The Hive

by Barry Lyga

  “It’s not a bot, then,” Cassie said. “I don’t know why we’re even looking at this.”

  “Because there’s something here,” he said. “Trust me.”

  Cassie sighed. “Fine. Convince me.”

  Carson never took his eyes from the screen. “Right. This is my domain now. Patterns. Follow me here. What if we’re looking at a new kind of bot? Something a little closer to a classic Turing AI than what we know of bots?”

  “Something slower and less efficient than a bot,” Cassie said. “Not really the point, is it?”

  “Slower and less efficient, yeah,” he agreed, “but only so that it gains in effectiveness what it loses in speed and efficiency. What if it’s designed to be slow so that we don’t think it’s a bot in the first place?”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “You said it before,” he told her. “BLINQ keeps the database, right? They have the list of numbers. And now we know that there are more accounts than there are people online. So what’s the deal with the extra accounts?” He tapped the back of a finger on the graphic. “There are a slew of accounts with activity maps like this one. And here’s the thing: they all talk to each other. All the time.”

  That got Cassie’s attention. Bots talking to each other … during their downtime? She sat upright. “What do they talk about?”

  “All kinds of shit, it looks like. They just bounce links and bits of text back and forth. Like we do. Except … they keep to themselves. It’s like their own quarantined version of the internet, where they just babble to each other. And they don’t interact with any non-bots. Until …”

  “Until someone makes fun of the president’s grandkid.”

  It all made sense now. It all fell into place. BLINQ had something like a hundred million of Alexandra’s “ghost accounts.” And in order to disguise them from bot hunters, they had the accounts rigged with AIs who spent all day and all night talking to each other, mimicking normal human behavior so that anyone looking for the usual bot flags wouldn’t find them.

  The ghost accounts did nothing else. They had no contact with the rest of the internet until they were needed. Until someone gave the order to Level up this person or that person.

  Like her interactions with the Harlon AI, except both ends of the chat were artificial. Millions upon millions of invented dads and daughters, moms and sons, best friends, talking back and forth about whatever their algorithms vomited up for them.

  “At which point,” she told Carson, “someone flips a switch and the ghost accounts go ahead and interact with the rest of the ’net, looking like real people. There would never be anything at all like 100 percent participation in a thread, so they can see where a trend is headed and then swap in as many ghost accounts as they need in order to make it go their way.”

  Carson nodded triumphantly. “Who knows how many times they’ve done this before? How many test runs? All to … what?”

  She remembered what Alexandra had told her at Venecia. About the president. The election. The Constitutional Convention.

  “They’ve gamed one system,” Cassie told him. “Now they’re planning to game another. And with these accounts, they can totally hijack Hive Justice to push public opinion, influence elections …” She swallowed. “And when that doesn’t work, they can Level 6 anyone they want to. Got a political rival who’s making it tough to pass a law? Cherry-pick a post or a BLINQ, pump it up to Level 6 and just … get rid of them.”

  Cassie wondered if she’d ever catch her breath again, now that she knew the biggest secret her government was trying to keep from her. From them.

  There was nothing left to say.

  Until there was.

  “I have to admit,” said Carson. “There’s something that’s been bugging me that I just can’t reconcile: How the heck does Sarah Stieglitz fit into all of this?”

  Cassie blinked. “What?”

  Carson waited a moment, considering. Then, with a gentleness she didn’t anticipate, he said, “Didn’t you know? I guess you didn’t. You haven’t been online, right? Sarah’s been one of the people shouting loudest for your head.”

  Cassie’s vision went blurry and her ears filled with static. She gripped the armrests of her chair, seeking to anchor herself to the real world because in that moment, she felt as though she could melt away and then just evaporate.

  Sarah. Her friend Sarah. No. Impossible.

  But she knew. Even as she denied it, she knew.

  “She set the Hive Mob loose on the club and on OHM headquarters,” Carson was saying when her senses returned to her. “But how is she connected to all of this? How did she know where to find you?”

  Cassie’s lips moved and her throat bobbed, but no words came out.

