“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a racist, Mr. Sanborn. We Africans have had a long struggle against such prejudice.” The Colonel chuckled and looked at The Major.
Sanborn fumed.
The Colonel continued. “The global economy provides for a efficient competition. You of all people should appreciate that.”
“So what I’m not understanding is whether this is a government operation or—what is going on here?”
“Get on your fancy jet and leave, Mr. Sanborn.”
Sanborn got into the Colonel’s face—or at least his neck, given the Colonel’s height. “I’m not some pipsqueak you can push around, Colonel. I’ve got a thirty-billion-dollar company and a fiduciary responsibility to defend both its brand and its reputation.” He gestured to the nearby lawyer. “Both of which we fully intend to protect.”
“So you’re going to sic your lawyers on us then, Nate? Is that it? Every syllable of Mr. Venk-kachanky-whatever here?”
“I am deadly serious, Colonel. We have significant influence in Washington.”
The Major looked at his watch. “We’ve got a timeline to meet, Colonel.”
Sanborn pointed. “Who the hell is this guy?”
The Colonel interposed himself. “Surely this conversation can wait, Nate.”
“No. It cannot wait. Our investigators tell us that there are armored cars coming in by rail. There are military helicopters without markings being stationed at retired air bases like this across the Midwest. I’ve been watching the news—watching what’s been going on out here. This is insane. This is America, not some crack-pot dictatorship. People in government have told us that a justification is being made for these operations in defense of intellectual property held by Halperin, and I’m here to tell you that yes, we do have claims, and we are mounting lawsuits, but legal action is the course to resolve this problem. This is not a police matter—or whatever the hell you’re making it into. I’m telling you that what you’re doing is not authorized by us in defense of our business interests.”
The Major pushed the Colonel out of the way and got right back into Sanborn’s face. “Not authorized? Listen, you Ivy League prick, you don’t determine what is and isn’t authorized. Halperin isn’t your company, it’s the investors’ company. The last time I checked you didn’t found it. You’re not even a scientist. You’re just a trained business monkey that someone hired to crank an organ handle. So get back on our company jet like a good little monkey before someone sells you off for medical experiments.”
Sanborn’s face had gone from tanned to burning red as The Major’s fearsome visage got up close and personal—like a drill sergeant in basic training. Sanborn stepped back a pace. “I’m not a person who gets treated like this. You are making a mistake. I don’t know who you are, but your career is over. No one speaks to me like that.”
“Get the fuck out.”
“You have not—”
“OUT!”
Several armed KMSI soldiers suddenly appeared in the doorway, and the Colonel nodded toward Sanborn and his silent, Indian attorney. The guards made way and Sanborn led the way. “You haven’t heard the last of me.”
The Major said nothing, but only shut the office door behind them and proceeded toward the Colonel’s office. He stopped in the doorway and turned around.
Andriessen raised his eyebrows inquisitively.
“Colonel. Mr. Sanborn was ambushed by domestic insurgents on his way back home. Insurgents who were no doubt enraged at the lawsuits that he’s mounting against darknet communities throughout the Midwest. I’ll see that a psyops officer contacts your people for the proper news spin on his untimely death to ensure maximum usefulness to ongoing operations.”
The Colonel nodded. “It’s a bloody tragedy. Mr. Sanborn will be missed.” He nodded to his assistant, who picked up the phone.
The Major entered the office, let the Colonel enter, and then closed the door behind them. The Major looked the place over as an aging air conditioner labored to keep the place cool in the stifling Midwestern heat. There wasn’t even a computer or a map in the place.
The Major sat down on the edge of the desk. “Rules of Engagement for darknet communities are as follows: kill everyone you find, burn every structure, and destroy every vehicle. Without exception. The knowledge and equipment that makes these communities work must be eradicated. The cultural memory that they ever existed must be erased. Is that understood?”
The Colonel nodded, poker-faced. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t forget storm cellars and culverts. Any hiding place.” The Colonel nodded solemnly.
“As for tactics, the irregular forces will prevent civilians from escaping, while your forces move through town destroying everything in their path. Psyops units will be filming as needed. It’s important that they get some footage that resembles an operation to dislodge an insurgent occupation. I expect the residents will oblige us by resisting with force, but if not, your men should facilitate that imagery.”
“That’s a formal objective?”
“It is. One other thing, Colonel.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m sending a special unit into one of the target areas. It’s a detachment out of Weyburn Labs. No one may inspect their equipment. Their mission is classified and reports directly to me. It takes priority over any other objective. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal clear, sir. I’ll make sure the men understand. What target is your team being sent to?”
“Greeley, Iowa.”
Chapter 30: // Quarantine
Pete Sebeck stood in a fabrication shop in Greeley, Iowa, watching a selective laser sintering machine print a tractor part out of metal powder. The car-sized machine used laser-generated heat to fuse the powder into a metal solid based on a digital 3-D model. The proprietor of the shop, a thirteenth-level Fabricator named Hedly, monitored the process through a tinted window.
Sebeck stood behind him listening to Diving Bruce, an “Ozzie” eleventh-level Entrepreneur, who’d come all the way from Melbourne to see what was going on in towns like Greeley. Sebeck found himself in more and more of these demonstrations as he and Price scoured the town for some idea of why the Thread brought them here.
