a rich enough data set. Some of the guys in my class owe me a favor.” He looked at Duggan. “Can you give me keywords for a meta search across media platforms? How far back do you want to go?”
“Two years?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Cara glanced at Eric approvingly. “That’s great, Eric,” she said. “Let me know when you have something to show us.”
“I thought you had to catch a plane to Asia tomorrow,” Duggan said.
Cara and Eric traded a look. “I’ll cancel it,” Cara said. “This is more important.”
“Thank you, Dr. Park,” Duggan said. He handed her his card. “It’s been a pleasure. Call me on my cell when you get the data.”
Cara looked at his card. “Jake Duggan.” She turned to Eric. “You go get started on the model and I’ll call Agent Duggan a car.”
Cara picked up her smartphone. “Are you going to the airport?”
“No, I’m heading back to the city.”
“Oh, I assumed you’d go back to Washington,” she said casually as she typed in the request.
“I booked a room at the Fairmont, just in case something like this happened.”
Cara looked up from her phone. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, Agent Duggan?” He would have taken umbrage if not for her slightly teasing smile.
“Actually, I was pretty sure about you,” he said.
The office phone rang, and Cara picked it up.
“Hello? Rosalyn, how are you? Yes, listen, there’s something I need to …”
Cara fidgeted with a paper clip as she listened. “I see, I see. Thanks for letting me know. Bye.”
“Bad news?” Duggan asked.
“That was my contact at the CDC,” she said. “The director is giving a press conference in the morning.”
“So what does that mean?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Cara said.
One of the researchers signaled to Cara. ““Your ride’s here, Agent Duggan. I’ll definitely be in touch.”
On his way out of the lab, Duggan paused in front of a windowed bin containing an entire bee colony. The proximity of the buzzing creatures reminded him of growing up in Illinois. During the humid Midwestern summers, his family would picnic with friends in the park and his mother would put out glass jugs of sugared water to catch the bees and wasps zooming over their plates. He would sit with his juice and PB&J sandwich, transfixed and terrorized by the drama of insects losing traction and falling into the gleaming death traps, an unwitting witness to the excruciating struggle that followed, antennae bent, legs akimbo, stingers thrusting fecklessly, slowly drowning in his mother’s lethal nectar. Even now, he couldn’t keep from imagining what would’ve happened if the bugs managed to escape and take revenge on their executioners.
On the way back to town, Duggan dialed JT. “Swarm is a person,” Duggan told him. “A flash mobber.”
“Makes sense,” JT said. “So is Swarm Ulrich or the DJ?”
“Not clear yet. I’m waiting for some data at UC Berkeley that could help us find out, so I’ll be working out of San Francisco for the next few days. Meanwhile, it would help if we could get the data any live video feeds made by Swarm’s flash mobbers.”
“You mean from people’s phones?” JT asked.
“We think it might be how the Rave Plague is being transmitted to people beyond the EDM events.”
“You realize that what you’re asking would practically take an act of Congress,” JT said incredulously. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Let’s start with the victims,” Duggan said tersely. “Maybe we can get some of them to willingly share their live video history.”
There was a long pause before JT said, “I’ll see what I can do, but don’t get your hopes up.”
“Slim chance of that.”
JT guffawed. “Hang in there, pal. We’re still trying to get a fix on Ulrich’s location, working a possible angle through his sister in Norway. I’ll keep you posted.”
Duggan was about to hang up when he became aware of the clicking noise on the line. “Hello?” he said. The clicks continued for a few more seconds and then stopped.
After checking in at the Fairmont, Duggan unpacked and went to a nearby gym for a workout and a swim. It relaxed him to plow through another medium, the water enveloping him like a second atmosphere, the repetitive motion of major limbs, the automatic breathing. Swimming was a form of meditation for him, a way to wipe away the clutter. His thoughts drifted back to Cara Park. She was brilliant, insightful, and irresistible, a potentially disastrous combination if he crossed the line. He’d slept with sources before, but she was becoming indispensable, which raised the stakes on whatever did or didn’t happen. Either way, it was tricky—one wrong move and he’d be back to negative one, chasing ghosts in the fog with no one to catch him if he lost his way.
The CDC’s announcement was all over the media the next morning. Duggan immediately called Cara at the lab. “Did you hear? The director just declared Rave Plague a national health emergency.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said. “If our theory is right, this will only make things worse.”
