Ghost of the Gods - 02 (50 page)

“NSA is reporting that Zero-G in Dallas is the source of the cyber-attack.”

McKafferty’s jaw clenched so tight he was afraid a blood vessel in his skull would burst. He slowly forced his teeth to unclench. This was not some lone hacker. Zero-G had Abrams tanks and a huge, private military.

“Sir, the NSA believes the AWOL drones are not going to attack Dallas. They think they’re going to defend Zero-G.”

“You think?” said McKafferty. “What, is the NSA filled with kindergarteners!”

McKafferty ripped off his headset and threw it down on a table in disgust. Zero-G now had enough armed drones under their control to qualify as a fucking air force. Was this the first step of a coup? Not on his watch! The traitors at Zero-G had buried redundant hardened fiber optic lines and an EMP/NBC blast-rated bunker to use for command and control. It could take multiple nuclear strikes to close that door, while the attackers had a stranglehold on the nation’s digital throat. Who the hell knew what they could do once cornered?

“Get me Zuris on the phone now!” growled McKafferty. “I want Raptors and Hogs inbound on Zero-G. I want six—no, make it eight battalions from Fort Hood, including Special Ops and Third Armored rolling in on that motherfucking target. I want Bones out of Dyess hauling Big Blues and Two-Step EPWs airborne now. Get it done!”

“Yes, sir.”

It was now a half-hour into the cyber-attack and McKafferty felt ill as he stared blindly at the secure big screen filled with military intel and live feeds from the action at Zero-G. The Raptors and Hogs were picking off drones in Dallas airspace, but not without casualties. Whoever was controlling the drones was performing maneuvers with them, which were supposed to be impossible. The Bones—B1-B bombers—were circling with their payload of conventional and nuclear earth penetrating weapons, awaiting orders. Last resorts were looking like real possibilities. This cyber-attack had crippled the country as effectively as a nuclear first strike. Zuris had not been reached, but it was known he had fled Zero-G and was not in control. The big green machine from Fort Hood would be on-site in three hours. Special Ops was starting to arrive and after taking command over from Peacekeepers, had taken heavy fire from drones. Casualties were high. Just as he’d feared, the traitors were operating out of the Zero-G bunker. All other buildings on the campus were under some kind of drone attack, which looked like it was designed to force an evacuation. Clever bastards... This had to have something to do with Prometheus, but what? Zuris was a secretive bastard. There could be dangerous unknowns about the Prometheus
project.

As a last resort, the president was considering authorizing the use of two-step EPW nuclear weapons to take out the Zero-G bunker. Using nuclear weapons on American soil in the middle of a huge city was unthinkable, yet McKafferty had ordered their initial deployment himself. The civilian causalities would be horrendous. McKafferty was unsure he could push that button, and with a little help from above they might just avoid that nightmare. He looked down at the cryptic message still displayed on his phone:
Disconnect = KZ.
None of the eggheads at NSA or CIA had figured out what it meant. He had his own guesses and so did they.

The secure big screen added a video feed of soldiers entering an automated bunker on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Hundreds of teams were nearing similar objectives around the country. McKafferty stared at the feed. These soldiers were a first strike. They were about to manually cut hard lines to the Internet, as well as cutting out chunks of Secure-Net, which were running what the techies were calling zombies. McKafferty could not believe he was actually at war with fucking software zombies. This had to be a bad dream, but it was a dream that was about to end. Step one was to isolate and secure the inner fortress of Secure-Net. Step two was deal with any viruses or other bits of nasty work that might have been planted. Step three was to turn loose the big green machine on Zero-G. McKafferty was champing at getting it done. The room erupted in shouting. Speechless, McKafferty watched as his strike team in Los Angeles collapsed dead from unseen causes, while 3,000 miles away soldiers surrounding Zero-G died at the same time from the same invisible weapon.

A fresh mug of black coffee was delivered. It tasted bitter. McKafferty now knew what the cryptic message had meant and the price for that knowledge was a terrible defeat. Highly surgical kill-zones had taken out soldiers in both Los Angeles and Dallas. At Zero-G, all military and law enforcement personnel within exactly 300 yards of the campus were killed while not a single civilian was harmed. New orders were issued for all personnel to stay 300 yards back from Zero-G.
Disconnect = KZ
obviously meant that any attempt at disconnection would meet with kill-zones. It was a fucking warning. Everyone in the higher chains of command now knew they were not dealing with human hackers. Somehow the god-machine had used Prometheus to invade America’s infrastructure. The nightmare scenario of their most recent war games was in play. The existence of the god-machine was a state secret, so most of the military and all civilians had no idea of the horror that was heading their way.