The Australian talked with passionate intensity. “When the Daemon infected our networks, I saw it for what it was, yes? A bloody opportunity.”
Sebeck raised his eyebrows. “Even though it was stealing from you?”
“Stealing? Yes, but it was a wake-up call, too. It changed the game for everyone, didn’t it? Not just me. I realized I couldn’t have long supply chains. It would punish me—and my competitors—for doing that. That’s a level playing field. The Destroy function it installed in our network is like a hand grenade pin that anyone can pull—a ticking clock forcing us to migrate to a more sustainable, less complex system. And besides . . .” He gestured to the machines around them. “This is the future. It makes no bloody sense to transport parts thousands of miles. Creating them to-order like this from raw materials—metal powders or Arboform granules—that’s the market, mate. There are other machines that can produce circuitry from printed, flexible material. It’s a bloody third Industrial Revolution, isn’t it?”
Sebeck saw Jon Ross approaching from the shop’s open-bay entrance. Ross passed a D-Space object to Sebeck and nearby Laney Price. It appeared as an aerial photo floating next to them.
Bruce was still talking, apparently unable to see their private layer. “I’m no bloody tree-hugger. I have no intention of living in an effing yurt and milking cows each morning. Just look up at that colossal energy whore in the sky and tell me there’s an energy shortage. The sun uses up more energy in a second than mankind has used in all its history. We just need to get at it.” He ticked off items on his hands. “Solar carpet—replacing expensive platinum catalysts with metal oxides—gallium solar paint—copper indium gallium selenide—”
“Sergeant . . .” Price frowned as he examined the aerial photo.
<
br /> “Excuse us, Bruce. I think something’s come up.”
Bruce extended his hand and shook Sebeck’s and Price’s enthusiastically. “Brilliant! Best of luck on your quest, and don’t forget if any darknet reporter asks you, we’re going to be replicating this shop in Queensland come December. Cheers, mate!”
Price pulled Sebeck away and they joined up with Ross near the doorway.
Sebeck shrugged. “What’s going on?”
Ross jabbed at the photo that was following them around in D-Space. “Just look. They’re encircling us.”
“Who is?”
“Serious people.”
Sebeck studied the image. “Where did you get this?”
We have two security drones orbiting this county, and we’ve come under aerial surveillance ourselves.”
“What am I looking at?”
“Let’s find a more private place to talk.” Ross motioned for them to follow. They exited the micro-fabrication shop and moved along the crowded sidewalk. Everyone looked busy on some private errand, but even as they walked, they could see news was traveling quickly through the townspeople. Photos, videos, and messages were flying through the darknet.
Ross stopped in mid-sidewalk. “News travels fast.”
Sebeck could see the feed alert appear in his HUD display: Greeley Blockaded by Security Forces. It was a highest priority alert, quickly getting upvoted. He knew that soon the system would automatically put someone in charge of dealing with it. “We’ve been surrounded?” He more closely examined the virtual photo floating in D-Space.
Ross pointed at creeks, rivers, and roads at the edge of the county. “Three-mile radius. They’re setting up checkpoints on all roads, and they’ve got unmanned surveillance drones watching the terrain. They’re cutting power lines, communications—all connection to the outside world. And we’re not the only ones. . . .”
Ross presented a digital map of the Midwestern U.S. “There are news feeds reporting similar blockades of towns in Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, Ohio, Indiana. . . . It’s a carefully orchestrated campaign to isolate darknet communities.”
Sebeck studied the map. “And we’re at the center of it.”
Ross tilted his head. “So we are.” He looked up. “Does that mean the Daemon had advance notice of this?”
“You mean because the Thread was keeping me here?”
Price shook his head sadly. “Dude, why the hell wouldn’t it just warn us? Now we’re trapped here—surrounded by . . . ?” He looked to Ross.
“Corporate military would be my guess.”
Sebeck was at a loss. “But they can’t just—”
“Check your history, Pete. This wouldn’t be the first time corporate combinations attacked people in the United States. Based on the brain scans of that so-called insurgent you brought in, and the scans of others captured elsewhere, it looks like we’re facing a who’s who of mercenary companies that have supported repressive regimes around the world.” Ross was clicking on D-Space, examining feeds and quickly reading. “Here’s a high-rep journo with pictures of armored cars coming in by train, at night under tarpaulins. Light attack helicopters . . .”
Sebeck leaned in to look. “How can they get away with this? Where the hell is the U.S. military? Where is the government?”
Price leaned in as well. “Check out the media blitz they’ve been putting on nonstop. ‘Anarchy in rural America’—the economy spiraling downward. They’re making people desperate for security.”
Sebeck pondered their situation. “We need the National Guard.”
Ross shook his head. “I don’t think we can count on government intervention to help us, Pete. Something’s going on behind the scenes. Something we can’t see.”
Price threw up his hands. “So what does that mean? Internment camps? Worse?”
Sebeck sat down on a nearby public bench and put his head in his hands. “So they cut the power, but we still have electricity because we’ve been using local sources.”
