Devil's Plaything - Matt Richtel [113]
“You’ve been watching the boat?”
He points to the corner of the boat compartment, just a few feet to my right. Near the ceiling is a small black cylinder.
“I get alerted if anyone enters.”
Below the camera is a fire extinguisher. I turn back to Chuck.
“May I sit so I can elevate my leg?”
He’s distracted by the document.
“Go ahead.”
Pain shooting through my limb, I climb up onto the bench along one side of the cabin. I then lie back, elevating my foot. If Chuck was paying attention, he’d realize that I could have done the same thing while on the floor.
He’s enjoying his obvious upper hand, so much so that he’s set down his gun.
“What’s the big picture: mass use of brain tissue to store data, or just rewire a select few to carry military and trade secrets?”
“You have no notion of the concept of sacrifice.” He looks up at me and continues. “We are at war, not over land or even values but over data. The nation that controls information will rule.”
“You’re talking about news and media and advertising—that kind of information? Mind control.”
He shakes his head and scoffs, like I’m a child.
“Nat, everything essential gets communicated to computers and stored on them. From our Social Security numbers and bank accounts to our military operations and launch codes. As individuals and as nation-states, our sovereignty and safety depend on safekeeping our data. And guess what? It’s not safe in the slightest. Our banks get hacked, the Pentagon compromised, and do you have any idea how often some punk from Eastern Europe or the Isle of Man hacks into a major corporation and gets trade secrets, customer credit cards, the name of the CEO’s mistress and the filthy e-mails she sent him?”
“And you think you’ve found a better way?”
“Maybe. Maybe we can take some of the critical information off the grid. Forget about laptops or smart phones—we’re creating the ultimate in mobile computing. It’s a device that can walk in and out of the room on its own.”
“But how to get the data out of people’s minds?”
“Different ways. The oral tradition worked for your grandmother. Or maybe we develop ways to execute a program. For instance, you know that angry Vietnam veteran that you tracked down?”
I nod, grunt in pain, and move just a bit more down the bench.
“When he hears a certain song by the Doors, he starts telling a story about beating the shit out of his best friend in high school. It’s a story that has all kinds of critical information in it that we need to get to a CIA agent in Beijing whose phone is tapped and computer compromised.”
I think he’s blowing my mind but it might be that blood loss has begun to impact my concentration. I’m losing it. I don’t have much time.
“What else?”
“How do you mean?”
“All this to smuggle some information into China you could just as easily send in an FTP file.”
He smiles. “A journalist to the end.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Put it this way: conscription in this country is in full effect.”
“The draft?”
“Of memory space,” he continues to look intently at the laptop, transfixed by the science on the monitor. I’m feeling woozy, having trouble following. Then it hits me.
“You’re not just planning to erase our memories,” I say. He looks up, waiting for me to continue. “Because you’ve already done it.”
“We’ve targeted two groups,” he says casually, and looks back down at his precious science. “Initially, we focused on accelerating the condition of people with compromised memory assets, like your grandmother. But unbeknownst to the geeks who wrote this software, we’re also following thousands of heavy multi-taskers: people who text around the clock, keep several Internet windows open at once, use instant messaging and e-mail and Skype at the same time. We’re encouraging the behavior.”
“By buying sites like Medblog?”
“Funding start-ups that build fast-twitch media software, casual games sites, interactive virtual worlds with pop-up windows and hyper-speed messaging. Multi-tasking heaven. We’re lobbying on related