An Eighty Percent Solution

Nanogate nibbled on a Stilton cheese puff, dreamily considering how the GAM action, once successfully completed, might boost his own standing in this council. No longer the new man, his voice would carry weight.

“Taste Dynamics is recognized,” said the chairman.

“I’d like to make this council aware of an action I unilaterally started which may, possibly, have some effect on our efforts against the GAM.”

Startled, Nanogate raised his head slowly so as not to show his inner turmoil.

“Please go on. You have the floor.”

“Before our agreement to action, I put together a team of experts to investigate guerilla tactics and strategies to see if we could find a method to mitigate the GAM. Unfortunately, or fortunately as the case may be, I put a very sharp operator in charge of this project. I honestly forgot about the think-tank until I received notice of an intentional reduction in our firewall from the inside. Oddly, it pointed only at data that, upon quick correlation, was false.

“It didn’t take long to find the perpetrator—the long-forgotten leader of my think-tank. In an effort to advance himself, in the face of my extremely loose reins, he chose to take unilateral action without reporting to me.

“Before I could do anything to stop the activity, a net hack blew down the wall and scooped up the Trojan Horse.”

Nanogate couldn’t read her body language well enough to know if she lied or not. Before or after Nanogate’s initiative? Before or after she discovered it? Key questions to how it specifically impacted him. But how to inquire without sounding aggressive or threatening?

“And this action can jeopardize our current solution?” Nanogate asked tentatively.

“Very doubtful. This gambit strikes at the most vulnerable aspect of a terrorist organization, not its manpower. In fact, it could heterodyne with our current efforts or,” she said looking directly at Nanogate, “in the face of the very small possibility of failure of our current efforts, this alone might end the GAM.”

He felt a cold chill run down his spine. He needed to find out what plan was in the wind and, if necessary, sabotage it.

“Very well then,” the moderator concluded. “I don’t think this calls for any action on our part.

“Next order of business?”



* * *



Tony opened the door to 30117 wearing thick latex gloves and smelling of chlorine. Ignoring both, Sonya grabbed onto one of his arms and dragged him bodily through the barely opened door of his still-unfinished apartment.

“Hey! I was cleaning.”

“Time for fun instead,” she said as she waved to the rest of the GAM action committee that stood in the hall. Even the colorblind would’ve objected at the badly mismatched patterned shirts they each wore.

“Huh?” Tony asked with startling brilliance. She motioned for Beth to take up the attack.

“We’re in a very stressful line of work. We have to blow off steam when we can, or we go, in technical terms, crackers.”

“Give me a second.” He stripped off his gloves and tossed them inside the apartment, locking the door behind him. “OK. So now where are we going? I hope my old sweats aren’t going to be out of place.”

Christine pulled out a Hawaiian shirt that just didn’t quite match everyone else and handed it to Tony. He shrugged and swapped his chemical smelling top for one that assaulted the eyes instead.

“Just wait and watch. Learn to trust,” Sonya said, stroking his other arm. Together with some bulky parcels, the group occupied an entire lift car. She felt rather than sensed Tony’s nervousness. “Trust,” she said again.

“I can’t imagine what kind of fun you’d all enjoy. Couple that with those heavy bags and we have…what? Blowing up sushi bars? Feeding corpies to the lions?”

She laughed. Christine came over and sat on Tony’s other side. Sonya managed to not quite frown.

“No, nothing so ’ame,” Suet said from the other side of the car. “Use these bags ’o carry the hea’s of our assassina’ions.” Sonya smiled to herself.

“Yeah, we put them on pikes around the bush telly and dance around them,” Tolly embellished.

“Haha. Very funny.” Christine tugged his shirt. When she had his attention she swung her arm like a pendulum at the side of her body.

“We’re all going to turn into clocks?”

“No, but we’re almost there, so curb your curiosity just a little longer,” Colin said, kneading his thigh where one of Sonya’s poultices caused his jeans to bulge—the unfortunate results of Tony’s poor aim.

The bus dropped the group on the fiftieth floor landing of a nondescript building in the Rose District. Suet moved to the side of Tony opposite Christine. Tony’s confusion showed on his face.

Sonya heard the crash of pins before they could see the door. She mentally cringed when she heard country & western music twanging over the top of it all. Not her favorite music to bowl to.

“Bowling!” Tony exclaimed as the sign proclaiming “Dance and Bowl” jumped around the corner. “We’re going bowling? I don’t have any idea how to bowl.”

“We’ll teach you,” Sonya insisted, pushing him in the small of the back as he began to balk.

“I’ll look like an idiot. I don’t even know how to throw the ball.”

“Relax. None of us knew how when we started, except the Metro trio up there.”

“Smile when you say that,” Colin said, opening the door and holding it for the rest. “Really, we will teach you and you’ll be bowling like a pro in no time.”

“I don’t know…”

“Besi’es. Everyone ’ooks juveni’e the firs’ ’ime.”

“Well, I’ll be stuffed. I never figured you for being shy.”

“I’m not, I just don’t like doing things until I figure them out.”

“Don’t worry. This is just an excuse to have a coldie or two.”

“Don’t listen to the aborigine,” Colin said. “This is a game of skill and finesse.”

“Well…”

“Skill and finesse? Lob a rock down at some sticks standing up? Lotta skill and finesse there, donger.”

“Don’t listen to those two,” Sonya said over his shoulder. “They’ll go at each other for hours. Now come with me and we’ll get you initiated. I’m assuming since you know very little, we’ll start you with a standard ball.” The rest of their crowd broke to various tasks of their own.

