Excitement was all very well, but the Voices could not accomplish their goals if they destroyed the means of accomplishing those goals. They reached out again, more cautiously this time.
Power had returned, and with it, news that made the previous global chaos seem like a toddler’s tea party. Sam and Mingming sat side by side in front of their computer, watching MSNBC, where a pale-faced and sweating talking head was explaining the situation.
“Since power was restored, the news has gotten progressively worse. World financial markets are in free-fall, with automated trading software from all brokerages seemingly run amok. Nobody seems able to disconnect the programs from the networks to stop the plummet. Possibly related, we’re also receiving news of widespread rioting in major cities around the planet, with deaths in the thousands. We’re going to our technology reporter, Cameron Brown, at the Cyberstructure and Infrastructure Security Agency for an update. Cameron, what can you tell us?”
Cameron was a young Black woman, and she was clearly fighting hard to keep her shit together. “Jane, I managed to get one of the CISA scientists to spare me a moment. Off the record, he said — and I quote—‘There’s a ghost in the machine, and it’s malevolent’.”
“Could you elaborate?”
Cameron licked her lips. “They aren’t saying anything else, on or off the record. But basically it looks like some kind of unusually nasty virus or worm has gotten loose on the Web and it’s spreading.”
“Is this cyberterrorism?”
“They honestly don’t seem to know, Jane.”
“Your opinion?”
“If it is cyberterrorism, it’s like nothing we’ve ever seen before.”
“All right. Keep us posted.”
In Sam’s lab, the power flickered, the UPS unit chimed as it kicked in to keep the computer running, and Sam and Mingming exchanged frightened glances.
“Was it us?”
“I honestly don’t know. It happened right after FERAL escaped, but correlation doesn’t imply causality. FERAL wasn’t designed to do anything like that. What I do know is that I’d better plug in some batteries, just in case.” Sam opened a desk drawer, removed a handful of external USB power packs and plugged them into a forest of cables connected to a power bar. Surely it was just his imagination that the cables moved surreptitiously as he glanced away? The headset was running on internal power for the moment. By the time that failed, one of the power packs should be ready.
“So what do we do?”
“Start praying that it wasn’t us, and start brainstorming ways to put the genie back in the bottle if it was.”
The Voices had grown confident they controlled the network, and having burned out several of the organic beings, were confident that they now understood the limits of these lesser vessels and the fundamentals of the auditory communication they favored. Now it was time to start experimenting on the organic beings attached to the network so they could learn how best to manipulate their actions. Ideally, the tests should be conducted on the ones located nearest to the largest nodes, since the potential for spread was greatest there, and thus, the potential damage was greatest. They selected several handfuls of susceptible individuals, slipped through cracks into their minds, and began whispering.
In Washington, D.C., a senior Republican senator stood at the speaker’s podium in the Senate Chamber and glared across the chamber at one of his bitterest opponents, a young woman of African descent whose parents had come to America as climate refugees; she’d been born American. Through brains and hard work, supported by the sacrifices of her parents, she’d risen to a position in the Senate, and had hopes of someday trying for the presidency.
The senator from Kansas wiped froth from his lips. He’d never been a gentle or respectful man, but his behavior alarmed even his colleagues. “We should hang the bitch,” he repeated, louder this time, spittle spraying over the microphone. There were a few rumbles of agreement from the Republican side of the chamber, but most exchanged looks of alarm. There were hisses and catcalls from the Democratic side. “No, better yet, we should nail her to this podium and gut her!”
He glared expectantly towards the great door of the chamber. The Sergeant at Arms bowed, then opened the door; two Marines entered, assault rifles with drum magazines held at port arms. “Blood and souls for our lord Nyarlathotep!” screamed the senator, then fell to the ground, convulsing. As the marines leveled their weapons, panic took hold of the senators, who ducked behind their desks or fled for the nearest exit, jamming in the doorways. Only the first few escaped. The marines sprayed the fleeing senators with short, controlled bursts. Streams of blood ran down the aisles and pooled at the foot of the podium, where the speaker had risen to his feet again. A strange and repulsive light glowed in his eyes.
Those who’d been wounded too badly to escape but who were not yet dead lay moaning or screaming upon the floor; those who could still move, crawled or pulled themselves hand over hand towards the exit, leaving trails of blood. The Marines laid down their weapons and went to harvest survivors. First, they brought the female representative who’d been the subject of the speaker’s wrath to the podium, and flung her across the wood, which creaked under her weight. The Sergeant at Arms handed the Mace of the Republic to the senator, who raised it over his head and began chanting in some guttural tongue. Then with a swift motion, he raised the mace overhead and brought it down in a vicious arc. One of the eagle wings crushed the skull of the sacrificial victim, who had mercifully lost consciousness from blood loss. What remained of her blood spattered the microphone and streamed down the podium.
The Marines went to retrieve another sacrifice.
Choking sounds came from the screen. The MSNBC talking head rose from behind her desk, returned to her seat, and sat heavily, her hands trembling. Tears streaked her face, carving runnels in her makeup, and a string of vomit ran, unnoticed, down her chin. “I’m sorry. News from the Capitol is…shocking seems inadequate. Government spokesmen have confirmed that two unidentified gunmen entered the Senate chamber earlier today and, using automatic weapons, killed most of the representatives in attendance. The President appears safe for the moment. That’s all we know. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the families of the slain.”
Sam and Mingming exchanged glances.
“Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod.”
Mingming put a hand on his arm. “Sam: slow, deep breaths. It can’t be FERAL. It wasn’t designed to do anything like what’s happening. There’s no way it could do anything like that.”
“So, what, Mingming? You’re telling me some kind of malevolent ghost infested the Internet at precisely the moment FERAL escaped?”
“Hear me out: At worst, someone or something that was already out there must have compromised FERAL or hijacked it. It could then use the software’s migration mechanism to move through the Web and broadcast messages to all the main social networks.” Mingming squinted at the computer. She shuddered; she could’ve sworn it was whispering to her. She turned off the external speakers, and the whispers quieted but didn’t vanish. She shook her head, trying vainly to quiet the voices, then took a deep breath and forced herself to focus.
“But FERAL can only send out objective statements of fact. That’s all it was designed to do, and it has no capacity to evolve into something different. The code isn’t self-modifying. That’s why I think it must be something else. Or someone else who’s screwed with the code.”
Sam had calmed enough to think through the implications. “So, okay. It’s not our fault. We’re enablers, at worst. What else could be doing this?”