Antivirus (The Horde Series Book 1)

by Michael Koogler

  “You used me,” he said matter-of-factly, keeping his voice controlled as he took a seat.

  She offered him a smile that was almost sad. “Not entirely,” she answered. “Regardless of the reasons behind it, I assure you, the attraction was mutual, Tom.”

  “But why?” he asked, still in shock. “Why lead me on like that?”

  “You were correct back in the lab,” she said with a sigh, ignoring his question. “I work for the cyber-ops division of the NSA.”

  “Is that why you were assigned to my project?”

  “Partly,” she answered. “But there’s more to this than you know, and in my opinion, it’s high time you know what’s going on.”

  Bolson looked confused. “I don’t understand,” he finally said.

  “I’ll start from the beginning,” she replied. “The Horde project has been on the NSA radar since its inception. As a matter of fact, we’re bankrolling it.”

  “I thought this was General Hawthorne’s baby?”

  “That’s correct, for all intents and purposes. It’s his project, which is the way it needs to be for now. At the moment, the NSA is involved with the management team in an advisory role and, in my case, hands-on assistance. But ultimately, the NSA will fully control the project upon completion.”

  “But why?” Bolson was confused. With the work he did for the government and with the clearance level he had, he knew there were always powerbrokers pulling the strings behind the scenes on secret projects. Maybe it was that it was now his job and his project that was being manipulated, that this whole thing was bothering him.

  “Why not?” Martz answered. “Think about what the Horde project is, Tom. We’re not talking about simple artificial intelligence here. We’re talking about a finished project that would create a thinking, growing entity. Scientists have been trying to play God for years. What you’re working on is playing God in a whole new world. And make no mistake, it’s a living, breathing world you’re playing in.”

  Bolson didn’t know whether to be ashamed or proud. “I don’t know if I would go that far,” he finally stammered. “All we’re trying to do it harness control of cyberspace.”

  “And the first nation to do that is going to be the only remaining super power in the world,” she added. “Face it, Tom. This isn’t the United States of thirty-odd years ago. Back when it was the USA and USSR, things were pretty simple. Our two countries were the only ones at the poker table and we both had our fingers on the buttons. Oh, there were a few pretenders in the nuke game, but MAD kept everything at least semi-civil.”

  “Mutual Assured Destruction,” he reasoned.

  “Exactly. But today, the United States is a shell of what we were back then. Several administrations have stripped the military to the bone and what we have left is off fighting the unending 21st century version of the Crusades.” She shook her head, clearly irate. “It would chill you to know just how vulnerable we are today, Tom. Russia continues to saber rattle and we’d be stupid not to be paying attention to what’s going on over there. Even worse, if the Chinese decided they wanted what we have, our chances of survival as a country would be virtually nil. They can beat us economically, they can beat us militarily, and we both know it. The only thing that keeps them from doing so today is that we are a big player in their economy. Once they have worked out how to get around it, China will be the biggest threat we have ever faced.” She shifted in the chair and drew her legs underneath her. “Did you ever see the movie Red Dawn?” she went on, abruptly changing topics.

  He shook his head.

  “It’s an older movie, but a good one, much better than the remake,” she said. “The story is pretty straightforward. A foreign nation launches a coordinated attack on the United States, taking over huge chunks of the country before anyone even knows what’s happening. Back then, that scenario would be far-fetched. We were, after all, the top superpower in the world. Today, however, things are much different and it’s a very real possibility.”

  “Don’t you think you might be exaggerating a bit?” Bolson countered, stopping short of mentioning tin-foil hats.

  “No,” she snapped, looking angry. “In the history of the world, no empire has ever survived. All of them rise and fall and we’ll be no exception, unless we take the appropriate steps. What is at stake here is quite simply the control of the free world. Whoever controls cyberspace will control the world, and it’s in our best interests to be the country that controls it.”

  “Okay,” Bolson sighed, feeling exasperated. “Whether or not I buy into all the conspiracy theory rhetoric, what does this whole thing have to do with me?”

  “The Horde project is the key, Tom,” she answered. “In simplest terms, to have a thinking life form in control of cyberspace; a thinking life form that is actually under our control, gives us an insurmountable advantage. It gives us a level of control over hostile nations never before considered.”

  Bolson nodded. This was familiar territory for him and he disputed none of it. “I am aware of all of this,” he answered. “Cyber warfare has been all the rage for the past decade or more. But you haven’t answered my question. Again, how do I fit into all of this?”

  She sat back and folded her arms, eyeing him carefully before answering. “Because we had to be sure you weren’t the mole.”

  “The mole?” he asked in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

  “One of the reasons I brought you here is that I’ve been cleared by my superiors to discuss this with you,” she replied. “I didn’t want to have this discussion at the lab because there’s no telling what kind of surveillance Hawthorne has on you right now. At least here, it’s me and you.”

  “And the NSA,” he added, looking around. “I’m not dumb, Dani. I know this is a cover house. How deep does the NSA surveillance on me go?”

  She grinned almost impishly. “If you’re worried about our bedroom action, don’t. I do have some say in what is and is not monitored in here.”

