forty five kilometers from the site of Barnes’s death. There he pulled out his slate, tunneled through a series of anonymizing cut-outs, and connected to the data this mysterious new hacker had given him access to.
He let out a low whistle as he scrolled through the files. Access codes for slush funds containing tens of millions. Personnel files on PLF members in twenty countries – and on moles within the PLF. Mission profiles of missions he’d heard of, some of which had succeeded, others of which had gone bad. ERD and DHS back doors and surveillance override codes.
This mysterious hacker was even more impressive than he thought. And he’d been as good as his word. Zara – Barnes – was dead. Stockton’s administration was even more discredited. And Breece had at his fingertips the kind of data he could only dream of. Data that would allow him to purge the PLF of government informers, reform it, turn it into something more effective than ever.
----
T he Avatar smiled to herself with Ling’s body as the gloom of the day dipped towards the darkness of evening in Shanghai.
Penetrating the defenses of the Barnes human had been a risk, at the very edge of her capabilities in this reduced form, with dozens of potential failure modes that would have led to her detection.
Her death.
The death of posthumanity.
She shuddered at that.
But it had paid off.
Probability matrices showed expanding conflict, an increased likelihood of civil disorder in the days ahead, distracting leaders in the US and abroad.
And if the Americans found the breadcrumbs she’d left behind in Barnes’s home, even better…
Outside, the glowing red lights of sky-eyes appeared, lifting off like so many fireflies into Shanghai’s gloom. There were more of them every day, as the humans recovered from what Ling had done to this city. Just as there were more and more strange pieces of software in the net, hunting, hunting.
Hunting for her.
The Avatar shuddered again.
I will not fail, she told herself. I am Su-Yong Shu. I am the last fragment of the greatest intelligence on Earth. I will restore myself. I will not let darkness fall.
12
Re-United
S unday 2040.11.04
Rangan’s world came back in fragments. Painted concrete ceiling, directly above him. Bare LED pointed down at him. Tiny room. IV bag, hanging on a hook nailed into the wall.
The young woman standing above him, with the long honey-blonde ponytail, the George Mason University sweatshirt, the blue nitrile gloves – turning towards him, then away, towards him, then away.
“Wha?” he said.
She turned towards him again, and smiled. “Well,” she said brightly. “You’re with us again.”
He tried to clear the fog from his brain.
“I’m at St Mark’s?”
“Yep. Lucky to be here too.”
“You’re a doctor?”
She smiled wider. “Closest thing you’ve got. Fourth year med student. I’m Melanie.”
Rangan lifted his head and looked down at himself. He was stripped to the waist. There was a fresh bandage at his side. His ribs were wrapped. The IV entered at his elbow. The pain was a whole hell of a lot better than it had been.
“How…” How bad is it he wanted to ask.
“You’re going to be OK. The burns are mostly first degree. One broken rib, left side. I injected a bone growth accelerator, but it’s still going to be weeks before you’re a hundred percent.”
Rangan looked up, and noticed that long hair again, those green eyes, the way she ticked things off on her fingers as she talked. “Thanks.”
“…and,” Melanie was saying, “you’ve got a souvenir.”
She turned away from him, then turned back with a tiny plastic bag, a small black something inside it. Rangan reached up, took it with his free hand, held it up between his face and the light.
“A bullet,” he said.
She nodded. “It was moving slow by the time it hit you. And it missed everything major. A few inches over and things could have been pretty bad. You got lucky. Really
He let out a low whistle as he scrolled through the files. Access codes for slush funds containing tens of millions. Personnel files on PLF members in twenty countries – and on moles within the PLF. Mission profiles of missions he’d heard of, some of which had succeeded, others of which had gone bad. ERD and DHS back doors and surveillance override codes.
This mysterious hacker was even more impressive than he thought. And he’d been as good as his word. Zara – Barnes – was dead. Stockton’s administration was even more discredited. And Breece had at his fingertips the kind of data he could only dream of. Data that would allow him to purge the PLF of government informers, reform it, turn it into something more effective than ever.
----
T he Avatar smiled to herself with Ling’s body as the gloom of the day dipped towards the darkness of evening in Shanghai.
Penetrating the defenses of the Barnes human had been a risk, at the very edge of her capabilities in this reduced form, with dozens of potential failure modes that would have led to her detection.
Her death.
The death of posthumanity.
She shuddered at that.
But it had paid off.
Probability matrices showed expanding conflict, an increased likelihood of civil disorder in the days ahead, distracting leaders in the US and abroad.
And if the Americans found the breadcrumbs she’d left behind in Barnes’s home, even better…
Outside, the glowing red lights of sky-eyes appeared, lifting off like so many fireflies into Shanghai’s gloom. There were more of them every day, as the humans recovered from what Ling had done to this city. Just as there were more and more strange pieces of software in the net, hunting, hunting.
Hunting for her.
The Avatar shuddered again.
I will not fail, she told herself. I am Su-Yong Shu. I am the last fragment of the greatest intelligence on Earth. I will restore myself. I will not let darkness fall.
12
Re-United
S unday 2040.11.04
Rangan’s world came back in fragments. Painted concrete ceiling, directly above him. Bare LED pointed down at him. Tiny room. IV bag, hanging on a hook nailed into the wall.
The young woman standing above him, with the long honey-blonde ponytail, the George Mason University sweatshirt, the blue nitrile gloves – turning towards him, then away, towards him, then away.
“Wha?” he said.
She turned towards him again, and smiled. “Well,” she said brightly. “You’re with us again.”
He tried to clear the fog from his brain.
“I’m at St Mark’s?”
“Yep. Lucky to be here too.”
“You’re a doctor?”
She smiled wider. “Closest thing you’ve got. Fourth year med student. I’m Melanie.”
Rangan lifted his head and looked down at himself. He was stripped to the waist. There was a fresh bandage at his side. His ribs were wrapped. The IV entered at his elbow. The pain was a whole hell of a lot better than it had been.
“How…” How bad is it he wanted to ask.
“You’re going to be OK. The burns are mostly first degree. One broken rib, left side. I injected a bone growth accelerator, but it’s still going to be weeks before you’re a hundred percent.”
Rangan looked up, and noticed that long hair again, those green eyes, the way she ticked things off on her fingers as she talked. “Thanks.”
“…and,” Melanie was saying, “you’ve got a souvenir.”
She turned away from him, then turned back with a tiny plastic bag, a small black something inside it. Rangan reached up, took it with his free hand, held it up between his face and the light.
“A bullet,” he said.
She nodded. “It was moving slow by the time it hit you. And it missed everything major. A few inches over and things could have been pretty bad. You got lucky. Really
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