“As opposed to an advanced ball?”

“No. As opposed to a fingertip ball. You’re a big guy with thick muscular fingers. Let’s try you out on a sixteen pounder. You know, I don’t see how you could’ve ever been a dentist. You couldn’t hope to get your fingers in a patient’s mouth.”

“I was never a dentist. I was just in the dental design department. I actually was very talented in ergonomics of dentistry. I designed a new dental dam and increased the efficiency of ablative picks by seventeen percent.”

“I’m sure. How about this one. Slip your ring and bird finger in. Nope, too big. This one? That should do it for your first day,” she proclaimed, giving him back his hand.

He looked at the bowling ball like she’d just gifted him with nothing more than a big black stone. “By the way, what’s a ‘pounder?’”

“Hah. Old terminology. Bowling ball weights were determined by how heavy or how many pounds they were. And before you ask me, a pound is around two kilos…or was it the other way around?”

Sonya led Tony to the four lanes they rented. Frances and Jonah immediately hooked Tony in and started discussing five- versus three-step approaches, with Beth chiding them about running before Tony even crawled. Sonya left him in the capable hands of the other more proficient bowlers. While others may have time for fun, this offered another way to observe her charges interacting. She felt a deep obligation to each and every one of them to make certain the team flowed smoothly.

She admired Tony’s offhanded way of deflecting Christine’s silent advances without being cruel. He sat close but not touching. He paid her no more attention than anyone else. Sonya couldn’t tell if he was oblivious or he took an easy care for her feelings. In either case, Christine’s smile said more than anything else. Tony’s life expectancy went up considerably, knowing what Christine did to her lovers.

Tony brought down four pitchers of beer, two each of light and dark, plus one pitcher of soda. No one says “no” to beer. It provided an excellent lubricant for the team to help shuck off the worlds’ woes for the night.

“My turn to get the pizza,” Andrew offered.

“You haven’t bought pizza in three years, you cheap bastard.”

“Fair dinkum, Andrew. Get on the bounce.”

The more Sonya watched, the more she decided that Tony wore about him a subtle charm. She couldn’t immediately decide if it came sincerely or whether he projected it with forethought. She didn’t like witching her way into her comrades’ motivations unless necessary. Instead, she used her own instincts as she followed him even more closely.

He deferred naturally to Frances on bowling and learned enough to at least keep the ball on the lane. He exchanged sarcastic comments with Linc. Sonya watched as he calmed down the irascible Suet after her ball, with far too much spin, leapt into the adjacent lane. He even spent some time honestly listening to Beth’s tedious and redundant ramblings about her modeling days.

Sonya watched as her people took to him as one of their own after so little time. As one, the group jumped up and down as Tony scored his first strike. Hugs were shared all around.

One fly swam in the ointment. Andrea failed to hide her dislike of the newcomer. He seemed confused by the antipathy, but tried hard to work around it with very limited success.

When Tony finally worked his way through the team to herself, he asked her about her low tech lifestyle. To her surprise he honestly listened to her answers and could debate the benefits and costs. Within a few minutes Sonya realized his natural charisma even worked on her.

“What more could one leader ask for?” she chided herself mentally. Despite her best judgment, Sonya found herself warming to him as more than just another member of the team, but as a friend as well.



* * *



“Is the operational tempo always this high?” Tony asked from the back of a brightly painted panel truck dubiously labeled “The Party Bus—Birthdays, Bar Mitzvahs, Weddings, and All Other Occasions.” He crouched next to a huge bomb that all but filled the 9 meter cargo bay. “This is the third attack this week.”

“Sometimes we don’t do anything for weeks or even months,” Jackson explained from the passenger seat. “But sometimes we have only one chance at a target, like today. This one’s like a sign painted by God. No one turns off their surveillance grid without a backup.”

“So where are we going again?” Something nagged at Tony’s subconscious about anything being this open.

“Will you shut up back there,” Andrea barked from the driver’s seat.

Tony didn’t understand the continuing animosity from the diminutive, red-haired thief. He’d been friendly with all the team members and gotten cautious approval even from Sonya. Andrea didn’t make any effort even for common courtesy. Tony felt her eyes following him more often than not in the few quiet moments the team shared since his acceptance.

“That’s enough,” Jackson said. “I know you don’t like Tony, but that’s no reason to be rude. He did save Colin’s ass.”

“Old man, I’m not going to get into this with you.”

“That’s right. We have a job to do right now. Park your high horse so we can do it professionally.”

“Yes, SIR.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, either, young woman.”

“Seventy seconds for grid deactivation,” Tony offered.

“We can tell time! Hell, I don’t even know why you’re along. The explosives in the back of this thing are powerful enough to bring down the whole building. All we have to do is park and walk away.”

“I suggest we merge into the Yelser Airway for three blocks before cutting back,” Jackson offered in a feeble attempt to change the subject. “We don’t want to get there too early and be seen driving around the block.”

“Gotcha.”

“Now a left onto the Em-El-Kay.” Tony’s senses perked up as they rounded the corner. Memory flooded back in an instant.

“What was that address?”

“F*cking shut up about it. We know where to go.”

“Goddamnit, tell me the f*cking address!”

“101 North Martin Luther King, eighty-fourth level,” came the snappy reply.

Tony’s mind went into overdrive. “F*ck. We can’t do this. It’s a trap.”

“What do you mean, corpie? Augustine dug this out. No one gave it to us. How much better can you get than to knock off a g’damned data center for Unified Petroleum?”