Duggan asked her to lunch, and she accepted. She told him to meet her at a Mediterranean café on Shattuck Avenue, a couple of blocks from campus. The restaurant was funky and vaguely vegetarian, with an abundance of potted vines and leafy plants flourishing in the front window. Cara arrived slightly late and a bit flustered. Her hair was loose and shiny. He ordered hummus and the lamb burger with fires and a beer. She asked for a kale Caesar salad and an organ
ic iced tea with lemon.
“You seem a little upset about the CDC announcement,” Duggan said.
“Oh, no, I mean it’s great if you’re a fan of martial law.”
“How do you figure?”
“Invoking the All Hazards Preparedness Act is tantamount to declaring a state of war,” Cara explained. “If the local and state authorities agree, there’s almost no limit on government intrusion. Mandatory testing and inoculation by oral tablets, injection or aerial spraying, forced quarantine—you name it—all just became legal. Due process is out the window.”
Duggan dipped a pita chip in his hummus. “You make the cure sound worse than the disease.”
“Oh, yes, you’re right,” Cara said tightly. “Let’s look on the bright side. It’s probably just a cyber psychopath running around with brain-conditioning software from the Department of Defense. At least it’s not infectious!”
Duggan was taken aback by her outburst. “Let’s not get too optimistic here,” he said.
“Believe me, I hope I’m overreacting” Cara said. “Although calling the outbreaks Rave Plague on national television is probably enough to send people running into the streets with cans of Raid and shotguns.”
Duggan took his time chewing. “How’s the contamination modeling going?”
“Eric’s pretty sure he’ll have something by tomorrow. I just hope it’s not too late.”
“It’s not too late,” Duggan said. “The software that’s probably causing Rave Plague is every bit as dangerous as any biological pathogen, which is why I’m enormously grateful for your help.”
Cara’s demeanor softened. “What does your girlfriend think about your staying on the West Coast for a whole week?”
“What made you think I had a girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. You’re handsome, confident, and probably carrying a gun. I figured there was no way you could be single.”
Duggan laughed. “Well, I’m not that stable, and the only guns I use are in video games. What about you? I’m guessing you aren’t armed and dangerous.”
“Hmm, humorous and diplomatic,” Cara observed, sipping her tea. “I like that in an unstable single guy. If I were the kind of person who discussed things like that with somebody I just met and hardly knew, I mean.”
Duggan smiled. “I’d expect nothing less,” he said. “But just for the sake of argument, if you, for whatever reason, decided to discuss your personal life, what would you say to that person?”
“Fair enough,” Cara said, pushing her hair from her face, “I suppose I would say that about three years ago, I was engaged to a wonderful guy who was looking for a cosmic soul mate, and for a while, I was that for him, and I liked it. But I was always wondering when he’d grow up, and the day that he asked me to be his wife, I ran for the hills. When he called my bluff, it turned out that—surprise!— I was the one who couldn’t commit.”
“Sounds like maybe he didn’t know you very well after all,” Duggan observed.
Cara took a bite of her salad without taking her eyes off him. “And what about you, Agent Duggan? What would you say if you were having a conversation with a woman you barely knew and she told you that she was allergic to serious relationships?”
Duggan finished his beer before answering. “I’d say she didn’t strike me at all as a commitment-phobe.”
“Oh, really? Based on what?”
“Well, I’m no expert, but as far as I can tell, this hypothetical woman is obviously conscientious, kind, and brilliant. Those all seem like essential and excellent partner traits to me.”
Cara rolled her eyes. “You’re not from the West Coast, are you, Agent Duggan?”
“No, I’m not,” Duggan answered. “And I think you should call me Jake.”
“Then you have to call me Cara.”
“Happy to oblige, Ms. Cara.”
“So, Jake, where is this mythical paradise where they make unstable single straight men who are also perceptive, amusing, and gallant?
“Chicago,” he said. “But I’m probably the only one in San Francisco.”
Cara seemed to mull that over for a bit, and then she waved to the waitress to bring the check. “One is all she would need.”
18
Xander wandered over to Tom’s bookcase and started reading the titles aloud: “The Fantastic Inventions of Nikola Tesla, The Origin of Species, Beyond Good and Evil, Dynamical Systems and Chaos Theory, Optiks, Cryptocurrency …” He ran his finger slowly across the spines of the volumes. “I know about you and Swarm, Tommy,” he announced. “I gotta admit you really had me fooled.”
“Huh?” Tom kept fiddling with the visual-generator program on his computer, but his heart was pounding.
“You sly dog. I’m looking at your private little library—Nietzsche, Darwin, Jung, Hofstadter, Kauffman. I mean, c’mon, it’s pretty obvious.”
