> pentagons gone/white house too
> MY NEIGHBORS BARFING BLOOD OFF HIS BALCONY IN SAN DIEGO
> Someone knocked over the Gherkin. Bankers are fleeing the City like rats.
> I heard that the Ginza’s on fire
Felix typed: I’m in Toronto. We just saw the CN Tower fall. I’ve heard reports of bioweapons, something very fast.
Van read this and said, “You don’t know how fast it is, Felix. Maybe we were all exposed three days ago.”
Felix closed his eyes. “If that were so we’d be feeling some symptoms, I think.”
> Looks like an EMP took out Hong Kong and maybe Paris — realtime sat footage shows them completely dark, and all netblocks there aren’t routing
> You’re in Toronto?
It was an unfamiliar handle.
> Yes — on Front Street
> my sisters at U of T and i cnt reach her — can you call her?
> No phone service
Felix typed, staring at NETWORK PROBLEMS.
“I have a soft phone on Mayor McCheese,” Van said, launching his voice-over-IP app. “I just remembered.”
Felix took the laptop from him and punched in his home number. It rang once, then there was a flat, blatting sound like an ambulance siren in an Italian movie.
> No phone service
Felix typed again.
He looked up at Van, and saw that his skinny shoulders were shaking. Van said, “Holy motherfucking shit. The world is ending.”
Felix pried himself off of IRC an hour later. Atlanta had burned. Manhattan was hot — radioactive enough to screw up the webcams looking out over Lincoln Plaza. Everyone blamed Islam until it became clear that Mecca was a smoking pit and the Saudi Royals had been hanged before their palaces.
His hands were shaking, and Van was quietly weeping in the far corner of the cage. He tried calling home again, and then the police. It didn’t work any better than it had the last twenty times.
He sshed into his box downstairs and grabbed his mail. Spam, spam, spam. More spam. Automated messages. There — an urgent message from the intrusion detection system in the Ardent cage.
He opened it and read quickly. Someone was crudely, repeatedly probing his routers. It didn’t match a worm’s signature, either. He followed the traceroute and discovered that the attack had originated in the same building as him, a system in a cage one floor below.
He had procedures for this. He portscanned his attacker and found that port 1337 was open — 1337 was “leet” or “elite” in hacker number/letter substitution code. That was the kind of port that a worm left open to slither in and out of. He googled known sploits that left a listener on port 1337, narrowed this down based on the fingerprinted operating system of the compromised server, and then he had it.
It was an ancient worm, one that every box should have been patched against years before. No mind. He had the client for it, and he used it to create a root account for himself on the box, which he then logged into, and took a look around.
There was one other user logged in, “scaredy,” and he checked the process monitor and saw that scaredy had spawned all the hundreds of processes that were probing him and plenty of other boxen.
He opened a chat:
> Stop probing my server
He expected bluster, guilt, denial. He was surprised.
> Are you in the Front Street data-center?
> Yes
> Christ I thought I was the last one alive. I’m on the fourth floor. I think there’s a bioweapon attack outside. I don’t want to leave the clean room.
Felix whooshed out a breath.
> You were probing me to get me to trace back to you?
> Yeah
> That was smart
Clever bastard.
> I’m on the sixth floor, I’ve got one more with me.
> What do you know?
Felix pasted in the IRC log and waited while the other guy digested it. Van stood up and paced. His eyes were glazed over.
“Van? Pal?”
“I have to pee,” he said.
“No opening the door,” Felix said. “I saw an empty Mountain Dew bottle in the trash there.”
“Right,” Van said. He walked like a zombie to the trash can and pulled out the empty magnum. He turned his back.
> I’m Felix
> Will
Felix’s stomach did a slow somersault as he thought about 2.0.
“Felix, I think I need to go outside,” Van said. He was moving toward the airlock door. Felix dropped his keyboard and struggled to his feet and ran head-long to Van, tackling him before he reached the door.
“Van,” he said, looking into his friend’s glazed, unfocused eyes. “Look at me, Van.”
“I need to go,” Van said. “I need to get home and feed the cats.”
“There’s something out there, something fast-acting and lethal. Maybe it will blow away with the wind. Maybe it’s already gone. But we’re going to sit here until we know for sure or until we have no choice. Sit down, Van. Sit.”
“I’m cold, Felix.”
It was freezing. Felix’s arms were broken out in gooseflesh and his feet felt like blocks of ice.
“Sit against the servers, by the vents. Get the exhaust heat.” He found a rack and nestled up against it.
> Are you there?
> Still here — sorting out some logistics
> How long until we can go out?
> I have no idea
No one typed anything for quite some time then.
Felix had to use the Mountain Dew bottle twice. Then Van used it again. Felix tried calling Kelly again. The Metro Police site was down.
Finally, he slid back against the servers and wrapped his arms around his knees and wept like a baby.
After a minute, Van came over and sat beside him, with his arm around Felix’s shoulder.
“They’re dead, Van,” Felix said. “Kelly and my s — son. My family is gone.”
“You don’t know for sure,” Van said.
“I’m sure enough,” Felix said. “Christ, it’s all over, isn’t it?”
“We’ll gut it out a few more hours and then head out. Things should be getting back to normal soon. The fire department will fix it. They’ll mobilize the Army. It’ll be OK.”
Felix’s ribs hurt. He hadn’t cried since — Since 2.0 was born. He hugged his knees harder.
Then the doors opened.
The two sysadmins who entered were wild-eyed. One had a tee that said TALK NERDY TO ME and the other one was wearing an Electronic Frontiers Canada shirt.
“Come on,” TALK NERDY said. “We’re all getting together on the top floor. Take the stairs.”
Felix found he was holding his breath.
“If there’s a bioagent in the building, we’re all infected,” TALK NERDY said. “Just go, we’ll meet you there.”
“There’s one on the sixth floor,” Felix said, as he climbed to his feet.
“Will, yeah, we got him. He’s up there.”
TALK NERDY was one of the Bastard Operators From Hell who’d unplugged the big routers. Felix and Van climbed the stairs slowly, their steps echoing in the deserted shaft. After the frigid air of the cage, the stairwell felt like a sauna.
There was a cafeteria on the top floor, with working toilets, water and coffee and vending machine food. There was an uneasy queue of sysadmins before each. No one met anyone’s eye. Felix wondered which one was Will and then he joined the vending machine queue.
He got a couple more energy bars and a gigantic cup of vanilla coffee before running out of change. Van had scored them some table space and Felix set the stuff down before him and got in the toilet line. “Just save some for me,” he said, tossing an energy bar in front of Van.