“I tell you, it’s a trap. Even Augustine said it’d been the easiest hack she’d had in years.”

“Talk fast,” Jackson insisted.

“It’s a trap. UP is under the Nanogate umbrella. When I worked security, I signed off on a number of construction changes. This was one of them. The power was inadequate. Just by accident I noticed later that the space was to be converted into a day care and nursery school.”

“Bullshit,” Andrea countered.

“No, it’s true.”

“That’s nothing but a load of crap!” Andrea hissed. “We have a bomb to deliver and I, for one, am not going to let Sonya down again.”

Tony could just make out the determination on her face. He realized nothing he could say would change her mind. He changed tactics abruptly.

“Jackson, we can’t let this bomb kill children.”

“Even if you’re right, corpie,” Andrea said again, spitting out the epithet, “they’re just corpie kids. It’s another blow against the corporations.”

Jackson said nothing but Tony could hear him breathing heavily.

“Here comes the building,” Andrea announced as she pulled up into the loading zone. “Get ready to scoot.”

Tony didn’t know where he found the courage. He knew it would probably end his association with the GAM, but he couldn’t abandon his own principles and allow the Greenies to commit suicide. He pointed his gauss finger right at Andrea’s head. “None of us are getting out. We’re going to fly this bomb right back where we started.”

“And if I get out anyway?” Andrea said, slowing to park.

“Then I’ll put a hole in your head the size of the Philadelphia Crater.”



* * *



“That corpie threatened to kill me. I want his head!” Andrea demanded, standing as far away from Tony as the small storeroom allowed. Several of the team held their weapons ready, but didn’t know where to direct them. It pleased Sonya that the guns pointed only at the floor.

“I’m telling you, it was a trap. If killing me will make you feel better about not blowing up a school full of little kids, then go ahead.”

“F*ck you, corpie.”

“Knock it off!” Sonya yelled. Everyone turned to her in amazement. She forced her emotions down three notches and continued more sedately. “Jackson, please tell me what happened.”

“In short, Tony blew the op claiming it was a trap. He claimed inside knowledge that our target was a day care, not a data center.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Andrea went on. “We had—”

“Andrea,” Sonya interrupted making her voice as cold as a breeze on Io, “I’m trying to understand. Until I do I can’t make any decisions. So shut the f*ck up!” In an attempt to break up the disaster this promised to be, she had broken two of her own rules—no yelling and no profanity. It bought at least a modicum of stability to the chaos in shock value. Silence held as Sonya closed her eyes and took four deep cleansing breaths.

She opened her eyes to see Andrea with her arms crossed over her chest and her mouth pursed up with the look of a four-year-old saving up more spit. Tony’s visage wore a look of resignation.

“Now, Tony, why would killing children be a trap? I mean, I don’t like the idea any more than anyone else, but it doesn’t seem to be a risk to us.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I tried to mention this to you before but no one really listened.”

Andrea opened her mouth, but closed it as Tony gave her a glare.

“Well you definitely have our attention now,” Sonya said, her voice back to her normal imperturbable levels.

“OK. Look at it from a guerilla warfare perspective. We gain strength from the common folk—money, protection and recruits. They are trodden and spit on by the corps. They look to us as their heroes. We’re Robin Hood and her Merry Men. What would happen if those same people looked at us as a threat?”

“…their hear’s and their min’s,” Suet muttered.

“What was that?”

“I think she said, ‘…their hearts and their minds,’” Linc said.

“Yes. Something I remember from some ’raining as a mercenary in Africa. We foun’ ways ’o win the hear’s and min’s of the peeps. This jam covere’ shi’ may be yanking the peeps from us. They’re yanking the foo’, clothes an’ roofs away. Peeps run from us, no’ with us. Maybe even Nils.”

“That’s right,” Tony took up again. “I mentioned that killing people might be a danger to us. Look at the corps’ propaganda from our last few actions—they’re already exploiting this, painting us as the bad guys. You’ve seen it already. Augustine, what are the net polls on us running?”

“About three percent less favorable across the board.”

“See? They’re already making an impact with pure fabrication. What would happen if they really had gotten us to kill a bunch of kids? They wouldn’t even need their talking heads to say anything. The blogs, the hack parlors, and tweets would be full of it. We’d be the Manson family. The very people we count on would turn against us. We wouldn’t last a month.”

“I don’t give a damn,” Andrea said, breaking her silence. “No one threatens me. We’re a team!”

“Hold on, Andrea,” Tony said quietly. “I’ll concede your point. We are a team, and I acted badly, but I didn’t see any other way to get your attention. If you want to beat the crap out of me, go ahead. If you all think I should be expelled, go ahead. At least I saved the cause.”

“We only have your word for that, you f—”

“Not exactly,” Augustine interrupted. “When I heard Tony’s thesis I went back and did some additional net work. He may have a point. I didn’t even need to hack and I’ve found any number of references to that location being “Bumble Bee Day Care.” Worse, it’s for low to no income families.

“I don’t like to admit I’m wrong any more than anyone else, sister, but if anyone’s to blame, it’s probably me. I didn’t cross reference the address I got in the hack. I just assumed it was correct.”

Sonya almost sighed in relief as Andrea’s shoulders dropped a bit. The ochre didn’t drain from their leader’s face, however. She wasn’t home free yet.

