by David Berko
Just as Damion was settling in, he was jerked back to an upright posture by a rumbling subwoofer in the room. He immediately swiveled his head to look at the doctor who apparently discovered the sound system recording all the action outside had been turned off.
"Appreciate the 7.1 surround sound, Mr. Westover?" the doctor asked, smiling.
Damion returned the other man's smile with an icy one of his own. This was almost too much for him to take in at once. It was glorious.
"Can we see a weapons demo today, Gerard? Or is that not gonna be ready this quarter?" Damion wondered aloud.
"Oh--no, no, no. No weapons demo today. But, if you like, you can come by next month for a little taste of what me and the team have been working up."
"I'd like that."
"I thought you would."
And just like that, as soon as it had commenced it was all over. The vehicle was ordered to power down, which all went off without a hitch. When it was safely grounded Damion insisted on shaking hands with the brave pilot.
One of Dr. Gerard's aides grabbed at the hydraulic crank and gave it a couple good twists. With a loud groan the blast-proof door opened, allowing access to the testing grounds from the bunker. Damion was first to egress. He didn't waste any time at all...making large strides over to the gleaming miracle of engineering which his two billion dollar investment had funded.
The pilot clambered out of it and jumped to the earth. He had a visor cradled by a crooked elbow to his left side and a gloved hand extended outward towards the approaching Damion Westover.
"It's a pleasure to meet you in person, sir. Heard lots of good things about you. It's an honor."
"The pleasure's entirely mine son," Damion said while grabbing the young man's hand and pumping it up and down. "Next we've gotta get you to weapons test this bad boy, but one step at a time, eh?"
The other guy laughed and smiled. "Gotta learn to walk before we run, right?"
Damion nodded his head slowly. He was impressed by the charisma of the brave pilot. Kids like that didn't grow on trees.
--
Chapter 3
With all the talk centered on the six regions, also known as the lower forty-eight prior to the Second Civil War, many forgot about the last two states to enter into the former union: Alaska and Hawaii. What happened to them? What became of the island state and the purchased land known as Seward's Folly (Alaska)? No one knew. It's as if a tsunami came and hit the coast, submerging two great territories in its wake.
Honolulu, Hawaii
On the island of Oahu, all was peaceful with the occasional lapping of the waves against its two hundred and twenty-seven miles of shoreline. Even the former capital city of the state lacked the congestion and noise pollution known to major cities of the modern world. The streets were very empty and the pedestrians were nowhere to be seen. It was like a ghost town, almost.
Located in the Capitol District part of town was the seat of government for the state--the Hawaii Capitol. After the civil war it was moved to the less prominent city hall: Honolulu Hale. There in an art-deco inspired edifice important members of the new coalition resided--the Free Republic of North America (a union between Alaska and Hawaii). Texas was said to be considering membership, but those were still only rumors. Nothing written in stone.
Even though it was so small in size or influence, the FRN was beginning to go viral on the web. People on a search of good in the world found a voice in the leaders of the fledgling republic. All of this was fine and good, but it was met with stiff resistance.
There was a group of home-grown terrorists who used cyber attacks, blackballing techniques, and a whole litany of other tactics to undercut the movement of FRN. Subsidized by the taxpayers of tyrannical governments in the sixth regions of the States of America, this underground network of hackers and other odd types used their new-found support to ensure that the status quo of the post-America after the Second Civil War reigned supreme.
…
The IT cyber security sector of government was hopping for a Monday. Just like the streets of Honolulu were quiet, too quiet, the atmosphere in the room full of terminals and geeks was the same way, too. The office normally was full of chatter, voices cracking with puberty, excitement and work life. However, today had a different feel to it.
A man in dungarees and a floral shirt with sleeves rolled up around the elbows was now making the rounds. He observed the atmosphere and almost imperceptibly nodded to himself.
"Alright, can I have all your attention, please?" This was an imperative.
All activity stopped and all eyes were on him.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other then looked down at his screen before he began. "I have in my hand here," he raised his little device, "a report of the latest attacks from Scorpion." He paced back and forth in a ten foot track then stopped to turn towards the expectant faces staring back at him.
"I don't have to remind anyone here that the capabilities of the Scorpion group are almost unrivaled in the world of hackers." He paused, a corner of his mouth lifting to form a half smile, "That's why I have you. You guys are the best...you just don't know it yet."
A few cheers sounded along with a smattering of accolades.
Donald Holiday, chief cyber security advisor to the President and Director of CCC (Central Cyber Corps) looked once again at the group to lift their spirits before giving the bad news. "I want to commend you all for your commitment and your grit. Without it, this government would go under. We and the citizens owe a great deal to you people, and don't you forget it."
More applause.
Donald raised his hands for silence. "But...evil in this post-American world isn't content to sit on the sidelines and not go on the offensive. Here, in my hands, is news that there is a worm in our own system," he thundered, his eyes blazing.
