Daniel Suarez - Freedom (TM)

She threw up her hands. “But I saw armies of corporate soldiers down at the airfield. Something serious is about to go down.”

Ross grimaced. “Darknet news feeds have noticed private security forces moving into position to defend property—office towers, media centers, telecom infrastructure, and utilities. Also high-end gated communities.”

They sat for a few moments contemplating what that meant. The sound of murmuring television voices came from downstairs.

Ross looked at her. “So I can’t convince you to leave?”

“I care about you more than you know, but my duty is here.”

He grinned slightly in respect of her choice, then he moved over to the fifty-inch plasma screen mounted in a hutch in front of the bed. He pulled the television away from the wall on its swivel mount.

“What are you doing?”

He produced a small electronic device from one of his harness pockets, and uncoiled an HDMI cable, which he used to connect the device to the television.

“I’m opening the surveillance system’s back door to other darknet operatives so that they can help us collectively keep an eye on what’s going on here on the ranch. We’ll have a better shot at finding anything important with tens of thousands of people searching with us.” He spoke into D-Space. “Rakh, requesting high-priority Thread: review all camera imagery at Sky Ranch for evidence of complicity in current social disturbances. Publicize findings, ASAP.”

In a few moments, the screen showed an hourglass with a label reading: Number of Respondents . The number rapidly incremented into the thousands, gaining speed by the second.

“So . . . thirteen thousand people are searching the surveillance system for suspicious activity?”

He nodded. “This ranch is on a maximum-priority Thread—we’re all concerned about it. And it doesn’t hurt to have a good reputation score when summoning a smart mob.” He peered at the screen. “Past twenty thousand now.”

She was stunned. “This is amazing.” She closely watched the screen.

Almost immediately a “suspicious” item came up on the screen as a link. It read simply: Broadcast News Set—by dPooley.

“They found something.”

“Thanks, dPooley. . . .” Ross clicked on the video link and brought up a live surveillance feed of a full-sized television sound stage, complete with green screens. The set looked quiet.

“A news studio.”

Ross clicked out to an overhead map of all the cameras in that location, bringing up a 3-D model of the building it was in. “Hang on a second, I have an idea.”

Philips pointed at the overhead map. “Look, they’ve got a satellite farm. This is a complete broadcasting facility.”

Ross brought up another view—this one of the producer’s control room. It showed an array of large screens as well as a window onto the studio beyond. “Do you think they’re creating the news here at the ranch?”

Philips shook her head. “It’s just one studio, and the news is running 24/7 on a dozen channels at once. This has some other purpose.”

“Let’s roll this back in time.”

“We can do that?”

“Yeah. One of the big selling points of the Beholder system was detecting recurring patterns over time—people casing embassies, that sort of thing. It can store huge amounts of video. Here . . .” Ross moved his hands, interacting with invisible controls. “I’m going to run backward to the last time there was activity in this control room.”

The image of the control room stayed relatively unchanged, even though the lighting changed very slightly, indicating a passage of time and voltage fluctuations in the overhead lights. Suddenly the room sprang into life, and there were several people in the control booth. Ross slowed down the rewind and kept rolling it back until there was a hand signal being given to a distant anchor person sitting at the green screen desk. He clicked the video into play mode.

Suddenly audio came through and they could clearly see the computer-enhanced image of the anchor on the central control board screen.

Philips shot a look at Ross. “Anji Anderson!”

He nodded. “So it is. . . .”

“Then she’s here at the ranch.”

On-screen Anderson was delivering the news next to a disturbing graphic with the word “Cybergeddon” in bold, terrifying letters. She was in midsentence. . . .

“—responsible for this unprecedented attack on modern civilization. It appears that a cataclysmic loss of corporate data has occurred. The New York and American Stock Exchanges have been closed, along with most other world stock exchanges. Again, we have no word on whether this happened during the blackout, before the blackout, or just before. But if you’re just now joining us, there has apparently been a cyber attack of unprecedented magnitude against the world electrical grid. Most of North America, Europe, and parts of Asia have been without power for the last seventy-two hours.”

They were showing video of looting and fires looming over downtown areas throughout the world. Some of the scenes were at night.

“These are images of some of the looting and sporadic violence that’s unfolding worldwide. The U.S. government has declared martial law—and there’s talk that perhaps the domestic terrorists in the Midwestern United States were behind the attack. In all, the death toll may number in the tens of thousands. No one knows whether the perpetrators have been apprehended or are still at large. All that’s known is the data of thousands of public companies has been destroyed in what might have been an electromagnetic pulse weapon attack coordinated to cause maximum damage to Western economies. Security forces are securing key facilities and launching humanitarian missions at this hour. Certainly, this is the biggest shock to hit the world since 9/11, and I don’t think I’m wrong in saying that. Let’s pray that someone can help put a stop to—”

Ross clicked the STOP button. He then sent the video out to the darknet, flagged maximum priority . Then he and Philips stared into space for several moments in silence, her hand over her mouth in horror.

Philips spoke first. “They’re going to deliberately invoke the Destroy function against everyone else. And in the chaos, they’ll seize control.”

Philips just held her head in her hands.

“We can still do something, Natalie. People know about this now.” She stood up and walked through a pair of French doors to get some fresh air. There was a patio just off the bedroom on the second floor, and it overlooked the grassy plain leading up to the huge main house in the distance. It was lit up like Cape Canaveral. Baroque music could be heard coming softly from the mansion, Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, and she could see shadows of party guests moving about on the terraces among ornamental lights.

Ross followed her outside, and they both stood at the railing.

Philips spoke matter-of-factly. “The Weyburn Labs team is preparing to hijack what’s left of the Daemon. They’re going to use it as a means to control people—just like Sobol did. Only this time, for their personal benefit.”

“Nat—”

“Even if we stop their plan, they’ll still seize control of the Daemon.”

The music in the background didn’t match the grimness of their predicament.

Ross gazed at the distant party. “The plutocrat’s ball.”

She nodded. “Celebrating their victory.”

Philips turned to see Ross come up alongside her and put a hand on her shoulder.

She shook her head. “I gave it to them, Jon. We cracked Sobol’s code, and I gave it to the plutocrats. The same API they’ll use as a weapon against the world. How many generations will be reduced to slavery because of me?”