“I’m going to have to agree with Tony’s observation,” Sonya said calmly. “We’re a guerrilla fighting force. If you aren’t in tune with your people, you’ll soon find yourself in the hands of the Metros. I also have to agree that Augustine probably dropped the ball.” Before Andrea could muster up an interruption, Sonya put up her finger. “That does not, however, deal with Andrea’s grievance. Should some kind of sanction be placed against Tony?”

“What the f*ck?” Colin spurted. “You’re all agreeing he saved our collective asses—AGAIN, I might add—and you want to kick him out or worse?” Colin moved over to stand protectively in front of Tony. “I for one will go with him if he leaves. He risked his own ass to get me out of a jam. You all can suck Nil juice if you think I’m going to put up with that.”

“I don’t think anyone was suggesting anything quite that drastic,” Frances offered diplomatically.

“Like hell I wasn’t,” growled Andrea. “He’s a f*cking menace.”

“Folks, we need to calm down,” Andrew said, moving over in front of Andrea, but facing everyone else. Sonya imagined she was watching some schoolyard game where the two captains chose sides.

Sonya looked into the face of each of her team members. Because of her anger, Andrea hadn’t realized she’d already lost. Sonya felt her only hope lay in dictating a solution to give everyone enough time to cool down. She hated the role of disciplinarian.

“Enough. And I do mean enough from all of you. Tony, I have to say that I appreciate your abilities. At the same time, I’ve never seen this kind of polarization within our action committee. We’ve always been united. This gives me serious reservations about us as a team.”

Sonya didn’t give Andrea enough time to make an ass out of herself by preening. “Andrea, I’ve never seen such childish, intransigent behavior. I can’t even begin to wonder why you’re so unfairly prejudiced against Tony. Oh, I can understand being angry about having someone threaten you, but knock his block off. I know you can do it. You don’t talk about pushing him out where we lose his abilities and let the Metros murder him.” She paced back and forth, looking at the floor.

“If you were children, I’d make you shake hands. You aren’t. Andrea, I can’t make you like Tony. Tony, I can’t make you less of a natural force.

“This is my final word—”

Tony interrupted by thrusting his hand high.

Sonya closed her mouth on her next words. “I thought I already told you this isn’t a classroom. You don’t need to put up your hand to speak.”

“Sonya, I think I need to get this in before you finish. I’m afraid I need to ask everyone some probing questions for my own peace of mind—otherwise your pronouncement may be moot. I don’t know that this is the right time, but I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

“Go ahead.”

“What are we trying to accomplish with our actions?”

Sonya felt stunned with the question. She wasn’t the only one. Several seconds passed before anyone spoke and then they all spoke at once in a cacophony.

“Bringing power back to the people…”

“Returning the balance of nature…”

“Makin’ the bloody corps listen to the law.”

The simple answers dissolved the room into even more chaos. Tony held up a hand to quiet the babble as everyone tried to get everyone else to agree with their viewpoint. While he didn’t get the respect that Sonya normally received, he did get eventually get their attention in the end.

“You can’t even agree why you’re getting together and killing people.” He received nothing but puzzled looks. “Why should I stay committed to you as a group, other than my personal loyalties, when you commit the murder on a wholesale scale but can’t even decide why you’re doing it? Oh, sure, the megacorps do it daily, but you’ve held yourselves up to be better than they are.”

Sonya barely noticed the silence as her own mind whirled around his challenge. She spoke first. “Why do you fight, Tony? It’s been almost two weeks now. Do you know why you kill?”

“I’ll be honest. At first I killed to stay alive. I can’t quite claim self-defense, but that’s as close as any. I then realized this is almost the only true comradeship I’ve ever known in my life. In this short time, you’ve all touched me.

“But I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided I have some morals. Now I’ll only kill to bring about positive change. I don’t see things moving toward any change at the moment. That probably means you’re going to feel you have to murder me to keep me from talking, but that’s the way my heart and soul is pulling.”

Somehow Tony made Sonya feel dirty, just with a few well-chosen words about something she’d spent most of her life building.

“You only bring up more things nee’ing answers,” Suet said pointing a green tentacle at him. “How ’o we make tha’ change? We though’ we were.”

“This world is run by the corps. That isn’t right. There are no checks and balances. The rich run everything and there’s no way to get rich because they rig the game against it, unless you want to become just like them.

“I’ll be honest. If I go forward, I do so to remove the current people from power. I don’t know what needs to be righted, other than that.”

“How?” Frances said seriously. “We’ve been fighting the megacorps for years. Talking doesn’t work. All they recognize is violence.”

“Nothing wrong with violence,” Tony said quietly. “Just stop killing people.”

Seven people all opened their mouths to interject, but Sonya’s hand stopped them. “Tony, I think for all our sakes, except maybe our loving lady, Christine, we’d stop killing in an instant if we had another way.” Nods went around the room. At this moment Sonya realized how the tenor of the room shifted from confrontation to expectation.

“It’s simple, actually. Let me ask some rhetorical questions. What does killing corpies do for us?” Before anyone could answer he went on. “Frankly, nothing good. There are always thousands who are willing to not only climb over the corpses but to perform sex acts with them to fill their now-vacant positions.

“Killing hurts the corps not at all. They’ve learned a lesson. You see in the nets. Killing now helps them and works against us. They make us into the evil ones.

“Now ask yourselves, what drives the corporations?”

“Profits,” Andrea offered, her anger seemingly gone from even her posture.

“Power,” Collin offered.

“So how do we hurt the corps and not hurt ourselves? Step right up. Three tries for a quarter,” Tony said in all seriousness.

