On Fire

by Thomas Anderson

Zak, Kim and Gilly run past Artus Court and the Neptune Fountain, now completely hidden beneath a thick blanket of snow. When they can they turn their heads as a host of drones bears down on them from hundreds of feet above. They stick to the center of Long Market where the snow has been plowed away and head straight for Zielona Gate beyond which is the waterfront two long blocks away. Frozen snow clings to everything. Icicles hang from the edges of every window and door. Spider veins of ice cover every darkened window. A fog freezes and suspends in the air, turning Long Market into a ghostly aerie.

  They fly across the square, their feet hardly touching the pavement, as the sound of the drones, like so many flying lawnmowers, gets closer. They cross Kusnierska Street and are halfway to Zielona, Green Gate, when the first of the drones reaches them. Zak is surprised that they have not been fired on, and figures it must be the drone’s job to drive them through the Gate to where they are to be captured. He expects a mass of force.

  Gilly has easily caught up and is running on the other side of Kim. He yells over the noise of the nearest drones, which can’t be more than a dozen feet over their heads.

  “We’re still alive!” Gilly says enthusiastically and breathlessly. He obviously didn’t think this was possible.

  “I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Kim yells back, already hoarse.

  “They’re on the other side of the Gate,” Zak shouts.

  The Zielona Gate looms large as they approach, a large brick building that sits square across the end of Long Market. Its four sandstone archways stand twenty feet tall, above which are a set of windows and then above the windows is a central dormer sporting a crowning statue. The adjacent side streets are blocked by military vehicles, leaving them little choice but to have to go through the gate.

  They see a cordon of military vehicles and uniformed personnel waiting for them on the other side arranged across the end of Stagiewna bridge and the Motlawa River. The sight of so many military men crowded together on the bridge brings them up short. They slow to a stop as they come out the other side of Green Gate. Zak looks to his left and sees that the way up the River to their ship, alongside the buildings of the Quay, is blocked by a handful of armed men.

  “Holy Shitsky!” yells Gilly, trying to catch his breath.

  Zak repeats Gilly’s oath.

  “Me three,” comments Kim, staring across at the threatening troops arrayed fifty feet from them.

  The stretch of cobblestone pavement between them and the Poles is scoured nearly clean of snow by the vicious wind from earlier. Somehow the drones have skipped over the Gate and now stand their guard poised over the soldiers and their trucks on the bridge.

  It is at this moment that Zak happens to look above the collection of green uniforms and does a double take. Before he can think to say anything, he notices that Kim, and then Gilly, are seeing the same thing.

  “What?” asks Kim to no one in particular.

  An officer with a hat instead of a helmet steps forward. No one is sure if they have heard a shot, but at that instant a hard clink sounds on the pavement near the officer as a piece of brick shoots errantly skyward right in front of him. The officer starts and turns east to see in the beginning rays of a clearing dawn an incoming fleet of what appear to be drones. They swoop in, firing at close range on the soldier’s drones. Several of the military’s smaller drones are quickly shot from the sky, spiraling downward like so many maple tree schizocarp, helicoptering into the river. While hit, other drones, especially the larger ones, are capable of self-diagnosis. Before losing total control they pop parachutes that allow them to fall languidly onto the road and eastern part of the bridge.

  The military’s drones fire back at the invaders, initiating an air to air battle, a dog fight of unmanned aircraft. The drones swoop low in their avoidance maneuvers, using humans as shields. The soldiers, frightened by the speed and size of the drones, which fly fast and close, quickly take what cover they can, determined not to become accidental victims to internecine drone warfare.

  Where a small group of soldiers block the way up the Quay, they are not so lucky. The new drones on the scene buzz them mercilessly, chasing them back to the main group on the bridge. Having retreated briefly to the relative safety of an archway beneath Green Gate, Zak, Kim, and Gilly, wait until the way is cleared, then take advantage of the chaos to break free and race up the Quay toward their ship.

  “Can you Geo Fence them?” I ask, looking across the room to one of the young people seated there with a bunch of friends.

  It’s evening and it’s the previous day in Los Angeles on the other side of the world. I stand in the middle of the living room, the center of my universe. The corner walls of glass, doors really, are pulled back, lulling a gentle breeze from the lighted grounds outside. People, extra chairs and tables extend to the patio outside and around to the pool. I know some of the people but most are techies cleared through a committee of friends.

  I look at the young man on the sofa. He is very focused on his laptop. They all look like college kids to me and I am amazed at what they can do. Somehow the guy and his friends have hacked into a trove of armed drones stationed at Malbork air base not far from Gdansk. They did this courtesy of Zak’s Chinese files, a few of which I admit I downloaded during our sunny patio meeting. One contained various keys to over-riding government encryption commonly used in programming drones. What these kids are doing with it is, well, awesome.

  “No, we don’t have time. But I think we can get the other side’s drones to cut off the attack. We may be able to intercept their contact with center,” the kid, Jerry, says, without looking up.

  “Great! How are our pilots doing?” I ask, projecting my voice to the group just outside on the patio.

  A young woman with flowing curls stands among the group of RPV pilots and turns to me.

  “We’re running a blocking action to keep their drones away from the subjects,” Francis returns. “We’re learning that if we bank too hard we lose the sat.”

  “Al?” I ask, turning to an older, bald man at my side.

  “We’re almost in,” he says. Al and his group of friends are seated at my table. They have been assigned the task of disrupting the Polish overhead Sentinel drone using malicious code.

  “How are we on social?” I ask of the people on the other side of the room. They sit by my wife’s big Christmas Tree.

  “There are a lot of unhappy residents in the area,” reports a young woman with curls running down her back. “Vids are being posted now. Some guy on Long Street must have been up all night. He was the first to post about the sound of drones!”

  I look to the man seated next to me.

  “It only takes one, huh Al?”

  Chapter 81