longer toys. It was the same with the Internet-at some point hacking became a national security matter. Drone use needs to be restricted to the professionals now.”
Clarke frowned at something on-screen. “Well, it makes my job harder. I mean, they’re questioning a high school kid for sending a camera to the edge of the atmosphere with a weather balloon.”
“It could just as easily have been anthrax spores, Henry.”
“Where the hell would a high school kid get anthrax spores? More importantly, why?”
“If hackers are the militia of cyber war, then hobbyists are their drone war cousins. It’s safer for everyone if we scare them now. Put them on notice. Isolate them. Like we did with the WikiLeaks people.”
“For the record, I think it’s a mistake. It’ll create a grassroots backlash that will take thousands of puppeteers weeks to dilute.”
“Well, then I suggest you stop sipping Scotch and get your ass back to the office…”
CHAPTER 24
Linda McKinney spent her days wandering Lalenia’s ranch in the warm, dry weather, using a hiking stick for support and as protection against stray dogs. Her strength had returned, and she could walk a considerable distance now. It was surprising how such a small hole had nearly drained all the life out of her.
But what life was left to her? Where could she go? She’d been recovering in Mexico for two months, and now it was almost March. She couldn’t help thinking that there was no clear path home. Had they declared her dead? she wondered.
She thought about the antidrone team-or what was left of it. Foxy had flown off to Mexico City-gone to connect with informants, or buy weapons, or sell the plane-nobody would tell her which. Tin Man had gone away to get specialist treatment for his leg injury. Meanwhile Odin and Mouse spent most of their time together, running around the area on shadowy business. She didn’t see Odin much.
Was this her life now? An expat American hiding in rural Mexico? She wondered when the hunt would resume. Or if it would resume.
In the meantime she walked. As she did, McKinney studied the ground. It was a habit she’d formed after a decade of field research. She had lately been monitoring Argentine ants- Linepithema humile. She noticed a trail of them and followed the tiny species back to its nest. Much smaller than weavers, they were nonetheless the most likely to give weavers trouble in the future. The reason was simple: They’d evolved into a single supercolony that spanned continents-trillions of members and possibly millions of queens. They were the Wal-Mart of ants-existing like a single, vast multinational corporation. Their numbers outstripped all others. Even far more ferocious ants simply could not kill all the Argentine ants, and eventually, their food sources were eaten out from under their mandibles.
The Argentine ants were reducing biodiversity. Other insects could not survive their onslaught, and the birds who ate those insects were also starting to suffer-and on up the food chain. Humans weren’t the only ones capable of wrecking their ecosystem by succeeding too well, apparently.
And yet somehow McKinney’s enthusiasm for swarming intelligence seemed greatly diminished. It wasn’t academic anymore. How long until the weaver drones started appearing elsewhere? She tried not to think about it.
Instead she kept walking. While wandering the edge of an orange grove, McKinney heard a familiar caw and turned to see one of Odin’s ravens on a nearby fence post. It examined her curiously. She noticed it wasn’t wearing the wire filament headset or transponder. “Hello, Muninn. How are you today?”
The raven spread its wings and puffed up the feathers around its head, caw ing and hopping along the fence wire.
She stood in front of Muninn and leaned on her hiking stick. “Where have you been?”
The raven cocked its head at her.
In a moment Huginn landed next to Muninn on a nearby fence post.
“Hello, Huginn.”
The birds both caw ed in response, but then the first one started preening the new arrival, as the second one emitted gentle keek-keek sounds. It was as though he were caressing her.
“I guess this is a holiday for you two, then? A little jaunt down to Mexico?”
McKinney decided to leave them alone and returned to her walk along the edge of the orchard. The ravens started to tag along, flying in bounds overhead, and then across the road into a nearby peach orchard. They were both walking around the branches and took great interest in a squirrel that was gathering up rotting peaches that had fallen. One of the ravens apparently decided to have some fun and tugged at a peach on a branch until it broke off and rolled down onto the ground-where the squirrel immediately descended upon it.
McKinney watched in fascination as the ravens let out more clicking noises and hopped around the branches with apparent delight. They seemed to be… feeding the squirrels for the fun of it.
Soon bored with their game, they flew off, heading toward a copse of trees in the distance. McKinney watched them go, only to see them circle back and caw at her loudly. Another dip of the wings, and they headed back toward the distant tree line. McKinney watched them go again, this time more closely. The birds were clearly communicating with each other as they flew. It was fascinating to watch.
Another glance down at the Argentine ants, and McKinney decided to take a break from swarming models. She slipped beneath the fence wire and headed across a pasture toward the copse of trees a couple of hundred meters away. She could see the ravens sitting on a tree branch there, until one of them descended, presumably to engage in more mischief.
She remembered when she’d first arrived at the Ancile base in Kansas City and started exploring the halls. Muninn had sounded the alarm. Now they seemed to have accepted her. It surprised her how good it made her feel.
She considered this as she headed into the trees along a narrow but well-worn path. The ravens caw ed about something ahead. McKinney wondered whether she was being foolish for heading down this path on her own, but the presence of the ravens was oddly comforting. They didn’t sound alarmed. It was their normal voice.
Before long she came to the edge of a stream that flowed over rounded stones in clear ripples and reflected the trees above in still pools. Standing there on the bank, his back against a tree, was Odin.
He was grimly concentrating on the water, lost in thought. He finally looked up in alarm as she snapped a branch with her foot.
His surprise truly surprised McKinney. “I thought you had eyes everywhere. Your trusty companions seem to have failed you.”
He frowned and looked up at the ravens on branches above. “Someone’s apparently getting a little too used to you.”
She walked up to him and looked out at the water. “This is nice. I didn’t know this was here.”
He nodded.
She noticed he held a mirror and scissors. “What are you up to?”
“Shaving the beard.”
McKinney put on an exaggerated, shocked expression. “Really? That thing must have taken you ages to grow.”
He nodded again.
“Doesn’t look like you’ve made much progress. Hard to part with it?”
“I guess it is. But it was for a mission I spent too much time on.”
She studied his face and walked up to him as he tried to look into the tiny handheld mirror.
He stopped for a moment. “What?”
She extended her hand, and when he hesitated, she took the scissors from him. “I can see better. You want it all off?”
He nodded.
