Fractions_ The First Half of the Fall Revolution - Ken MacLeod [133]
‘My green allies have taken to the trees, ha, ha,’ Bleibtreu-Fèvre said. ‘All I can raise of my usual contact is an answer-fetch. Its answers are far from reassuring. I suspect they are too busy with other plans of their own to spare much real time for this emergency. Unfortunately the security forces are themselves overcommitted and unable to penetrate whatever the barb are about to perpetrate.’
Donovan wondered how true this was and whether the agent could detect evasion from tones and expressions. He decided to be honest.
‘There’s some kind of upsurge coming down the line,’ he said. ‘We may find a lot of separate campaigns thinking globally and acting locally in the next few days. All at the same time, which could be disruptive. I’ve already called my troops out of it, which is all I can do from here. Has that Beulah City woman come up with anything?’
A server whirred across the floor, lurched to a stop by the workbench and slid back its cover to reveal two beakers of coffee, each about two-thirds full, the remainder having slopped out. Donovan gestured and Bleibtreu-Fèvre took his first, wiped the bottom of the beaker with his tie and sipped. He grimaced and put it down on the bench.
‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Ah, this is a delicate point. Mrs Lawson reports that the increase in net traffic is continuing, but she has just found a sudden increase in system problems.’ He took another sip of coffee. A small but visible shudder followed the liquid down his gullet. ‘Her exact words when I spoke to her a few minutes ago were, no offence, “Oh, and tell that son-of-a-witch Donovan to lay off like he promised.”’
Donovan’s sip turned into a scalding gulp. He slammed the beaker on to the solder-snotted formica and rose to his feet. Supported by one hand on the bench he waved his stick around at the screens all about them.
‘Are you calling me a liar? Can’t you see for yourself, man? What do you see on these screens, eh?’
Bleibtreu-Fèvre’s glance darted about, flicking back and forth from the screens to the lashing, slicing stick.
‘Nothing,’ he said, ‘that I can interpret.’
Donovan’s rage subsided and he sank back to his seat.
‘I forgot,’ he whispered. He took a few deep breaths. The red mist faded. ‘I’ve customized the displays so many times, and each time they’re clearer to me and I forget…I stayed awake for over forty hours trapping, leashing, tethering hunter-killer viruses, turning my best against my second-best, generation against generation, and I assure you that they’re almost all in dead cores.’
‘So what is it that Lawson’s finding?’ Bleibtreu-Fèvre asked, as if to himself.
They stared at each other.
‘Oh, shit!’
Bleibtreu-Fèvre looked about. ‘Do you have some interface I can use?’
‘Better do this between us,’ Donovan said.
They hacked and patched the Stasis metrics with some of Donovan’s less toxic software. The disruption was back, even worse than it had been the day the Watchmaker entity had first made its presence felt. It was getting worse by the minute.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ Donovan groaned. ‘There’s no way this won’t set off alarms, especially with your lot and Space Defense getting on each other’s nerves.’ He glared at Bleibtreu-Fèvre, who shifted uncomfortably, then suddenly smiled.
‘There is a way to divert their suspicions,’ he said. He leaned forward, his eyes glowing in the gloom. (Just a reflection from the screens, Donovan reassured himself.) ‘Claim it, Donovan! Claim it! Say you did it! Boast about it!’
Donovan shot him a look of respect. ‘That’s an excellent idea,’ he said. He started keying out standard communiqués even as he spoke, flashing releases to news agencies. ‘And meanwhile I can use it to test the countersystems I’ve developed!’ He rose triumphantly to his feet. ‘They might even work first time…God, if we could kill this thing right now…’
He was too wise in the ways