  Sarah.

  She’d suspected Bryce. She’d run from Bryce. But it had been Sarah all along.

  BE CAREFUL!!! Sarah had texted. Along with that damn heart emoji.

  She had contacted Sarah and asked her to tell Rachel that she was in an old hotel somewhere. How long would it take the Hive to crowdsource the location based on that information? Seconds, maybe. Minutes at most.

  And then she’d asked for directions to Venecia. Might as well just have said, “Hey, I’ll be at the club tonight — come kill me!”

  Of course. It made perfect sense, except that it didn’t. Why would Sarah do this? She seemed to like Cassie. She didn’t like Hive. She rejected it. Was she working for someone and, if so, who?

  “She knew because I told her,” Cassie said, her voice strangled and weak.

  “You what?” He sat upright, gripping the arms of his chair tight, looking around.

  “She doesn’t know I’m here. I didn’t tell her. I …” She passed a hand over her eyes. “Oh, God, I was so stupid, but I needed help.”

  “What did you do?” he asked. “Exactly?”

  She told him about the two times she’d reached out to Sarah for help. “I bet she never said anything to my mom after all, either,” she said bitterly.

  “So you used a burner phone and dumped it later,” he mused. “She’s not actually tracking you …”

  “No, I just helpfully told her where to kill me.”

  She was staring down at the floor between her feet, mentally lashing herself for her stupidity. Carson leaned in and craned his neck so that he could look into her eyes. “Hey. Stupid is part of life, right? You were desperate. And despite everything that happened, you’re safe.”

  Safe. The word echoed within her. It was a small, simple word, but right now it had no meaning she could cling to.

  “We need to contact her,” Cassie told him. “She might know something.”

  Carson pursed his lips, considering. “Contact the girl who sold you out multiple times. Hmm. Bad idea or worst idea ever? I can’t decide.”

  “Please,” she said. “I have to find out what she knows.”

  Carson rummaged in a drawer for a moment, coming up with an outdated model of iPhone. “Jailbroken, custom OS, the usual,” he said, handing it to her. “Try not to go more than ten texts. The encryption is good, but there’s no point leaving a trail.”

  She impulsively hugged him. When her arms wrapped around his neck, she felt him freeze for a moment, then thaw. The hug felt good, felt real, and she wanted to linger in it. But even though it felt real, she couldn’t be sure. Couldn’t know if it was desperation that led to her craving.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, pulling away.

  “Why?” he asked with a grin. “Best ten seconds of my life.”

  “Down, boy,” she told him. They weren’t there. Not yet.

  Carson shuffled his right foot, brushed his hair out of his eyes with his left hand and just generally decided to look at everything in his bedroom except for Cassie. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “When I get nervous, I get inappropriate.”

/>   She softened. It was Carson, and she liked him, and, yeah, he had every right to be nervous. “Yeah, if they catch you helping me …”

  “It’s not that. It’s … you.” He finally looked at her again and shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. You ever see someone and just …”

  She’d experienced exactly that with Carson the first time she’d seen him, ten million years ago. Cassie squeezed her eyes shut, hoping Carson didn’t finish that sentence, but at the same time desperately wanting him to. Now wasn’t the time for that, though.

  “I really have to do this …” she said, gesturing with the phone.

  He startled, as though he’d just woken up from a dream into a new nightmare. “Jesus! Yes! Do it. Sorry.”

  She tapped out Sarah’s number from memory. It’s Cassie again. Has it really been you all along, ratting me out? I thought we were friends.

  A full minute passed before the response came through.

  You think we’re friends? Cassie could hear everything in her body now — her heartbeat, the blood rushing behind her ears, the creaks her knees made as she stood up and began pacing around the alcove.

  Of course we’re friends …, she wrote.

  Sarah responded with a laughing face emoji. Cassie, her breath quickening, sent back a single question mark.

  I was so excited to be your buddy. But you rejected my help. Over and over again. That’s not a friend. Karma’s a bitch, Cassie.

