The Zenith Angle - Bruce Sterling [32]
His father hastened after him. He had a bleak, naked look on his face. “I know that they want you in Washington, son! But you don’t have to go through with that. There’s no need for it!”
Van shrugged sheepishly. A teenager’s gesture.
“Think about it. What are you going to get out of this? Do you want a Christmas card from Henry Kissinger? Son, I know people from al Qaeda. I’ve met them. They don’t matter in this world. The only way they can matter is to kill themselves inside our jets and buildings. Al Qaeda can’t build anything. They can’t invent anything. But you can, son. You’re a builder, you’re an innovator. People like you are making people like them matter less every day.”
“Look, Dad, I write software, okay? Don’t get all philosophical. I’m never going to shoot anybody. But computer security matters.” Van sighed miserably. “That scene is just so bad. You don’t know what it’s like to run those networks. Nobody knows who hasn’t done it. It’s a much, much bigger mess in there than any normal person imagines. It’s been neglected way too long.”
Van’s grandfather appeared at the door of the duplex. No one had been watching over him. He took off down the sidewalk at a brisk walk.
“Every big outfit gets like that, son,” his father insisted. “If he wasn’t in jail now, I’d take you to meet Aldrich Ames. That son of a bitch is the poster boy for the crisis inside the Company.” His father groaned. “He sold out every asset we had inside Russia. And no one in the Congress even noticed that Ames did that, ever! We had brave people dying who were never missed.”
“Dad, the Internet gets kicked flat by teenagers in Canada. That just won’t do.”
The two of them apprehended his grandfather. “I’m going out for some Marlboros,” the old man protested.
“I want you to have a happy life, son,” his father insisted, taking a firm grip on his grandfather’s bony upper arm. “You have everything, Derek. You’re a big success, you’re enjoying your life. She’s a sweet girl who loves you, that’s a wonderful baby. Do you know what you’re risking there? You’ll never get that back.”
“I don’t get off that easy, Dad. They need me. Because they know I can help. Everybody else has screwed it up.”
“Derek, if you work inside the Beltway, the people who screw things up are gonna become your best friends. They’re going to be your best war buddies. You’re gonna encounter people worse than you can imagine, with problems that don’t bear thinking about. There’s no reason for someone like you to become one of them.”
“No, there’s a very good reason, Dad. I know I can make a difference, so I have to try. If nobody ever tries to fix the world of the Internet, the future will just turn into . . .”
Van broke off. This was a very long speech for him, and his father wasn’t getting it at all. He realized that his father thought of him as a soft, dreamy person, from a lucky generation, leading a charmed life. Van didn’t know whether to feel rage or pity, so he felt what he always felt with his father: gloomy confusion.
He began to shout. “The Internet turns into hell! Some awful, total mess! Where every single decent company goes broke. Viruses and worms breaking everything. Lawsuits everywhere you look. Where crazy people from the very worst places on earth try to rip you off with bank frauds and drugs and filthy pictures . . .”
His father looked at him with alarm. His grandfather was totally bewildered by Van’s outburst. Van sounded wild and crazy, even to himself. Why let on about the nightmare cyber-scenario? He should never have opened his mouth, he thought. He was crushing their cherished, old-fashioned ideals.
There were horrors in the world beyond their understanding.
CHAPTER
FOUR
CHECHNYA, NOVEMBER