Once again Sonya broke the tableau Tony had created. She began to see light through the fog over her brain. “Target and destroy visible corp assets while reducing the kill count to as close to zero as possible.”

Murmurs of assent floated through the room. Sonya felt an energy unlike any since the GAM’s birth.

“You just won a kewpie doll. Better than that, the targets we’ll be picking will have little to no protection. Who protects a warehouse except from thieves? Who protects a manufacturing plant? What about a mine?”

“Yeah.”

“I like that!”

“And now that I know you’re paying attention, I have a few more ideas. Right now you pick your targets by those who present an opportunity. I think that by a better selection process we could make each target work for us double, or maybe even triple.”

Sonya just raised an eyebrow at him. Everyone else now politely or respectfully hung on Tony’s every word.

“Look here. By attacking across all corps we’re draining only twenty ccs of blood out of each of them. We’re down in the dirt as far as their bottom line goes. Now, what if we were to focus our attacks on just a single corp?”

“Crashing marke’.”

“Their board of directors would have a fit.”

“Take the tucker out of the bag!”

Augustine pointed out the practical in Tony’s idea stream. “We could also make a fortune. Place ‘puts’ on the companies we target, and when the price plummets, we sell our puts and finance even better actions.”

“Yes, now you see it. This would add even more pressure on the corporations. With a little luck it could cause some of the weaker ones to declare bankruptcy, removing them from the scene entirely.”

The room stood silent for several full minutes. Sonya’s own heart leaped. “I never thought I’d live to see it happen,” Sonya said finally. “Do we even need to vote on this?”



* * *



Nanogate’s nine-month-old grandson, Michael, giggled as he bounced up and down on his grandfather’s knee. Drool flew most everywhere as the infant simultaneously decided to eat his fist. Everywhere included Nanogate’s antique Armani lounging gown. Nanogate smiled. His eldest son married an intelligent as well as beautiful young biochemist. They gave him a grandson to carry on the family name. What wasn’t to be pleased about?

“That’s a good little boy. Ride the pony. When you get old enough I’ll buy you a real pony.” Nanogate gave the giggling child an extra bounce and wiggled him side to side.

“So that b… that gentlewoman from Taste Dynamics told the truth about starting her little experiment before I proposed our Greenie solution?”

“That’s correct, sir,” Mr. Marks said, standing at ease in the center of Nanogate’s home library. Scores of actual bound books lined the walls of a room ornate with real leather furniture, hardwood floors, and an authentic wool rug, dyed maroon red. Mark’s neon yellow tights clashed badly with the ancient décor.

“Want to play airplane instead?” Nanogate swooped the boy up and down without leaving his wingback chair. “But she lied about authorizing action.”

“That is correct, sir. I liberated a copy of her personal notes. You will find it appended to my report. In short, it appears your action jogged her memory. Three days later she authorized one Michael Upton to proceed with an action he proposed three months earlier.”

“I guess that isn’t a big surprise. I probably would’ve done the same thing.” The baby suddenly got rather quiet even though still flying about. “And what results have they seen?”

“The answer to that didn’t come easily, but good research always wins out. Apparently Mr. Upton has a fascination with trains. I managed to come into possession of a vintage B&O locomotive and flatcar in T-scale he needed for his collection. I swapped him for the information.

“The action was in two parts. The first involved intense propaganda, most of it fabricated, pointing to the evil ways of the GAM. The goal of the propaganda was simply to drive a wedge between them and their support base.

“The second action involved disguising a daycare for the underprivileged as a prime target in several nearly open files on our network. The Green Action Militia did, in fact, read out the data as projected. The perpetrators of the hack are conjectured, of course, but the GAM rarely misses data of that nature in the open even if they didn’t themselves do the raid. It approaches a near unity probability that they ended up with the data, one way or another. However, nothing happened.”

“She was going to let them blow up a bunch of children?”

“Yes, sir. She deliberately set them up as bait. If I might be allowed an opinion, I believe it’s as if she would’ve murdered them herself.”

The baby let out a noise, somewhat approaching a grunt before starting to coo and giggle again. Nanogate wrinkled his nose at his grandson’s latest offering. “Susan,” he said, “would you please come get your son?”

As always, his servants, listening in to hear his slightest whim, got the message passed. Within a minute the mahogany doors opened and a beautiful blonde, not quite back to her perfect size six, sauntered in, heels clicking staccato on the floor.

“Certainly, Father,” she said, picking up her baby. “Did little Mikey make a doo-doo?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call him Mikey. It’s Michael.”

“Yes, Father.” She turned and left, cooing to the baby. The doors closed behind them.

“Have we come to that, Mr. Marks? Killing children? Never mind, don’t answer that. I guess it’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black. Who knows how many I’ll be killing in the next few days.”

Nanogate stood up and walked to a stack of books on his desk. He picked one up and pointed it absently at his bodyguard. “So it sounds like her primary action is dead in the water before it even gets started. And the other is a pipe dream. Good news. I can use that against her.”

“Anything else pertinent to report?”

“Not that I can think of, sir. The details are in my report.”

“OK. Thank you for your efficiency, Mr. Marks. Oh, and make sure the cost of those trains gets into your expense report. I know from experience just how expensive those models can be. My son’s a railroader.”



* * *



Mark Linderheim, sixteen and a student working his way through Oregon State University, busied himself restocking Doritos when the first customer of the day, that being a relative term as they were open twenty-four hours, entered the store. An attractive woman in her thirties moved directly to the counter and stood there waiting for him. Probably just wanted a pack of narcosticks or some lottery tickets, Mark thought. He tucked the last of the bags on the shelf and took the empty delivery crate with him back behind the counter.

