Ramez Naam - Crux

The boat tilted precariously, up at thirty degrees, forty-five degrees, sixty degrees. Sam threw herself at the rising side, grabbed a strut, hauled her body in to counterweight the boat. It teetered on the edge of capsizing then fell back into place with a shuddering crash into the next trough.

Sam grabbed for the controls, scrambled to turn the boat into the next wave. She got the nose around as the next wave hit her hard, sending the loose gear flying. Something hard and metal struck her in the head.

This was crazy. She had to take shelter until this passed. She fought to turn the boat between deadly waves, get its prow pointed back at the tiny island she’d just gone by.

The boat shuddered as she steered. There was a beach ahead. Three hundred yards. A gentle slope, with tall palms above it, their leaves crazily shaking in the wind. Two hundred yards. She pushed her thrusters forward towards it. One hundred yards.

And then a massive wave struck her boat from behind, lifted her up, and threw her forward at the island. The beach surged forward at her. Sam had time to catch her breath. And then her boat struck the beach at full force.

63

DECISIONS

Thursday November 1st

Kade collapsed in the bed, utterly exhausted from the work of assimilating so much of Shiva’s mind at once. Sleep took him immediately. His dreams were of chaos, of a world falling apart, of a group mind that could knit the world back together, of the heavy mantle of responsibility falling across his shoulders that he could, that he should, that he must accept.

He woke in twilight. A final memory played through his mind. Bihar. The children, burned to death in the orphanage. Thirty-five of them. Thirty-five whose names he could recount, whose faces he could recall. Thirty-five children murdered because they were different, because they were special. The horrors that ignorance could lead men to commit.

And the punishment he’d dealt out in response. The way the judge had screamed as Shiva’s men drove the nails into his wrists, pinning him to the crude cross. The anguish on all the killers’ faces as the flames rose higher. The sense of power he’d felt, of righteousness as he punished these monsters for what they’d done.

Kade shuddered with the echo of it. He knew that power. He knew that righteousness. To punish the guilty. To rid the world of monsters. He’d felt it when he’d neutered that bastard Bogdan in Croatia, when he’d stopped that sex slaver in Nairobi, when he’d squeezed his mental fist around Holtzmann’s brainstem…

He fell to his knees, gasping. He wanted that power. He craved it. He’d felt most alive these past few months when he’d let it course through him, when he’d used his back doors to cripple the bastards who used Nexus to harm others.

It would be so satisfying to use that back door for more, to reach out and fix the world, fix the problems that people couldn’t seem to solve on their own. Oh yes. It would feel so damn good.

This was the logical extension of all he’d been doing. He’d used his back doors to stop thefts. Why not use them to stop the massive theft of humanity’s future that was happening right now? He’d used them to stop rapes. Why not use them to stop the rape of the earth? He’d used them to prevent murders. Why not use them to end the unnecessary deaths of millions from famine and poverty and preventable disease?

He dreamt of linking those million Nexus-using minds around the planet, why not use Shiva’s tools to force that linkage?

Shiva’s vision was just Kade’s own, only bolder, larger.

And imposed on humanity by the will of one man. Or two.

Ilya’s right, Kade realized. If I deserve the back doors, then so does Shiva. If Shiva doesn’t deserve them, then I don’t either.

Are you wiser than all humanity? Ananda had asked.

That was the crux, wasn’t it?

Kade ate a bit from the dinner cart, avoiding the meat, too aware now of the cost to living things of all varieties. Nita had shown him that, shown Shiva that, long ago. Then he showered, to give himself time to think, to be sure he was doing what he believed in.

He dried himself off, dressed in fresh clothes, slipped sandals onto his feet. And then he knocked at the door, to signal for one of his keepers.

The door opened a moment later. The dusky-skinned security man stepped in, the Nexus jammer around his neck, the secondary door closed behind him.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Kade nodded. “Would you please let Shiva know that I’d like to see him, if he’s available?”

The man smiled. “Yes, sir.”

64

STORM WARNINGS

Wednesday October 31st

Holtzmann spent Wednesday at the office in a daze. He accepted the well wishes on his return to health, pushed through messages and meetings, delegated tasks, assured Barnes that he was working hard on back doors.

Anne fought with him that night. It was one-sided. He let her rant at him about his secrets, question why he’d really gone to Boston, whether he was fucking Lisa Brandt, whether he’d fucked her when she was his student, whether he really believed the conspiracy theories he was spouting. He didn’t defend himself. He was too tired for all that, too far gone in his own world. Instead he apologized to his wife, again and again, then slept on the couch.

Thursday November 1st

Holtzmann woke Thursday morning to two pieces of news.

First, Zoe’s storm track had bent further, sending it almost directly northwest now, aiming it squarely towards Washington DC. The Mayor of DC had ordered an evacuation of the city. The governors of Virginia and Maryland had ordered evacuations of counties in the storm’s path. The DHS and other agencies had backed up those orders, commanding only essential personnel to stay. Holtzmann wasn’t among them.

Second, a new message on the Nexus board, just minutes old.

[Friday night, during the storm. Staffing will be bare bones. A fire alarm will go off in a different wing of your building. Get your friends out. Get them to Pecan Street. A white van will meet them.]

Holtzmann stared at the message, read it again and again. Someone else. They had someone else inside. Someone who could pull that alarm.

But they needed him too. He’d have to stay, to find some way to free Rangan and the children, without being caught himself.

Three hours later, Anne was gone. She’d woken, then started packing for evacuation. He’d told her he was staying. She’d screamed at him, then pleaded with him, alternated between the two, telling him he was going mad, telling him he was throwing his life away, throwing her life away. In the end, she’d gone without him.

Noon on Thursday now. Wind was picking up outside. In less than thirty-two hours, he’d be breaking prisoners out of ERD Headquarters. Madness.

There was one other piece of madness to attend to. He picked up the phone, dialed Claire Becker.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Claire, it’s Martin Holtzmann.”

“Martin… Anne said you had a fight…”

“Claire, I’m looking for any files Warren may have left behind. Anything from the early days of the ERD, or even further back, from his time at the FBI.”

“Martin… I know Anne thinks I’m crazy. But I think they killed him. To keep him quiet.”

“I know, Claire.”

She went silent for a moment. Then, “You believe me?” Her voice sounded girlish – vulnerable.

Holtzmann sighed. “I don’t know. But I don’t think you’re crazy. And I don’t think it’s impossible.”

She responded with relief. “Oh my God, thank you, Martin, thank you, thank you–”

“Claire,” he cut her off. “What I’m looking for in Warren’s files… If I found it, it would be the opposite of keeping him quiet. You understand?”