Mark Freedman – Dallas, Texas – March 18, 0002 A.P.

The burning towers of Zero-G were visible over the trees and nearby buildings. Mark and Kathy had walked a half mile down the access road leading from Zero-G. They had reached a collection of chain restaurants and stores, many of which were open and by all appearance still run by the original corporations. Compared to the rest of the country, this place seemed almost nostalgic. It had to be the protective influences of Zero-G.

Several Peacekeeper patrols passed them without slowing. The whole area was crawling with military and private security. Air Force A10 warthogs working the ground were flying low enough to be recognized when firing. From higher in the sky, the distinctive, painfully loud crackling engine sounds of fighter aircraft periodically washed over them. Mark had learned through his entangled interface some of what was happening a half mile away. He knew the god-machine had taken over all computerized military assets on the Zero-G campus and was creating concentric, defendable zones encircling Prometheus. He knew the god-machine was operating armed drones all around them. The god-machine would do anything to retain control of Prometheus. It was through Prometheus that it was able to expand its awareness into places it never had before. It was now venturing deeply into the world of humanity’s machines, including those in the air and even outer space. The invasion of cyberspace and real space left Mark with uneasy feelings, but at least he no longer had to worry about corporations or the USAG misusing Prometheus. They no longer had any hope of regaining control.

Mark noticed employees from Zero-G were already flowing into nearby restaurants. Kathy was hungry, but he was concerned they might be recognized. Mark went into a Burger King with all the cash they had, which was not much, and they ate behind the stores. While eating, Mark gingerly tested the movement of his injured hand. A massive swarm of COBIC was knitting the bones together. The food was both fuel and raw material. The swelling was down and he had some mobility, but the breaks would not be strongly fused until the next day. After that, it would take weeks for COBIC to slowly re-sculpt the bones to correct for these misaligned repairs that were occurring out of necessity. Right now, restored skeletal strength was more important than maximum flexibility and the nanotech knew this on its own.

Mark was increasingly anxious to get as far away as possible from Zero-G. They soon set out again on foot along the access road. After a mile the streets grew deserted and the buildings abandoned. Several Peacekeeper patrols had rolled by in less than fifteen minutes with more than one slowing a little, then speeding back up. Mark felt very conspicuous being the only people on foot and decided to take cover behind the next abandoned building.

Kathy stopped as they reached the rear of the deserted professional building. The parking lot looked like a garbage dump. The back of the building and dumpsters were covered in graffiti, and the place was littered with the remains of stripped cars. Some of the damage looked recent. Leftover party litter of broken bottles and food containers were strewn all over. Mark was not happy, but doubted they’d do any better at the next opportunity down the road. He’d been planning on breaking into the building before he saw the burglar alarm signs. Services and businesses were still running in Dallas that he never would have imagined. He wondered if the building’s alarm was monitored. He looked at all the windows and saw not one of them was broken. That was not a good sign. He didn’t want to risk attracting the attention of Peacekeepers responding to an alarm. So instead they hunkered down behind a dumpster inside a fenced-in corral to wait. Kathy started to cry.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked.

Her slap felt like a whip had connected with his cheek.

Before Mark could respond he felt another blow, but this one was over a mile away. The god-machine had unleashed a kill-zone at Zero-G. Mark knew through his entangled interface that a civilian mob outside the walls of the Zero-G campus was at the verge of rebellion, if not full-blown riot. It felt so surreal to receive data from the god-machine, which also included surveillance cameras as well as Internet news services.

Prior to the kill-zone, over six thousand angry employees had massed in front of Zero-G. The shuttle buses that were to take them home or to temporary accommodations were not arriving. When the god-machine attacked, it killed everyone wearing a uniform within sight of Zero-G. At first there was paralysis from the stunned civilians, then someone picked up a weapon from a fallen soldier. Soon others were doing the same. In minutes a riot was in progress and there were no authorities to stop it. The gates to the campus were broken down as some of the insane risked their lives to storm back inside to get their cars. They seemed oblivious to the inexplicable mass death they had just witnessed. They seemed oblivious to the lethal aircraft flying patrols over the campus. All it would take would be for one idiot to fire into the sky at an aircraft and they would have a war. Bullets would be landing everywhere. Mark did not want to take the chance of rioters’ bullets fired at jets raining down on them.

“We need to get into the dumpster and close the top,” said Mark.

“Why?” asked Kathy. “I’m not getting inside that thing.”

“I’m worried bullets are about to start flying and who knows where they’ll land.”