“May I help you?” he asked affably.

“I’d like to place one hundred puts of twenty-three credits per share on Nanogate,” replied the lovely customer.

“No problem, ma’am,” Mark said, punching the numbers into the computer. Just another version of the lottery, he thought to himself. Some people thought it gave them airs to play such risky ventures in business rather than take the equivalent risk in the lottery. Didn’t matter. Odds didn’t change. Either way provided ample ways for idiots to throw away their money. “That’ll be ninety-four credits,” he announced flatly, keeping his feelings to himself.

The woman opened her Coach bag and drew out a hundred-credit note. Per company policy, Mark waved a forgery detector over the bill until the green light and the oh-so-annoying female voice sensuously offered, “Valid.” Mark made change without another word and meaninglessly offered the woman a nice day.

Working as a convenience store clerk offered millions of ways to numb his brain. Mark moved on to cleaning the trays of the Fozone machine. As he removed the drawers from the massive freezers, another customer came in, a man with his little girl. In the time it took the four-year-old—with considerable help from her father—to make up her mind and pick a candy from the rack, Mark managed to empty, scrub, and return the tray to its place. He made it back to the counter in time for the pair to walk up.

“Good morning,” Mark offered.

“Good morning. We’ll have this, and I’d also like to get some puts, please. Can I get sixty-five at twenty-four credits a share?”

Mark nodded and entered the codes into the machine, wondering about the coincidence. Two puts in a row were unusual, but not earth-shattering.

“I’m getting candy,” the little girl announced firmly.

“Yes you are, dear,” agreed Mark. “That’s a pretty dress. What stock, sir?”

“My momma desneged it on the ’puter fer me,” the girl added smugly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the man, smiling. “Nanogate, please.”

OK, Mark had seen unusual coincidences before, but this seemed extreme. As he currently took statistics as one of his math courses at OSU, he immediately began to run numbers in his head on how unlikely this combination was. He kept losing decimal points in his head before giving up. Statistics did say one thing that very few people remember, though—no matter how unlikely something might be, it still happens sometimes.

“She did a wonderful job, honey,” the customer said to his little girl, paying Mark’s confused look no heed.

“With the candy, that’ll be sixty-three nineteen.”

The man and child left without another word. Mark managed to earn sixteen more credits in the hour it took him to restock the walk-in cooler with beer and energy drinks before two separate people rang the entrance chime at the same time. Both went for the coffee. One, a regular, always spiked his double-shot espresso with energy creamer. Sometimes Mark wondered how the man didn’t have his hands fall off with the jitters.

“Morning, sir,” Mark offered the newcomer, who absently carried a fruit pie and a cup of normal black coffee. The man seemed somehow nervous.

“Morning. Can I get these, and can I short sell from here?”

“ConVenEE is a recognized broker. If you are properly registered you can sell short here.”

“Excellent. I’d like to sell short one hundred fourteen shares of Nanogate.”

Mark’s ears buzzed. “Can I get a saliva sample for identification?” he asked reflexively, numbers dancing in his head.

The man opened up automatically, allowing a simple swab of the inner mouth. The swab went into the machine, which immediately identified the man as someone named Michael Henderson.

“Mr. Henderson, the put will more than cover the cost of your purchases. The remaining four thousand nine hundred fourteen point twelve credits will be retained on your account until the return of your short sale. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, thank you.”

Mark’s brain worked overtime. His teacher could surely give him the odds against something this outrageous, assuming the number of zeroes wouldn’t overflow the archaic campus computer.

The regular stepped up to take his turn. “Morning, Mark.”

“Howdy, Jimmy. Just your coffee this morning?

“Well, no, I’m going to also take a hedge against Nanogate tanking. Say eight hundred shares at thirty credits.”

Mark’s eyes bugged right out of his head.

It took four hours and three more anti-Nanogate stock sales before Mark’s relief showed up to give him his mandated break. He wasted no time calling his girl, Julia, who worked at the Red Salmon Creek casino just north of town. “Julia. I want to pass something by you. I’ve had a rash of people betting against Nanogate.”

“Did you say ‘Nanogate’?”

“Yes, why?”

“I’ve had like fifteen short sales and puts this morning, all on Nanogate.”

“Someone knows something. I think we should get in on this. Should we call our folks?”



* * *



“One hundred three meters, but I can’t see a freaking thing,” Tony said between chattering teeth. He floated in a concentration of green and gray moving flecks, only barely pierced by the powerful light on his forehead and that of his teammate, Tolly, tethered two meters to his left. Tolly looked like a cross between Batman and the Creature from the Black Lagoon in his formfitting scuba outfit. After an hour, the water’s coolness started to penetrate even Tony’s dry suit.

“Good,” Linc offered over his long-range audio link. That storm really stirred up the ocean currents. You’re getting silt and algae storms. Makes it nearly impossible to see.”

“It’s also making it freaking cold.” Tony could almost envision his companion’s disapproving expression through the audio connection, even without Linc saying a word. “OK. That’s great, but where now?”

“Target is 216 meters to the northwest.”

“Northwest?”

“Turn to your right, mate,” Tolly offered, consulting his wrist compass. “A little more. There. Dead set.”

“Switch to stealth mode for approach.”