Tom did his best to remain nonchalant. “What’s obvious?”
“That you’ve been reading Swarm’s blog, man! Evolutionary catharsis, the next paradigm of humanity—that’s his whole thesis! The only thing I don’t get is that I’ve been telling you about him for ages but you were never interested. So what changed your mind?”
Tom tried to look chagrined. “I don’t know. The mutant vehicles rally, all those people flowing together like a river … I just finally got curious, I guess. You were right—Swarm’s ideas are pretty provocative, all the stuff about an evolution of the collective mind. Do you think he’s right?”
“Well, let’s just say that I don’t think he’s wrong,” Xander answered. “If light and matter are just bundled states of energy, different forms of some universal force that we’re all made of, then who’s to say that human thought isn’t just another kind of wavelength on the spectrum? Sometimes when I’m spinning, I can see the music travel through the dancers, like a physical thing, and I stop seeing individual people. I don’t even see a crowd. It’s more like a presence, a huge shapeless animal that moves and breathes.”
“A movement with a million eyes and hands, a mind with a thousand brains,” Tom said.
“Yeah.” Xander was squinting at his friend. “You know, it’s kinda weird how much you sound like Swarm right now.”
Tom laughed. “Wow, that’s quite a compliment, I think.”
Xander’s expression was unchanged. “I’m not kidding, Tom. There’s something going on out there, and I’m not sure it’s a good thing. That night in New York, I saw a guy pulled to pieces right in front of me. People died, and all those flash mobs happening the same night in Manhattan … They say that this Rave Plague they keep talking about is connected to the music, the whole techno dance scene. What if they’re right? What if there’s something out there, drilling into people’s heads? What if someone is trying to sabotage the EDM movement by releasing chemicals or viruses? The haters, you’ve seen them, they’ll do anything to kill our groove.”
Tom and Xander had only texted a couple of times since getting back from New York. After the altercation on Governor’s Island, Xander was unusually subdued. He had texted Tom that he wanted to talk, and Tom had guessed immediately that something was amiss. “Xan, Xan, lighten up,” Tom said. “You can’t believe everything you see on the news. They make shit up just to fan the flames.”
Xander was undeterred. “I saw it with my own eyes, Tom. They tore the arms off his body. I saw the looks on their faces, the way they walked. It scared me. Those people were tuned into some kind of negative frequency.”
“I know. It was pretty weird.”
“Plus Homeland Security gave me a buzz.”
“They called you?”
“Yeah.”
“Not the FBI guy?”
“No, somebody named Duggan, Agent Jake Duggan. He asked me about some hacker group called the Meta Militia, and Swarm, too.”
“He asked you
about Swarm?”
“He wanted to know if I knew him or if I’d ever been contacted by him.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that everybody knows Swarm and nobody knows Swarm. He’s the grand guru of flash mobs.”
“True enough.”
“Tom, I came to tell you that I’ve decided to lay off live performances for a while. With Homeland Security sniffing around and the paranoid vibe that’s taking over the whole EDM scene, I need a break. What if we’re responsible somehow, even indirectly? What if Swarm was on Governor’s Island? How in hell would we even know? And this freaking techno flu. The government just declared a national health emergency, in case you haven’t heard.”
“It’s all bullshit, Xan,” Tom said. “Propaganda from the fearmongers.”
“Maybe, but it’s just not worth it anymore. Not to me. Not if there’s even a possibility that somebody’s using us to hurt people and sabotage EDM. Anyway, the ARK tour is done and we’ve got plenty of money. So who cares if we take a time-out? Just until things settle down.”
“If we give up, then the bad guys won.”
“Look, I’m just talking about the live stuff. We can keep recording. I’ve got a ton of new song ideas. We’ll write the next ‘Stardust.’ Then we’ll see. I told Fabian, and he’s cool about it. He says I’m ready to go more mainstream.”
“So you’re just going to drop everything and hang out in Austin, trade in your Maserati for a platinum pedicab?”
“LOL,” Xander said. He started drumming on the bookshelf. “There’s a girl in Barcelona. I met her on the tour, and she invited me to visit. I’ve always wanted to see Spain. I think I’m gonna take her up on it.”
Tom could tell that Xander’s mind was made up. He also knew that getting off the grid for a while was the smart thing to do. Homeland Security was only one or two steps away from connecting him and Xander to Swarm. Better to play it safe, lay low for a while, and plan the next move without the feds snipping at their heels.