“Right.”
“And we still have communications with one another and the outside world because we’re using a wireless mesh network.”
“Yes—although, I imagine they’ll have electronic warfare people trying to locate and destroy all the nodes on our perimeter as soon as possible.”
Price interjected. “But the factions outside the quarantine will keep throwing down more to keep us connected. And infrastructure defense factions will get involved in this at some point.”
Sebeck sat up straight. “Yes, but my point is that the darknet gives us some resilience. We’re not reliant on those things—they know that—so why are they bothering to cut them off?”
Ross shrugged. “There are still a lot of people in this region who aren’t on the darknet. Those folks have been plunged back into the Stone Age by this—no power, no cell service, no Internet. These guys want to control the message coming out of this region. The general public can’t read darknet news feeds. They won’t hear the truth, so it’ll be like this never happened.”
Price sat down next to Sebeck. “Just the official story. Which will no doubt be of the valiant private security forces containing looting and anarchy in the Midwest.”
They all stared at one another.
Price crossed his arms. “We are fucked, man!”
“We’ll be all right, Laney. We’ve been in tighter spots before.” Price narrowed his eyes at him. “No we haven’t!”
Just then Sebeck sat up straight, and stared in complete astonishment.
Both Ross and Price noticed the look on his face.
Ross asked first. “What’s wrong, Pete?”
“The Thread is back.”
Price concentrated as if he could see it by squinting. “Why now?”
Ross considered the question. “It must be linked to this news event. Maybe that’s what you were here for?”
Price shrugged. “Well, it’s not like we have much of a choice. Where’s it leading us, Sergeant?”
Sebeck pointed at the horizon. “Straight through enemy lines.”
In the predawn of a moonless night, Sebeck, Price, and Ross moved along the edge of a field. A chorus of frogs and crickets filled the stillness. Sebeck wore his suit of ceramic-composite armor and enclosed helmet. He held a multibarreled electronic pistol with a suppressor attached and scanned the path ahead with white phosphor night vision. He then signaled it was clear.
Sebeck lifted his visor as Price and Ross ran up and knelt next to him. “I still say this is a mistake, Jon. These townspeople are going to need all the help they can get.”
“Pete, the Thread was what brought you here in the first place, and if what Sobol said was true, then recent events have redirected it.”
“But it could wait. I could stay here and help fight first.”
“Do you really think you’re going to make a difference here?”
They exchanged grave looks in the dim light.
“You’re staying.”
Ross nodded. “I don’t have a high quest to complete. It would be wrong for me to go. Besides, the town will badly need my surveillance drones.”
They just looked at one another.
Ross grabbed Sebeck’s armored shoulder. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Price and Sebeck didn’t look convinced.
“Personally, I don’t envy you for having to slip through the blockade. I have your coordinates on my listing now, so I’ll know when you’re clear. Be careful. And good luck.”
They shook hands and slapped backs. And then Sebeck and Price moved along in the darkness again—Sebeck following the Thread as it led down into a tree-shrouded creek bed and into the night.
Chapter 31: // Extermination
Central_news.com
Private Military Contractors to Restore Order in Midwest—Beleaguered local residents in six Midwestern states cheered the arrival of private security forces, Saturday. William Caersky of Patterson, Kansas, felt the cavalry had arrived just in ti
me. “It’s been a nightmare. With sky-high food and gas prices, armed gangs have ruled the streets for days. The government did nothing. Thank god for these guys. . . .”
Henry Fossen looked up from cleaning a rifle barrel as the wail of tornado sirens pierced the night. He stood up and glanced at his watch: 3:42 A.M.
He dropped the barrel onto a cloth on the kitchen table and vaulted up the back stairs, shouting. “Lynn! Jenna! We’ve got to go! Hurry, hurry, hurry!”
As he ran down the upstairs hall, Jenna was already exiting her bedroom, dressed and clutching a backpack. She looked rattled. “They’re moving in, Dad.”
“Who says?”
“I just read it on the town alert feed. There are soldiers headed this way right now.” She shook her head in incomprehension. “How could this be happening?”
Fossen’s wife, Lynn, appeared in their doorway holding a case as well. He grabbed her by the shoulders. “We’ve got to go, hon. I’ve got my things downstairs. Let’s move!”
He brought them down through the kitchen, where he rolled up the cloth containing pieces of the Korean War-era, M1 Garand rifle he’d been cleaning—the one his father had given him. He also grabbed a sealed can of 30.06 ammunition dated from 1958.
“C’mon, out the door!”
As his wife and daughter headed out the mudroom door, he took one last look at the family house, then turned off the lights and joined them out in the drive near the garage. It was still dark out, but as Fossen and his family got into the crew-cab pickup, they could hear the rattling of distant machine-gun fire.
Lynn covered her mouth. “God help us. . . .” She looked at her daughter.
Jenna looked back at them both, slowly shaking her head. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. . . .” Tears started flowing. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to—”
“Jenna, let’s not even talk like that.”
Both of them got in and he rapidly had them moving down the long gravel driveway. “Jenna, I need you to give me some idea where these people are. Are there reports of them between us and downtown Greeley?”
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