  Cassie stared at Sarah’s response in horror. Rejected Sarah’s help? Is that what Cassie had done? And if so, was this actually the punishment?

  She could feel more tears approaching — at what point would she run out, the back part of her brain wondered? A million thoughts were pulsing through her, but how could she explain to Sarah why she couldn’t be the support system for damaged kids that Sarah wanted her to be? How could she make her understand that Cassie was just trying to protect herself? She thumbed back a pathetic, That’s not it at all! And even if I messed up, do you really think I deserve to die for it?

  I don’t even feel sorry for you, Sarah finally wrote. You deserve everything you get.

  Deflated, she sat on Carson’s bed, the little ancient iPhone cradled in her hands. The screen, so dim and so tiny, glared up at her, blasting pixelated text at her eyes.

  You deserve everything you get.

  The hell of it was that Sarah was right. Cassie had gone to Sarah for help, and that had led the police and the mob right to OHM. And then TonyStark had died. There was a straight, bright-red line from Cassie’s weakness to TonyStark’s death. It was her fault he’d died.

  I deserve everything I get. Sarah was right. Cassie had done this to herself. Yeah, the government helped her along, but if she hadn’t been so desperate to fit in, to fill the void with something snarky and dark and bad as opposed to something worthwhile, she wouldn’t have been on their radar in the first place. Rowan pushed her and goaded her, but Cassie came up with the joke and Cassie shoved it into the ether. She kept looking for a way out, but maybe there wasn’t one. Maybe there was just punishment.

  “Got some bad news,” Carson said soberly.

  “Compared to what?” she asked, not even looking up.

  “No, for reals.” His urgency compelled her to raise her eyes. He was pointing to a video window. “Your mom’s been arrested.”

  *

  I still can’t get over that a Level 6 convict went to my school.

  Do you think the news will interview us once she’s dead?

  WATCH OUT I’M GONNA BE FAMOUS! #WhatsUpWestfield

  Jackass, you’re not famous, she is. #WhatsUpWestfield

  I wonder if anyone who was friends with her ever suspected anything? Like was she shady? Did she skin small animals during homeroom? Who knew what? #WhatsUpWestfield

  Who was actually friends with #CassieMcKinney? Someone needs to spill some tea. #WhatsUpWestfield

  Um … OK, I guess I’ll just say it. Rowan and her girl gang were friends with her. They ate lunch with her every day. So … #WhatsUpWestfield

  CASSIE MCKINNEY WAS FRIENDS WITH ROWAN??? WHAT PLANET HAVE I BEEN LIVING ON TO MISS THIS??? This is amazing. I bet she’s totally hiding Cassie in her parents’ carriage house. #WhatsUpWestfield

  I sat in a debate club meeting with #CassieMcKinney once, AMA! #WhatsUpWestfield #Level6

  OMG guys, do you think Rowan still talks to Cassie? #HasCassieSurfacedYet? #WhatsUpWestfield

  We were never friends. — RB #RowanSpeaks

  Liar, I served you all coffee the day Cassie sent her joke. You were friends. #WhatsUpWestfield #YouTipForShit

  Cassie sat with Rowan & co every day at lunch and definitely shared homework. (YES WE ALL KNOW ABOUT YOUR STUPID CHEATING METHOD, ROWAN. You’re not as smart as you think you are!) #WhatsUpWestfield

  Everyone, leave Rowan alone. She’s a victim here and I can’t believe you’re all bullying her like this. Indira will set the record straight, she’s good with words, and Rowan is very busy reexamining all her relationships after this breach of trust. — Livvy #LivvySpeaks #RowanSpeaks

  Now I remember! I definitely saw #CassieMcKinney with Rowan and her friends a bunch of times. I can’t believe they’re trying to deny it. Typical fake news. #WhatsUpWestfield

  How many times do I have to say it? We were never friends. Search my feeds, she’s nowhere in them. — RB #RowanSpeaks