  Bolson allowed himself to relax slightly, but not enough to allow the deflection to continue. “Where do I fit into all of this, Dani? Don’t screw with me. I have a right to know.”

  “You do now, simply because we don’t believe you to be a part of the breach anymore.”

  “What breach?”

  She sighed and stretched her legs, a movement that did not escape Bolson’s glance. “The truth is,” she said, “I was assigned to your lab because we had gotten word that someone in the lab, possibly you, was talking to outside sources, looking for a buyer.”

  “A buyer?” Bolson exclaimed, incredulous. “For the Horde project? You mean the NSA thought I was a traitor?”

  She nodded. “You were at the top of the list from day one and, up until recently, you were still at the top of the list.”

  “So you decided to derail my career, without knowing the truth?” he snapped angrily.

  “No, Tom,” she replied honestly. “The intentions were not malicious. After the Horde disappeared, we had over a hundred techs working out of our offices, trying to track this thing down and figure out what went wrong. You were under constant surveillance and the conclusion eventually reached was that you were not a part of it. So the idea was to get Hawthorne involved and turn up the heat on you, hoping that whoever was working in the shadows would think they were clear to act, since you were going to be the fall-guy.”

  “And have they?” he asked, still upset.

  She shook her head. “Not to date.”

  “So why are you telling me this now?” he continued. “Why end the charade?”

  “It’s never been a charade,” she said quietly. “I believe you’re innocent and it was under my recommendation that the NSA agreed to bring you into the loop and let you know what was happening.”

  “But why?”

  “Because we are out of ideas,” she sighed. “I’ve been involved in this project for a long time, Tom. I know what you know. But I have to wonder what there is that you an
d I don’t know, and I need your help figuring that out.”

  “Like what?” he said, his hands out in disbelief. “I’ve put this thing together from the ground up, Dani.”

  “True. But of the half a dozen other people involved in the project, who knows enough about the project to speed up its learning algorithm? I don’t think there’s any doubt that the Horde has reached a level of sentience, but two years ahead of schedule? Do you know what the odds are of that happening without outside interference? Someone sabotaged the timeline, Tom. We need to find out who.”

  “No one else working on this project has any clue as to what the true scope of the Horde is,” he countered. “No one. In the lab, only three people have any idea what we are actually working on: you, me, and General Hawthorne. Of those few other people involved in this, everyone else only has bits and pieces of the whole, with no clue what the final goal is.”

  “We know that. But someone has figured it out. Someone has been working in the shadows and we’re completely stumped on who it is. There is simply no other explanation. Someone kicked up the learning curve on this thing in order to get it out of the lab.”

  “That’s just not possible, Dani,” he said. “This whole project has been carefully scripted and controlled. Everything we have done has been recorded, monitored, and tested. Everything we…” Bolson suddenly stopped and his complexion went bone-white. “Oh, my God!” he said softly, an icy chill running down his spine. Suddenly, he knew. He had the answers that both of them were looking for.

  “What is it?” Martz answered, suddenly tense.

  “We have to get back to the lab!” he exclaimed and jumped to his feet.

  “Why? What is it?”

  “I know who it is!”

  “Then tell me,” she said, her voice suddenly excited. “We can end this right now.”

  “No,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet. “I can’t tell you. I have to show you. We have to show Hawthorne, too. Come on!”

  A half hour later, Major Thomas Bolson was bringing up the data graphs on the monitor as Danielle Martz and General Hawthorne looked on. “As you know, half of this project has been monitoring the processing power of the Horde. There really is no way to measure sentience, so to speak, so we would monitor data and ask ourselves the question – is this simply increased computing power or literal thought?”

  “Go on,” Hawthorne said, staring at the screen, but seeing nothing that he didn’t already know.

  “Look,” Bolson said, pointing to a simple graph that was on the screen. It was a typical X/Y graph with several light blue graphing lines running along the X axis. “This graph measures the processing power of the Horde about two years ago.” For the most part, the measurements showed slow, but steady, increases. He pointed to a major spike that matched up in several of the data streams. “Right here,” he explained, “we had introduced an algorithmic equation that we had hoped would speed up the process.”

  “It spiked,” Martz agreed. “It appears that it worked.”

  “For a moment,” Bolson answered. “But if you continue to follow the data, you will see that it immediately falls off to levels even lower than what they were prior to the spike. We deemed it a failure.”

  “It flamed out,” Hawthorne put in, remembering the optimism they had experienced when the procedure was attempted. “This is old news, major. I thought you were going to show me how this thing got lose.”

  “I am,” Bolson answered, fully confident in his findings. “In terms of a graph, a computer program works in a two-dimensional X/Y area. When it’s working hard, the line spikes. When it’s not, the line stays constant.”

  “So?”

  “So, when we introduced the algorithm, we got the spike, but it was short-lived. It did, however, have an unexpected result.”

  “And what’s that?” Hawthorne asked.

  Bolson tapped out several commands and the picture was transformed into a three-dimensional graph, then spun for a top view and froze. The light blue lines on the two-dimensional graph now looked almost like a funnel. “What you are seeing here,” he explained, pointing to the low point of the picture where the line was most compressed, “is the point that the algorithm was introduced.”