Kathy groaned as she got up. It was clear her leg was troubling her. Mark helped her in, then climbed in himself. Before closing the lid, he switched on the guard’s Droid in airplane mode to use as a light and handed it to her. Thankfully, it looked like the dumpster had not been used since the plague. There was a small amount of dried garbage on the bottom, but nothing foul. Kathy sat with her back against one side while Mark sat on the opposite side. When the Droid dimmed, Kathy tapped it back to life.

Mark could hear sporadic gunfire in the distance, but nothing excessive. So far there were no signs of Peacekeepers or A10s stepping into the fray. He felt safer inside the heavy steel container. An assist informed him that unlikely combinations of bullet caliber and angle of fire into the air could penetrate the dumpster. He didn’t need an assist to tell him there was no hope if an A10 opened up on their location.

Mark unzipped the duffel and took out the submachine gun. An assist identified the weapon as a Heckler & Koch UMPS cambered for .45 caliber. It was a security forces model with a standard smart-gun electronic safety. His stomach felt indigested as he realized the weapon was useless without its key-coded wristband. It was a safety designed to protect the owner of the gun from having it used against him. The weapon would not fire unless the proximity key was within a few inches of the trigger. Right now, that proximity key was on the wrist of a dead man inside a building that was mostly rubble. Mark was angry at himself. Sarah would not have made that mistake.

Mark Freedman – Dallas, Texas – March 18, 0002 A.P.

The metal of the dumpster felt like the inside of a refrigerator. Mark heard the sounds of drunken, aggressive people growing louder. He picked up enough stray thoughts and emotions to know a street gang had wandered into the parking lot with victims in tow. In the dim light from the Droid he saw Kathy staring at him with big eyes. She knew all too well something terrible was happening outside. The Droid went out and Kathy tapped it back. The batteries were almost gone. Mark heard two people crying and begging for their lives. He felt helpless. He could not use a micro kill-zone without killing the victims along with the gangsters. He had no working gun, no weapon of any kind.

“We need to call for help,” she whispered, holding out the phone.

“Try it,” said Mark.

“The stupid battery’s almost dead,” whispered Kathy. “It’s not dialing. Can’t you do something with the god-machine?”

Mark was about to automatically say no, then he thought about all the military hardware now under the god-machine’s control. Maybe he was armed, after all. He had no idea how to request what he wanted, so he just visualized the problem and visualized the solution: a drone attack. He focused his entire mind as if in deep meditation. It felt like he was praying to his personal god for help. He received a response from the god-machine in the form of an impression that could only be described as indifference. Mark felt deserted. No help would be arriving. The fear radiating from the victims was terrible to experience. He had to do something or go insane.

“Let me see that phone,” he said. “Maybe if I warm up the battery, I can get a little more out of it.”

He popped the battery and started rubbing it briskly on his pants leg. He heard a peculiar sound like a large, flying electric fan. The sound grew closer. Infrared aerial surveillance images of the parking lot came in over his entangled interface.

“The god-machine,” whispered Mark. “It’s helping. I need to see to identify the targets.”

He knew, as with other assists
,
his eyes and thoughts would act like a mouse pointer for physical reality to select targets. Mark slowly pushed up on the lid of the dumpster just enough to peer outside. A dim firelight spilled in. Kathy moved up next to him. In a few moments he was able to see the vague outline of a drone helicopter descending over the gang. Mark concentrated on selecting targets. Glowing outlines confirmed each selection. Light from a fire burning in a rusted out 55 gallon drum glowed on the underbelly of the drone. The scaled-down helicopter was surprisingly quiet. Mark could see its sleek, gray windowless shape. An assist identified it as a Hummingbird VI. It was about 10 feet long by several feet wide and looked like a smaller version of a conventional helicopter with a shrouded rear propeller and no place for an aircrew. The downwash was now blowing garbage around and pummeling the fire. The drone was like a phantom that seemed to go in and out of focus. Mark realized there must be some unusual optical coating on the airframe. A Gatlin minigun was aimed down into the midst of the gang and their two victims. The gang members were pointing their guns at the predator. “That’s a bad move,” thought Mark. He sensed confusion and uncertainty in their ranks. Someone fired a shot, which ricocheted off the drone. The miniguns lit up for barely a second with a terrifyingly loud zapping, ripping sound. Three gang members were mowed down and left behind as their companions fled like human cockroaches. The Hummingbird drifted up and disappeared into the darkened sky. Mark heard a distant rip from the miniguns and realized the aerial predator was still hunting. Kathy, being a doctor, wanted to help the injured, but Mark grabbed her arm and restrained her.