"Who could have done this? We don't know. But this needs to be priority one, now. So do what you have to do, but I don't want to be responsible for what might happen if you brainiacs don't come up with a solution to purge our network of this virus. It needs to go down."
There was a great deal of murmuring in the room, but it slowly dissipated as Donald opened his mouth to speak again. "Any questions?" was all he said.
"Sir?"
"Shoot."
"How could this have been done? Someone would have needed to have had access to the mainframe...."
"Your point?"
"Maybe," he looked down to avoid eye contact, "maybe it was from the inside."
"A mole?"
"Yes sir."
That was enough to silence Donald. He appeared very troubled, as was the rest of the group in the room. No one wanted what came next, but everyone knew it needed to be done. There would be an intense vetting process and the source would be found. Polygraphs would be the order of the day, too. This person would be smoked out, no question.
Donald appeared to be sweating a bit. He looked most uncomfortable. "If there are any turncoats in this room," he said, "I will personally see to it that I am the one who sends your sorry ass away to Siberia." The scowl on his face was so menacing that even he seemed to be aware of it, because his features seemed to soften, if only a shade.
"I will assign two teams: one to isolate and trace the worm and purge it from our system and another to send our enemies a little Trojan horse of our own.”
Monitors flickered to life and chatter picked up.
“Well? What are you waiting for? Get busy.” Donald turned on his heels and left the room in a hurry. He had a lot on his mind and other people he needed to meet with to reassure them that the situation was under control. One of them was the next room over.
--
Westover Estate: Beverly Hills, California
Damion was still on a high from his Mark 1 demonstration. He couldn’t just go back to work on petty projects…he could hardly sit still. Ironically, there he was perched on a white tufted leather couch sporting one of his best contemplative poses wi
th his knuckles resting below his chin. His green eyes fell upon the fur rug that adorned his wood floors. Damion’s leg bounced up and down with erratic energy, no stopping in sight. Suddenly he was getting a call.
“Hello…?” he casually answered with a punch of forced breath in the first syllable.
There was a distinct preclusion of formalities from the caller. It was of urgent business, and they needed the billionaire’s undivided attention.
“When do you want me down?” was all Damion said after thirty seconds of silence on his part.
“Immediately,” the disguised voice on the other end said.
Damion got a pained look on his face because he knew of the headaches that went before him in meeting the person on the phone. But it was of necessity he do it. “I’ll be on a jet pronto.”
“Good.”
Damion tossed his phone against a plush zebra print pillow. Exhaling slowly and massaging his collar bone with his thumbs, he began the mental process of readying himself for his appointment later that day. He wasn’t a student in Zen culture; however, it came as instinct to sit cross-legged to meditate, pondering his life events and such. His conversation with Charles the other day ran through his mind. The girl he had asked his butler to make a date with….Friday seemed like an eternity away to him—it was Monday.
A muffled sound almost escaped his notice. Finding himself reaching over and pulling out the phone, Damion let out a gasp and dropped it. On the screen was a picture of the lady he was gonna meet up with later in the week. How did she…? He had no idea.
“Hey baby, I hear you want me this Friday.” There was honey dripping from the very feminine voice.
The undertones of love rang in Damion’s ears for a moment. He had to shake his head and collect himself. Normally a ladies man, he was unfamiliar with what he was going through right now.
“Carmen—“
“It’s Kara, babe.”
A look of horror flashed over Damion's face. He couldn’t believe he was making these mistakes. “Kara, look, I don’t know what Charles told you, but I can’t wait for Friday. I wish I could see you today.”
She believed him. There was a smile in her voice. “Aw, look at you. You love me already.” She laughed softly.
Damion felt like his foot was still in his mouth, so he decided to end the call on a positive note and escape with as much dignity as he could salvage. “You’re gonna love the place Kara. Come in through the front door. Seeya then.”
“Later cutie.”
Now he dropped his phone; it clunked off his wood floor, missing the safety net of the plush rug below his feet. Damion swore and sat there for a moment with his mouth wide open and his heart beating fast. Unbelievable how this day was going for him. It was all a blur of colors from his perspective.
…
(On the phone)
“Hey, yo, Charles?” “Sir?”
“Get my plane fueled up. Wheels up at fourteen hundred hours.”
“You got it. Anything else?”
Damion was thinking of Kara, and then the question formed: “Kara—did you give her my numb--”
Charles let out a little laugh, interrupting, “A small favor, boss. No thanks necessary.”
Damion’s face was a little flush. Not with anger, more like he couldn’t believe his right hand man would make arrangements for him like that. His features changed into a twisted smile.
“Thanks for that Charles. I owe you….”
“I didn’t go golfing today,” he responded. “That’ll be on tomorrow’s agenda though.
“Great. The offer still stands: take the Lambo. Heck, take some girls with you from the pool. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”
Charles gushed. “Thank you sir!”