  Allow me to clear the air, Westfield. Cassie McKinney sat with us a few times. She ingratiated herself with our group based on false pretenses — namely, we falsely thought she was cool. It wasn’t until this event that we realized how disturbed a person she truly is. (Was.) — Indira #IndiraSpeaks #LivvySpeaks #RowanSpeaks #WhatsUpWestfield

  And we’ve been fully cooperating with the authorities. — Mads #MadisonSpeaks #IndiraSpeaks #LivvySpeaks #RowanSpeaks #WhatsUpWestfield

  Oh, for God’s sake, Madison. Delete that. — RB #RowanSpeaks

  100102500101

  This time, it wasn’t the NSA. The men at her door were two uniformed police officers and a detective in a rumpled gray suit that streamed with rainwater.

  “Mrs. McKinney, I have a warrant for your arrest, for aiding and abetting a fugitive of Hive Justice.” The detective held up a sheaf of papers, then lowered it immediately. For all Rachel could tell, it was a takeout menu.

  They came into the apartment without so much as a “May I?” And one of them roughly yanked Rachel’s arms back before slapping on the handcuffs. They were too tight, but the cop just pulled her along when she protested, dragging her out of the apartment.

  “Search warrant, too,” the detective said almost casually, flapping another piece of paper at her as she went by. “Tear it apart, guys.”

  A troop of cops had mustered in the hall. Rachel watched them march into her home. If she ever got to return, she knew it’d be a disaster zone.

  If. If.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” someone said in a bored tone of voice. “You have the right to speak. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to hire an attorney. If you cannot afford one, you will be given an entry in the defendant’s lottery. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

  “Yes,” she said, wondering how they would use that against her in a court of law.

  “Good.” And they dragged her away.

  *

  Cassie could feel her body coming apart at the seams. She spun around in Carson’s room, looking for something to punch.

  “No,” she said loudly and firmly. “No. Fucking. Way.” And clenched her fists and turned again —

  Carson stood there, holding out a pillow. “Go for it,” he said.

  Without even hesitating to consider, Cassie lashed out with one fist, then the other. And then back again. One-two. One-two. Harlon had tried —
and failed — to teach her rudimentary boxing as a child, but she remembered the basics of jab-cross, and she whaled at the pillow with all her might, until she was exhausted, spent of strength and outrage.

  “Better?” Carson asked, taking a risk to lower the pillow.

  “Yeah. No. There’s no such thing as better anymore.”

  He looked as though he would toss the pillow aside, then reconsidered and sank into his chair, hugging it to his chest. “We can’t worry about your mom right now. There’s literally nothing we can do for her.”

  Cassie shot him a withering glare. We’re not giving up on my mom when she’s never given up on me. “Easy for you to say! Your mom is right down the hall and you can see her whenever you want and she’s not going to jail for the rest of her life!”

  “No,” he said very calmly, “my mom is in a rehab clinic in Saratoga Springs, probably banging an orderly for cigarettes.”

  “Oh.” Cassie looked at the floor. “Well, I’m sorry.”

  Carson shrugged, but he seemed distracted, as though he was remembering some distant memory. “Thanks, but no need to be. It’s just what is. I can’t do anything about it and it doesn’t say anything about me.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, not even sure what she would say, but a beep stopped her. “What’s that?”

  Carson spun the chair around to the laptop. “You just got a PM on BLINQ.”

  A private message? BLINQ PMs could only come from people you whitelisted in advance, and her list was pretty thin.

  “Someone called Red Dread,” Carson told her, then backed up so that she could step up to the monitor.

  Bryce? She paused before responding. “He’s OHM. But I never whitelisted him!”

  “The government controls BLINQ,” Carson reminded her. “If he’s with Alexandra, they whitelisted him for you.”

  “For a minute there, I coulda sworn he was going to turn me in. I didn’t think I could trust him. But now that I know it was Sarah …” She squeezed her fists into her eyes, trying to get the room to stop spinning. She didn’t know who to trust anymore, other than her mom and Carson. Bryce had run … but running was usually the right move these days. “I mean, he’s OHM. He’s on our side, right?” It wasn’t rhetorical. She really wanted to know.