The Prisoner - Carlos J. Cortes [31]
Nikola sucked on the candy. And yet total security existed only in the minds of politicians and other amateurs. Any castle could be breached, any safe busted, any network hacked. Only fools assumed security was a synonym for safety. Security bought time. But time, like any other commodity, could be purchased by others. In security, it usually meant enlisting someone inside to supply a shortcut. Someone had bought some expensive time.
A middle-aged Japanese couple stepped out of an idling cab on the access road and strolled toward the building. Nikola stopped and brushed the sole of his loafer over the dense grass growing in the interstices between the flagstones. He turned slowly around to face the vast white bulk of the sugar cube—the nickname common folk used for the hibernation stations. The same common folk who would assume that whoever planted the grass, probably at great expense, had intended to beautify an otherwise stark landscape. Nothing could be further from the truth. The grass was needed.
The sugar cube was surrounded by two hundred yards of square paving stones measuring thirty by thirty inches each, with a four-inch strip between them where the lush grass grew. The flagstones rested on a bed of fine-grained sand, compacted without mortar or any other binding. Below the sand, a network of polymer fiber optics detected the slightest change in the weight of each flagstone. Nikola recalled a showy experiment by the suppliers of the network. A technician had dropped a Ping-Pong ball onto a slab and grinned when a loudspeaker wired to a sensor blared: tap … tap … tap, tap-tap-tap-tap as the ball bounced.
The Japanese couple neared the sugar cube and stopped a few feet away, perhaps afraid to draw any closer in case the white expanse sucked them in. They looked around. Now you’re wondering if someone is watching you. No cameras in sight. They’re not; there’s no need. A computer had determined their number, weight, and direction of movement from the moment they stepped on the flagstones. If, instead of individuals, a car or truck had tried to cross over, every other slab would have sunk twelve inches. The vehicle would be stuck within a few feet. And within a couple of minutes, a DHS Fast Deployment Unit would have surrounded the intruders.
The woman fiddled with a tiny video camera, perhaps wanting to capture a souvenir. No chance. Beneath the polymer epidermis of the cube lay two feet of hardened concrete and, sandwiched between inner and outer surfaces, protective copper shielding to make the building an information black hole. In addition, strong electromagnetic pulses would prevent the gadget’s operation. Only specially shielded equipment would work within five hundred yards of the station.
When Hypnos designed the first hibernation complex, there was a discussion about building a perimeter protection fence. A stupid discussion, since all access was through underground roads and there was nothing to protect on the surface. So why build stations close to city centers? Why not in the wilds or underground? Elementary, my dear idiot: People forgot networks like sewers and other utilities that lay hidden beneath the city streets. Also, people needed reminders of reality and permission to see and touch—like the Japanese couple—to gather fodder for nightmares. Masek eyed the tourists. The woman drew closer to the wall and ran a hand over the white surface—a six-inch hardened polymer without openings, joints, or cracks. He could almost read her thoughts. You’re thinking of