--
A political vendetta went from grassroots to mainstream in post-America. Capitalism had its day in the sun…enter the heart of darkness that now characterized the masses of a once-blessed nation. As the age-old axiom goes: you reap what you sow. And many of America’s enemies couldn’t have been happier with the fallout of a former capitalistic Christian society.
History has a way of repeating itself
The socialistic experiments of the early twentieth century led to the bloodiest epoch known to man. What would be any different about this one? Of course you had figures who would come out and proclaim loudly an end- of-days message in the public square. However, politically correct interest groups would move swiftly to hush any such individuals. A society that once prided itself on its members being tolerant of others’ ideas now was bending over backwards to eradicate any such expression by certain conservative people groups.
The planks that built the platform of anyone running for office were a little bit of truth mixed in with a bunch of lies. The Scriptures even warned of this coming age, but no one listened. The spirit of the Antichrist in the land was as pervasive as a cloudy, dark night. It blinded leaders’ eyes and the citizens couldn’t discern any difference.
--
Chapter 4
Scorpion
SSIIv7 orbited high above the atmosphere: geostationary orbit (23,000 miles). This communications satellite belonged to an underworld cyber terrorism group that called themselves Scorpion. It wasn’t a significant asset of theirs, yet the fact that it was there merely underscored the point that their existence wasn't something of legend anymore—it was looking down upon civilization from the sky.
A little more obvious than a blinking satellite way off in space somewhere, were the monitoring posts set up in every major urban center in North America. These listening posts gathered and collected data on citizens by tapping into CCTV (closed-circuit) cameras.
What really made it all work were the cameras' telephoto lenses that had incredible zoom. On top of that, these all- seeing eyes had sensors up the ying-yang to grab any grainy photo and make it crystal clear through magic. And of course they could see in the dark and through any kind of weather.
As a result, Scorpion always had a bird's eye view into the private lives of every living soul on North American soil. This god-like power enabled them to go after their enemies like never before. Thanks to the advancements of science and technology in the twenty-first century, what was thought impossible before now became possible.
What was really worrisome to minority groups and conservatives alike were Scorpion's filtering protocols of the metadata they gathered on the world's population. This evil organization that aligned itself with the occult of Devil worship now baked in ethics decisions into its lines of code that governed how the analytics on the data it gathered would be filtered, or said another way: Scorpion's twisted software relied upon flawed artificial intelligence to make decisions on which conservative groups to target and put on their black list.
Those individuals unfortunate enough to have made it to the list now were assigned 24/7 surveillance (drones and operators). If these persons of interest crossed over into "too dangerous to let live" territory, then Scorpion's mercenaries of death would handle it.
--
Desmond Alakart grew up around computers. It was all he ever did. He would take off their casings and prick his fingers on the silicon threading of the motherboard. He would just stare at the innards of such a marvelous machine in wonder. And then one day he came to understand he too, could become part of a culture born out of the PC’s existence. It would be a privilege and an honor for him.
It gave him substance….The thought of waking up to a world without them could have sent him into a tailspin into the next life. Inconceivable. How did humanity ever get on without the usefulness of computer circuitry all around us in our cars, TV’s—refrigerators?
Desmond made all his friends mad by staying holed up in a dark room with a terminal and his favorite drink close at hand. Throughout his years in high school and even in college he was a standout from the rest of mediocrity existing beside him. Their stares and disparaging remarks behind his back and out of earshot were irrelevant to the youn
g mind. He was out to prove something. Desmond hated the whole “chip on the shoulder” mantra, and so he called it his burden instead. He wanted to bring justice to the people around him that he saw suffering, including himself. What better way to do that than through programming he thought.
All of his code he published and made open source for aspiring developers like himself. He was the vanguard of OOP (Object Oriented Programming).
Some of his peers that were hackers (more like crackers*) encouraged him to drink their cool-aide and step into a world unfamiliar to most. Desmond hesitated. After much deliberation he finally decided to take the red pill so to speak. The programmer entered into a matrix that blew his mind.
At only twenty-five years of age, he was about to be faced with a career-altering set of circumstances.
With no warning whatsoever he was approached by a group of shady characters that called themselves Scorpion. It was the year 2041 and Desmond Alakart didn’t know it, but he was about to get picked up, quite literally by the very people he feared.
--
Austin Texas, April 23--11:59 PM
The iridescent glow of urban life lit up the night in the core of Texas’s leading city in tech and arguably one of the biggest IT hubs in North America. High-rises reached for the stars: penthouses at the top and coffeehouses at the bottom. So was life in sunny Austin. Oh, and there was another layer of transportation that originated from the Lone Star state—flying cars. They were real. Powered by a nuclear reactor created by a billionaire’s dream and tireless efforts, Austin bustled with commerce and visitors to witness the coming of a new age.