The Zenith Angle - Bruce Sterling [9]
“So we just drown our problem, that’s your solution? What about Vandeveer? He’s on the board.”
“I’ve got nothing against Vandeveer. I’m glad that guy’s inside our tent. You keep him in the dark and feed him lots of gold. I want him kept real happy. Him and the wife—Ditsy?”
“Dottie.”
“Right. Nice, sweet, technical-weirdo people. I’ll give ’em the personal gold star. The big chairman pat on the back. Very appreciative. All the proper steps. All expenses paid trip to Finland for him and the missus and kids. We need some guy like him to go winkle out those little Finnish cell phone sons of bitches—what was their name again?”
“Nokia.”
“Yeah, them. Nokia. God, I hate those people. A full report to the board about those instant-messaging apps. Six months, eight months, whatever. Keep him busy for us.”
The Dot-Commie rustled in the darkness turning back to his telescope. “Van is plenty busy already. He’s a VP for Mondiale. Van hates junkets, he only likes big toys. Fancy router hardware for his lab, that’s what Van wants out of his life. I can shut Vandeveer up and I can sit on him if you want, there’s no problem there. But I’ve got to tell you something, Tom: you’re making a major mistake. We’re in a high-tech revolution right now, the biggest thing since the invention of fire. If it’s even halfway possible, then it’s gonna happen.”
“I know that you think that. But you’re wrong.”
“Okay,” said the Dot-Commie. “If that’s your full, considered judgment, I guess that’s it, then.”
“That’s it, kid. So give me your fallback position.”
The Dot-Commie pulled the thin plastic hood from his head. A dark night wind had come up and he smelled of hair gel and sweat. “Okay. Vandeveer wants to install some honeypot sites for network intruders. That way, if we are penetrated, at least we can trap the hackers.”
“It’s good to hear he’s got some common sense. And that costs us?”
“Not much. Peanuts. He’d do it for us as a favor. He builds them for the FBI all the time.”
DeFanti rubbed his stubbled chin. “This guy is a Bureau consultant, too?”
“Van lives on Internet time. He’s thirty years old and he’s got students who are in the FBI.” The Dot-Commie abandoned his telescope and turned his pale face to the zenith. “Well, I’m glad we hashed that issue out, at least. It’s a load off my mind. My God, Tom, just look at all those stars. They’ve got colors. Look at that detail. You never see that near a city anymore. Nowhere in this world.”
“This is the last place in the continental USA where a man can see truly black skies.”
“You ever get the aurora borealis down here? I see them on over-the-pole flights. I see fantastic things, unbelievable.”
“No. I don’t.” DeFanti paused. “What the hell is all that?”
“What? Point.”
DeFanti raised his arm.
“I’d be guessing Cassiopeia, right?”
“No, I mean that flickering up there. That flickering looks auroral.”
The Dot-Commie’s voice dropped an octave. “You say, there’s some ‘flickering,’ Tom?”
“There’s rotation. And it’s red . . .”
DeFanti began to tremble. It was some kind of object . . . It was round . . . it had thickness and depth, and it spun and it sparkled . . . He was witnessing a cataclysm in his beloved sky. It was a Flying Object, floating in the sky, an impossible creature of red dancing light.
“Look up there at that damn thing,” he croaked.
“I’m not getting this, Tom. What exactly do you see up there?”
“It’s flying and it’s made out of lights. And it’s big!”
“You’re serious about this?”
“It’s getting closer! Look at it!” DeFanti flinched and ducked. “Look out!”
“I’d love to see it, Tom. What are you talking about?”
“It tried to hurt us!” DeFanti shouted. “Now it’s really moving! Oh, my God, look at the speed of that thing!” Awe, terror, wonder fought within DeFanti. Good Lord, to have seen a UFO, to know that the real world really held such things, not any