mound of earth. Could a small boy really be buried down there?
… 0 Hours and Counting…
With a silent, rolling thunder that wilted everything that it touched, the bomb flowered outwards as the clocks of millions of CPUs touched the final hour. Time zone by time zone, sweeping across the world like a great gray tidal wave that left nothing behind in its path, circuits fell idle. Tiny electronic minds were stilled as the deadly wave touched them. Magnetic memories were forgotten, an infinitely varied landscape consisting of trillions of ones and zeros became a flat, seamless plain of zeros. A billion words, pictures and ideas were smoothed flat and vanished forever.
The internet, built to survive a nuclear holocaust that would remove entire cities from the globe, died at its own hand, following instructions written in secret that none had expected. Nog’s legacy flourished and raged like a living thing, which in fact, many philosophers would argue later, it truly was.
Phones stopped everywhere. Airliners crashed. America’s defense system lost forty years of technological sophistication in an hour. The Russian, German, British and French systems failed soon thereafter.
Like the unsuspecting natives of beautiful islands visited by Cook and his crew two hundred years earlier, whole populations of computers died when faced by a common cold against which they had no immunity.
Vasquez punched buttons repeatedly, but the cell phone didn’t work then, it didn’t work when they raced the dying boy back into town-and, in fact, it wouldn’t work for some weeks to come.
By the end of that week, when Ray was released from prison and his son was released from the hospital, the world had changed forever.
But only a few people realized it was the end of the first great network built by humanity.