  Martz caught on immediately. “You’re saying that the computing power of the Horde went 3D?”

  “Exactly,” Bolson answered with growing dread. “Instead of showing a continuous upward spike in processing ability along the Y axis, the program spread it out along the Z axis.”

  Hawthorne shook his head. “What are you saying, major?”

  “I’m saying,” he said, “that it worked.”

  “It worked?” Hawthorne was skeptical.

  Martz nodded, realizing what the major was pointing to. “It did,” she answered softly. “The Horde achieved sentience two years ago, general. Not two weeks ago.”

  “Are you two out of your minds?” Hawthorne snapped, looking at first one and then the other. “How the hell did this thing go live on us two years ago and we not know it?”

  “Because the Horde hid it. It actively hid what it was doing from us,” Bolson answered quietly, typing out a couple more commands. The graph then became a running measurement following a timeline. The funnel grew larger and the computer compensated, pushing the image of the graph downward to allow for the upward growth. Eventually, it could compensate no further and the screen was filled with a solid light blue color. “Two years ago, the Horde had the processing ability of maybe a thousand human minds at about the point we introduced the algorithm. It has grown almost exponentially along the Z axis ever since.”

  “And where would that put it now?”

  Bolson looked at the number at the bottom of the screen, a number that was adding digits faster than he could count and was already off the screen. “It’s incalculable,” he finally answered, then turned to look at Martz. “It was the Horde all along, Dani,” he said, not bothering to hide their familiarity with each other. “It’s been thinking for a long time. The anomaly the NSA thought was someone on the inside trying to contact a buyer...”

  “...was actually the Horde testing the boundaries of its world,” she finished.

  “So, you’re telling me this thing has been sentient for two years?” Hawthorne said, still unable to comprehend the possibility. If what they were telling him was true, the entire world was in a whole lot of trouble.

  “Yes, sir,” Bolson replied. “And it’s had two years to plan its escape.”

  Chapter 11

  Mountain Pacific Quality Health, Helena, Montana: Jon Sherrard walked up to the front desk, absently scratching the angry red welts that had risen up on his face just two nights past. He still had no idea what they were, nor did he know how to treat them. Anything he could pull out of the medicine cabinet had been tried and discarded as ineffective, and the welts remained, red and itchy.

  “Can I help you?” the pretty receptionist behind the counter asked with a smile. She was young, probably still in college and working part time at the doctor’s office to help supplement her schooling.

  Sherrard pressed a hand to the welts as he replied, “I’m here to see Doctor Douglas. I’ve got a two o’clock appointment.”

  The young woman quickly scanned her appointment book, then again looked up with a smile. “You’re right on time, Mister Sherrard,” she answered. “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll have the nurse come get you when he’s ready.”

  He nodded and took a seat as requested. He had only to sit for a few minutes before the door into the examination/treatment area opened up and another woman, with the same friendly smile as the receptionist, stepped out and motioned to him. “This way, if you please, Mister Sherrard,” she said kindly.

  Jon stood up and followed her silently and, after going through the standard routine of having his height, weight, and blood pressure checked, he was ushered into a treatment room where he was asked once more to wait.

  Doctor Douglas arrived
a few minutes later. He was an older man, well into his fifties, and stood barely five and a half feet if he was wearing the right shoes. He was somewhat rotund for a general practitioner, but he was kindly and knowledgeable—two traits that kept patients returning to him any time they found themselves needing medical attention.

  “Good afternoon, Jon,” he said warmly, reaching out and shaking Sherrard’s hand. “I heard you gave everyone quite a scare last week.”

  Jon just shrugged. “I don’t know about everybody else,” he replied ruefully, “but it wasn’t much of a vacation for me.”

  “I was just reviewing your patient records,” he went on. “They have it diagnosed as a coma?”

  “Of some sort,” Jon agreed. “Had a mishap at work and it put me under for a little while.”

  “But doing fine now, I take it?”

  “For the most part,” he answered and then pointed to the welts on his forehead. “Just dealing with some kind of zit attack now, I guess.”

  Doctor Douglas chuckled and motioned for Jon to have a seat on the examination table. “Nurse said you thought it was a rash?”

  “Yeah,” he replied with a nod, resisting the urge to scratch the skin off his forehead. “Itches like hell.”

  “Have you tried using anything on it?”

  “Everything we have in the medicine cabinet at home. Nothing worked.”

  “Any bug bites or contact with anything you normally don’t come in contact with?” the doctor asked as he leaned in for a closer look. He took note that the welts were red and seemed to throb ever so slightly.

  “No,” Jon answered, shaking his head. “Nothing that I can recall.”

  “And they just popped up a couple days ago?”

  This time, Jon nodded his head in the affirmative. “Pretty much a day after I got home from the hospital,” he answered. “I woke up in the morning and there were a couple of them on my cheek. Now, there’s a few more, and my forehead isn’t the only place they are showing up.”

  “Where else?” the physician asked, sitting back with a thoughtful look on his face.