Ramez Naam - Apex

Monday 2041.01.20

Rangan tensed as he saw the barricades come into sight ahead. Concrete barriers. Armored vehicles. Riot-armored police.

Giant screens to taunt them with the inauguration.

The barriers ended E Street. Ended it at 2 nd . They could file into the broad square that 2 nd Street had effectively been turned into. But no farther.

Rangan had chosen this spot, near the very front of the march, intentionally, to give him advance warning of anything that might come. Cheyenne was a block or two back, Angel back behind her, and Tempest the furthest back.

Now he felt the huge weight of the crowd behind him. And he had a sudden impression of the crowd continuing to press forward, angrily smashing him up against that barrier until the life was crushed out of him.

Steady,Cheyenne sent him, with a trace of humor.

Rangan tried to smile back along the link. The constant bombardment of anger and flashes of riots and gunfire and tear gas and flames around the world had him rattled.

This wasn’t what they’d come prepared to fight. They’d come ready for a single homogenous blast of artificial anger. But this? This influx of real rage, organic, bottoms up, in so many shapes and colors?

Breece wasn’t going to have to do a damn thing. This was going to explode all on its own.

I’m worried,he sent to all the C3.

We can do this,Cheyenne sent back.

The network effect’s the same,Angel sent. We just need their attention.

They marched. Signs waved. The chants grew louder and angrier. People started moving faster. Rangan saw hands raise scarves and surgical masks. He saw goggles come down over eyes. He saw people reach into backpacks.

And suddenly the crowd was a living thing. He caught flashes of violence in far away places: in Russia, in Kenya, in China. Anger, gunshots, fires.

Neural inputs, pulsing into this mob mind.

Bodies pressed against him from behind, faster, giving him no choice but to move forward with them, rushing now. Hot emotions were pounding against him, pushing away thought. People were losing themselves, forgetting where they were, forgetting who they were, intelligence dropping to the lowest common denominator of the mob as they surged at the barricades.

Rangan felt fear rush through him. The crowd was going to smash up against those barricades, the pressure of the thousands of people behind him was going to crush him up against them, squeeze the life right out of him…

Is that a stage?Angel sent.

He blinked at her voice in his mind.

A stage. There was a stage, set behind the barricades.

And on it.

Holy frack,Tempest sent.

The giant screens came to life. The face of the man on the stage appeared in front of them all.

Senator Stanley Kim stood there, tall and straight, in his signature black suit and blue tie, and held his arms out wide to the crowd.

Rangan gasped. The crowd’s rush slowed as shock snapped people back to the here and now. The crowd was filling the wide space on 2 nd street, where the barrier was placed, hundreds of thousands of people filing in behind him. And he was just a dozen people back from the barricade. Just thirty or forty feet back from the stage on which Stan Kim stood, looking at them all, his arms still held out, as if to greet them, as if to forestall them.

Stan Kim looked just as he had the night he’d given his speech saying he wouldn’t concede the race. Saying that he’d won the Presidency.

More and more people filed in. Rangan felt anger turn to surprise, turn to confusion, turn to something almost like hope.

Well,Angel sent. He’s got people’s attention. Think we can slip him some Nexus?

“My fellow Americans!” Senator Stanley Kim said then, his voice powerfully amplified over the crowd. “We need a revolution!”

“We need a revolution!” the senator from California roared over the crowd.

Rangan felt the crowd roar back with excitement. A giant cheer went up. People clapped, whistled, yelled.

Minds cheered the senator on.

Stan Kim leaned forward, pointed at the crowd, panned his outstretched hand around to take them all in.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” he yelled.

The crowd went wild again, cheering, clapping, waving signs.

“Well you’ve come to the right place!” Stan Kim said.

“America is the land of permanent revolution!” the senator said, his eyes scanning the crowd. “We fought a bloody war more than two and a half centuries ago. We spilled blood, right here!” He thrust a finger down at the ground, beneath the stage.

“Why?” Kim asked. “Because we had no choice! Because it was our only way! So we could institute government of the people, by the people , and for the people. Government where we revolt constantly , every two years!”

Rangan caught his breath. He heard some cheers, but fewer now. He felt the crowd grow confused in his mind.

“You want a revolution?” Stan Kim yelled.

The crowd cheered again. Yells of agreement rose up.

Stan Kim nodded. “In two years,” he yelled, “every member of the House behind me,” he waved back towards the Capitol, “and a third of the Senate come up for re-election.”

He paused. Rangan was nodding, hoping beyond hope, feeling the crowd teeter.

He blasted out his agreement, blasted it out through his thoughts, blasted it out across the mesh to any listeners he had.

“You know what those women and men can do?” Stan Kim asked the crowd.

“They can kiss my ass!” Rangan heard someone say.

People laughed.

Stan Kim smiled. “They can repeal the Chandler Act. They can launch hearings into lies and criminal abuses of power. They can make sure people go to jail.”

The senator paused. There was scattered cheering.

Rangan cheered as loud as he could, beamed out his agreement even harder.

Stan Kim opened his mouth again. “They can impeach John Stockton! ” he roared.

The crowd came alive with cheering, with yelling, with hoots, with applause. Rangan felt minds turn.

“And in four years we elect a new President!” Stan Kim said. “Revolution after revolution after revolution!”

The crowd was with him now, cheering again.

“I know you’re angry!” Kim said.

Cheers.

“I know you want the revolution today!” he yelled.

Roaring.

“But the battle is not the war!” Kim said. “We need patience!”

The crowd drew a deep breath.

“Some of you want to rip down these barricades. You want to light fires and tear things up. Well, look around you,” Kim said. “Take a good long look at these men and women in uniform.”

Rangan looked. He saw thousands of them. He was close enough to see faces, just on the other side of the barrier, behind clear visors and tall metal shields. He saw cold hard expressions.

Beneath that he saw fear.

“If you raise your fists today,” Stan Kim said. “These men and women are going to do what they’re sworn to do. They’re going to protect the Capitol, and protect public order. They’re going to strike back.” Kim shook his head.

Boos rose up from the crowd.

Stan Kim raised his hands for silence.

“Listen to me. If that happens, people are going to die . On both sides.” He paused. “Hundreds of people died on the National Mall on December 6 th . I don’t want another day like that on my conscience. I hope you don’t want it on yours .”

The crowd was silent, breathing.