thought it was some new entertainment.
Until it started cooking and eating people.
The Garden of Perpetual Bliss heard its first screams of terror that day. Smelled the stink of roasted human flesh. Beheld fear in a way that had never happened here before.
The dragon landed and stalked, crushing all before him, pausing to bite off a head here, a leg there, hissing with a sound that stirred neck hairs in atavistic panic. The people had no way to stop it, they had no weapons, and the dragon moved through them unmolested.
Some ran. Some stood their ground and waited for their end.
And in a short time, those who did not flee were consumed…
Seurat’s anger surged, a hot flush that made him want to scream and hit somebody. CyberNation had created a paradise in that garden, a place where those who wished such a thing could go and bask in an ideal that had never happened in the real world. All men as brothers.
And someone had ruined it. Attacked and destroyed the carefully built scenario, terrifying those tuned to it. Yet another of the hacks that added cracks to the CyberNation’s foundation. Small ones, so far, but left unchecked they could grow and threaten the entire organization.
Seurat could not — he
The damage to the program had been repaired, of course, quickly and easily. But the damage to the memories of those who had been in it when the incident had taken place? Not so simply fixed. According to his techs, there had been fifteen thousand people worldwide in that scenario when it was attacked. And while that number was but a drop in the bucket compared to the total membership of CyberNation, some of those people would leave and not come back. Like a small stone tossed into a pond, the stories would spread.
Worse, what if the attackers chose one of the giant-scale scenarios next time? The Super Bowl ’cast, or the Pope’s Christmas message? The latest Hollywood blockbuster on demand?
True, those had gotten increased security since the attacks had begun, but since they still did not have a handle on the hacker, who was to say that he couldn’t worm or trojan his way into one of those?
If ten or fifteen million people got a dose of nastiness like that which had happened in the Garden of Perpetual Bliss? That would be… bad.
Very bad, indeed.
Seurat glanced at his watch. Almost time to leave for the meeting with Thorn, at Net Force.
CyberNation’s past with Net Force had been less than happy, and Seurat could not expect them to welcome him with open arms; still, if they could help, he would welcome it. If he had to lie with the Devil to save his child, then that was what he would do. Whatever it took.
None of Locke’s sources at CyberNation in France knew exactly why its leader had traveled to the U.S. Parked in his rented cab near the hotel’s Virginia Avenue entrance — that had been a bit of a trick, but at least this way he would blend in — Locke waited and watched. Even with the occupied sign lit, he’d had to turn away people who wanted a ride. Blind fools.
Such a location — a busy hotel with several entrances and exits — was a surveillance problem for an operative alone. You couldn’t cover all the ways in and out, and if you picked the wrong one, you would lose your subject.
Not that it was of major concern. Seurat was not much of a threat. And whatever his reasons were for being here, they could hardly affect what Shing was doing to CyberNation, if indeed that was why Seurat had come. Still, Locke prided himself on being thorough, and if you went somewhere to shadow a subject, it was better to stay with him than not.
Fortunately, Locke was experienced enough in these matters to have dealt with such problems more than once. This was one of the easier ones: Seurat wasn’t aware he was being followed, nor did he have reason to suspect that he was. He had rented a car at the airport, and that vehicle was now parked in the hotel’s lot. Under the rear end of Seurat’s car — a high-end Porsche — was quick-glued a powerful, on-demand radio transmitter the size of a match-book. Untriggered, the bug did nothing — anybody looking for it using broadband field-strength meters would not find anything. Even a casual visual inspection would miss it, since it was colored to match a car’s undercarriage and tended to blend in. But if Locke sent a coded signal to it, the device would begin narrowcasting a GPS signal that would pinpoint its location — if you had the proper receiver.
The device was live now, and it told Locke that the car was in the hotel’s parking garage.
It was not foolproof, of course. Seurat could leave by a side or back door on foot, catch a taxi, or be picked up by a limo, and Locke would not know. Still, Seurat liked to drive, and he had not rented a Porsche to let it sit in a parking lot while he took a cab.
It probably wasn’t important to any of Locke’s plans what the French computer guru did while here, but it was better to know than not.
As it happened, Seurat must have left the building via another exit, for the coded sig from the Porsche began emitting a higher-pitched tone, sending an alert that indicated a change in position.
Locke started his car’s engine, and lit the tracker. A map of the city appeared on the screen, and a tiny red light showing the position of Seurat’s car blinked on and began to pulse.
Wu might not like technology, but Locke was certainly happy with this little toy. As long as he stayed within fifteen miles of the transmitter, and as long as the battery held out — at least six hours of continuous ’casting — the map would show Locke exactly where the Porsche went, and give him the best route to get to it.
When John Howard called to confirm lunch, Abe Kent suggested they go where a lot of military business had been conducted over the years: a local bar — or, in this case, a brew pub.
Both were dressed in civilian clothes, with one of the pub’s own beers, made right there on the premises, in frosty mugs on the table in front of them. Kent and Howard were just two old friends relaxing at the pub. They were trying the new house beer, Heavy Lifting, a dark ale fizzed with nitrogen instead of carbon dioxide — the bubbles fell rather than rose. It was mildly bitter, with a chocolaty, smooth finish. Good stuff.
“How’s work going?” John asked.
“Slow,” Colonel Kent replied, taking a sip of his beer. “There’s really nothing for me to do but training at the moment.”
“Something will come up.”
Kent nodded. “I expect so. How about you?”
“It’s a lot different. Money is better, and Nadine is a lot happier, though there are times when I want to smack some of the people I’m trying to educate. You wouldn’t think a man who was head of a major corporation could get there by being stupid, but apparently that’s not the case.”
Kent laughed. “The old joke about the chain of command only being as bright as the dumbest link.”
Howard nodded. “So, how does it feel to be back in harness with the Corps?”
“Honestly? Better than I would have thought. I never really felt as if I had left the Corps as much as it had moved away from where I was standing.”
Howard took a drink of his ale and nodded. “Yeah, politics. You have to play if you want to stay. I guess it’s always been that way. I’ve heard stories worse than yours.”
“Me, too.”
“You think Rog will cover your back?”
“Maybe. But if they boot me out, it won’t be so bad. You can only lose your virginity once.”