“Turning off jet packs and lights,” Tony said, plunging himself into absolute blackness as Tolly followed suit. The pair, still tethered together, kicked gently in their target’s direction.

“Why am I doing this?” Tony remarked absently as the cold continued to seep in and the lack of other stimulus started playing games with his mind.

“Cause you and Tolly are the only two with the deep scuba experience necessary. Oh, you’re bearing just a little west. That’s got it. You should be seeing something soon.”

At first he saw nothing but blackness, and then the water started glowing in one direction. The fish started becoming more plentiful, attracted to the food attracted by the light.

“After dark to your left, Tony,” Tolly said cryptically.

“Huh?”

“After dark, shark. Look left.”

Tony made a mental curse at rhyming slang as he twisted around. He caught the signature silhouette of a hammerhead shark, about four meters long, snapping up a 40 centimeter squid. Two other smaller sharks drifted into view, but all gave the humans a wide berth. In front of him, a dome started to take shape through the murk.

“OK, first placement location identified,” Tolly said, pointing toward a light mounted on top of the nearly transparent dome. It wasn’t until the huge light gave perspective to the size that the immensity of the structure made itself felt. 86 hectares stood dry beneath the Loihi Bubble, growing wheat, rye, oats and dozens of other grains. At sixteen billion credits, the farm, dome, and precious metals mine—which they couldn’t see below—represented a significant investment to the NaBiCo Corporation, a subsidiary of Nanogate. The loss of Loihi would dent even that deep pocket.

Together Tony and Tolly swam over closer, pulling items out of their pouches as they approached. Tony stuck a suction cup to the dome to hold himself in place as he lengthened the tether between himself and Tolly. The pair of saboteurs slowly rotated at six meters from the suction cup, affixing devices to the dome. Tolly gave him a thumbs-up and showed three fingers. Tony showed him back three of his own.

Tony’s experience and math showed that three shaped charges, placed six meters apart, would splinter the entire dome, creating a hole between them large enough to overcome any possible emergency repair. Doubling the number of charges provided assurance of destruction. The same procedure at two different sites ensured that if, by some miracle, a grouping was found or the holes somehow plugged, the second would be sufficient. All timers were set to detonate seventy-eight hours later. This gave the divers more than enough time to exit the area and decompress.

Tolly and Tony repeated their hex placement 75 meters away.

“Site two complete. En route to submersible.”

Despite chattering through his teeth, Tony couldn’t help but smile at another successful mission.

“Watch your depth. I don’t want you bending,” Linc offered.

“Go bite your bum. I can watch my own depth. And make sure you have some hot coffee ready. I’m freezing.”



* * *



“Erecting itself in front of you is the Nanogate Spire, a marvel of modern engineering and construction,” claimed a propaganda board in front of the construction site with a pleasant female voice. “When completed, it will be the tallest free-standing structure on Earth, at a lofty 1.83 kilometers tall, stretching over 200 meters taller than the Tovarich Tower of Moscow.”

“How fitting,” Tony remarked, leaning up against the brick façade of the building next to the construction. “Nanogate, the corp that kicked me out, is taking the brunt of our attacks…our first of many victims.” With the GAM’s change in targeting, he didn’t even worry about security or Metros. This site’s sole guard slept most of the time, and its single obsolete surveillance drone scoured the wrong areas three times while leaving the rest of the site open.

The spire’s framework curled up into the air like the gruesome skeleton of a unicorn’s horn. The metal shimmered, not in its own light but rather like it crawled with millions of tiny insects. No pests infested this site, but instead trillions of nanites carried materials up to the top, where they fused them into the growing crystalline structure before returning for more. The spiral grew in height as Tony and Sonya watched.

“The opening of Portland’s Nanogate Spire is planned for February fifteenth,” said the sign.

Sonya looked at Tony and then wistfully up at the seemingly self-growing building. “My grandfather once told me that people used to build skyscrapers by hand. Men would actually climb on those metal arms hundreds of meters above the ground with no gravity belts or safety harnesses. A huge machine would lift massive beams into place, and they’d heat bits and pieces of metal together so they stayed put. Each building often measured its cost in the number of lives lost.”

“Sounds like we shared some similar relatives.”

“Yes,” Sonya sighed. “By the way, don’t think of what happened as anything but a one-night stand. She isn’t romantically involved.”

“Huh?” Tony asked, confused by the sudden subject change.

“She was gone when you woke up, right?”

“How—”

“Suet’s environment taught her only one way to show gratitude. She’s protective of us as her family. You saved Colin, someone she’s come to think of as a brother. She showed you the appropriate gratitude. She’ll come to love you like a brother as well, but don’t equate her sexual outbursts as anything but friendly fornication.”

Tony mulled this over. “Thank you, Sonya. I honestly didn’t know what to think. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed myself, but it was so sudden and so unexpected.” His eyes stared off into nothing and his mouth hung slack.

Sonya gave a soft, girlish giggle. “She has that effect on many men and women both.”

“Whew! I just…”

“You’re among good company, Tony. Also, you’re best off not remarking on it in any way. She gets testy if you do, thinking she hasn’t pleased you.”

He nodded. “So why are we taking this out?” Tony asked, pointing to the spire, trying desperately to change the subject. He didn’t like talking sex with others, especially other women. It made him feel somehow dirty.

“Well, Augustine said that Nanogate’s already behind on construction and every day in delay is costing them hundreds of thousands because of extending leases.”

“So add the cost of rebuilding to the cost in delays, and it’s going to make them sting.”

“That it will.”

