“The Daemon is too much of an experiment, Jon. There are billions of lives at stake. Tinkering with the organization of human society—it never ends well.”
“Come here, I want you to see something.”
“Jon—”
“Just come here.” He brought her to what looked to be a tall statue of a muscular warrior facing a bulging stylized gate carved into the cliff face. Monstrous clawed hands and appendages were prying their way through the edges, but the lone warrior stood, sword drawn, and his other hand clutching a shield—determination on his face. The statue was probably fifty feet tall.
Then Philips recognized the face. It was Roy Merritt. “My god, what is this?”
“This villa, it’s the faction hall for the Order of Merritt. Roy is widely admired, Natalie. There are whole factions based on his ideals—ideals left by a lifetime of good deeds. Read the public charters of factions like the Meritorious Raiders or the Knights of Fire.”
“It’s great that they admire him, but I don’t see how this changes anything.”
“The majority of people are good, Natalie. That’s true right around the world. And they responded to the human decency they saw in Roy.”
She stared up at the statue.
“I’m tired of burying people I care about. I don’t want to lose you. You mean too much to me.”
She felt more than anything like holding him—if it had been real life, perhaps she would have wavered.
His avatar came closer again. “Please leave the NSA. Come with me.”
“I can’t, Jon. We need to destroy the Daemon—before it becomes a force for tyranny.”
“But there’s tyranny in the world now, Nat. You can’t tell me you don’t see it. Humanity already serves a system. One that doesn’t recognize the governments we create. That doesn’t respect our laws or our values. It’s protected by people like The Major, who are just as brutal as Loki—if not more so. That system is dooming civilization in a mindless pursuit of growth.” There was a pause. “The darknet is the only thing I’ve seen that can break that system’s grip on humanity. That’s why I joined.”
“Jon, why did you lie to Roy about your father’s death?”
“Natalie. What?”
“The Communist coup wasn’t in 1991. It was in 1992. That doesn’t seem like something you’d be likely to forget. You can’t expect me to trust you if you lie. Are you even Russian?”
There was a moment of silence as his avatar just faced her. The medium of the game made it impossible for her to tell what he was thinking at this moment, and she already felt regret for having said it.
In a moment he spoke, his voice sounding sad. “The essence of my story was true, Nat. I changed some of the details to protect people I love. You must understand. I knew they would polygraph Roy. I revealed the truth about me, but not the facts.”
“You can’t tell me about yourself, but you’re asking me to betray everything I believe in. I could be put in prison for forty years just for coming here today.”
“Then why did you come?”
She stared at the screen but said nothing.
Ross’s avatar paced the terrace for a few moments. He turned back to her. “Sobol’s games always provide a turning point—a crossroad where you choose your fate. I was convinced that his Daemon would be the same—and it is. We all have a choice, Nat. We just have to make it.”
There was silence for several moments. “I’m sorry, Jon. I’ve made my choice.”
She heard him sigh. His avatar wandered over to a short marble pedestal. The top of it glowed with a blue aura, implying magical energy. Ross’s avatar held an amulet in its hand.
“If we never meet again, please remember that I loved you.”
He placed the amulet on the glowing surface of the pedestal where it disappeared in a blinding flash of light.
“Jon—”
At that moment she was suddenly ejected from the game and found herself staring at the icons of a computer desktop.
In the real world of the office, Philips heard a machine come to life in a back room, humming and whirring.
She turned to look around the monitor and saw a cable extending from the back of the computer. Philips stood up and followed the cable as it ran along the floor into what appeared to be a server room. Instead of servers though, she saw a machine about the size of a refrigerator. She leaned down and could see through a tinted window as a movable laser head blazed. It was laying down some sort of metallic material with each pass, the head moving rapidly. As she watched, it became apparent that the machine was creating the small amulet that Ross’s avatar held in its hand.
Within moments, the machine stopped, and the printing head withdrew. The front door whirred open, and the part was there in front of her.
Philips gingerly withdrew the amulet. It still felt warm and was made of a silvery metal. It also had a loop where she could fasten a chain. It was small, perhaps the size of a woman’s watch face, and it was engraved with the simple words “I love you.”
She held it tightly in her hand and wondered if she’d made the right choice.
Chapter 20: // Data Curse
Loki was standing in line at a coffeehouse, six people back, when the businessman cut in line two slots ahead of him. The woman there hadn’t closed the gap entirely, and the douchebag slipped right in, pretending not to notice the dozen people stretching toward the wall.
The mousy woman in front of him accepted it, and no one else seemed inclined to start an argument.
Loki had killed people for less.
He stepped out of line and walked with his studded leather riding boots and black riding outfit straight up to the man—whose cologne assaulted his tastebuds as much as his nostrils. “Asshole. That’s the end of the line, back there.” Loki gestured to the far wall.
The man, who stood at least half a head taller, raised his eyebrows. “What did you call me, son?”
Loki took a deep breath. The Daemon did not permit him to commit wanton murder—he had to have a legitimate infrastructure defense purpose for punching someone’s ticket. And he had to be able to pass fMRI interrogation on every kill. He took another deep breath. There were alternatives, however.
“I said—ASSHOLE—the line is back there.”
The queue advanced another slot—the man was only one person away from the register.
“Look, just grow up, son. You don’t intimidate me with your little leather outfit and your goth contact lenses.”
“If you don’t assume your rightful place in this line, I will make you regret the day you were born.”
“Are you threatening me? In public?”
“It’s not a threat. I’m telling you, that if you do not leave this position in line—you will wish you were dead.”
“This isn’t amusing, son. Now leave me alone before you get yourself in legal trouble.”
“You made your choice.”
The man actually started a bit when Loki raised his ringed hands and pointed at him. “Vilos andre—siphood ulros—carvin sienvey.” Loki spiraled his finger in front of the guy. “I curse your data. . . .”
The man burst out laughing. “Is that what you’re going to do? Cast a whammy hex on me?” He laughed again.
Loki kept aiming his finger—and read the consumer data from the man’s wireless devices, which linked in moments to his identity. “Robert Wahlen—social security ending 3-9-7-3—I damn you, that you might walk cursed among men . . .”