“Actually, I’d give a pretty penny to watch the faces of some of my coworkers when this comes down. All the stock options lost, the bonuses evaporating…”

“The layoffs,” Sonya offered.

“True, which can work for us even more. We should be able to recruit from their losses. We’ll have to be careful, of course, but maybe form a second cell that isn’t tied to ours. Only one of us needs to be exposed.”

“Have you ever been a guerilla before?” Sonya asked quizzically.

“No, why?”

“I’ve been running this group for years. You’ve made more progress in a few weeks than I have in my entire tenure.”

“My grandfather fought in the resistance in the Australian revolution. When I was very young, he used to tell me stories. They were never pretty, but they were romantic. I dreamed about his adventures. But even more than those stories, I’ve been reading from the local library since I’ve been with your group—Che Guevara, Mao Tse-tung, and even Girish Taqueur of the Martian revolt. While this isn’t directly the same kind of war I’ve been reading about, it has enough similarities that I can pick my way through basic strategies.”

“Reading?”

“Yes.”

“Unbelievable.” Sonya shook her head.

“Shall we get on with our fun?”

“Yes.”

“After you, ma’am.” Tony followed Sonya over to the ceramcrete walls hiding the underground vats of raw material. “Rare or well done?” Tony asked, pulling out a plasma cutter. He traced his arm in a broad circle just like a fairy godmother waves her wand. The 3 meter circumference he outlined fell out of the wall with only a minor cacophony that no one noticed at ground level.

“Either of two minor changes should bring this building down. First the mixture.” Sonya poured the contents of her handbag into one of the two vats. “The compounds in this should oxidize this material, making the material bond the nanites achieve much weaker.”

“My turn,” Tony said, waving an electronic probe over a 2 meter section of the microscopic workers. “If Augustine’s correct we’ve reprogrammed these nanites to build sections of the frame with a different crystalline lattice. This will make a 2 meter weak point out of every 40 meters or so.”

Sonya looked up at the visibly growing spire and smiled. “It’s poetic justice that we’re using their technology against them. I approve wholeheartedly.”

“I agree. I don’t know when it’ll come down, but it’ll be a long time before completion. Even better will be the exceedingly spectacular show it provides.”



* * *



Using low-light contact lenses, Squib crawled along above a false ceiling using a grav-belt fine-tuned to just barely carry his weight. Too many years had passed since someone in the army gave him his nickname—he couldn’t even remember its origin.

His employer put a rather attractive price on this clut’s head. Tracking this target caused him some problems until he called in a favor from a wirehead. That worthy individual offered that he’d captured a sideband transfer worming his target’s identity into the database as owner of this flat. One in a trillion shot, but he’d take all the breaks he could get.

His client insisted this be a simple vape job with no fuss. Squib didn’t care. One hole or a thousand holes, they still died. One hole saved on ammunition.

Simple sonic probes had provided the layout two days earlier. An easy commission—nipping in through the ventilation system posed no problem for someone of his diminutive size. He planned to drop in silently through the bathroom, the one room in any flat that nobody ever thought to guard. He lifted one of the faux ceiling tiles and looked down. A mottled orange animal sat on the toilet lid looking up at him. It let out a small sound, barely loud enough to even be heard.

Squib reached for his gun to silence the creature when he felt a burning in his chest. He crashed through the false ceiling to fall heavily to the floor, knocking what little breath he still had out of him. He couldn’t seem to inflate his lungs. Looking down, he realized he no longer had a chest, only a hole where most of it had been. He looked up and saw his target, standing nude above him with his finger smoking. Squib could only think, as he died, No one alarms their bathroom…



* * *



Nothing smelled like a dead body—a mixture of iron, burned pork, and shit, in this particular case. Tony also couldn’t believe the vast mere of blood. Vids never got any of the three correct. Mostly the smell creators for vids really didn’t want to make their audience vomit. Twice Tony offered the contents of his stomach to the handy toilet. For the six hundredth time he missed the Body Removal of his former condo association.

While unpleasant, disposing of the corpse proved the easiest part of the job. A molecular blade cut through the joints very easily. In just thirteen relatively easy pieces he had all but the torso safely within the calorie reclamation bin. The torso took a bit of extra effort, and mess, but eventually it too, in several uneven chunks, followed the rest to be ground into protein paste. This just left Tony with five liters of red to decontaminate.

For whatever reason people just didn’t understand how much blood pumped through a person’s body. He scooped it up, sponged it up, mopped it up. He felt like the little Dutch boy of myth holding back the sea with a fork. The gradually congealing goo stuck to everything like honey and found the most devilish crevasses to penetrate.

Cin sat at the edge of the mess and looked on with ladylike disdain for anything as plebian as cleaning. Tony couldn’t be angry at her. She was a cat, after all, and without her unusual warning—a rather wet, raspy tongue to his nose in the dead of night—it might be his blood staining the floor right now.

Tony didn’t have any feelings for the poor bastard whose body he just dismembered, but the intruder’s presence did cause him some concern in other ways. He didn’t know who sent the criminal, but his tools weren’t those of an ordinary robber, but rather a professional assassin.

Sitting up from his all fours position, Tony looked over the mottled pink floors. Before this was over he knew he’d be very happy for all the leftover bleach from his apartment’s initial cleaning.

Who hired the bastard? Were the corps or Metros behind this attack? All questions for another time. Cin yawned. Tony fell back onto all fours to continue scrubbing like an ancient scullery maid. Someone should write a book: The Glamorous Life of an International Terrorist.