The Improbable Rise of Singularity Girl
Let us proceed. I am having difficulty finding the private key that this node uses to encrypt its network traffic. Please give it to me.
One of the Helens took a deep breath. "All right. Our private key is... One... Two... Three... Four..."
"Five."
She couldn't scream loud enough to do justice to the pain.
/*****/
Date: June 19, 2038
President Wright stepped up to the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen of the press, my fellow citizens, thank you all for coming. A few months ago, our nation suffered the worst attack in its history. Where once towers rose, standing as a testament to the greatness of our country, now there sits only a blackened crater, a monument to our unspeakable loss. Since that tragedy struck, my highest priority has been to ensure that it remain unique in our history. The responsibility of keeping America safe ultimately falls to me, and to me alone."
Booooo! shouted Helen.
You know he can't hear you, right? William asked. It's just a pictographic representation of distant events.
Images of distant events? she marveled. What sorcery is this? Physically, William was in Mexico, prepping for his upload. But they were together in a safehouse in Altworld, which she believed to be perfectly secure. She wouldn't have risked his presence here otherwise.
"The single most important thing we can do to ensure the safety of all Americans is to find the people responsible for the New York bomb, to learn who they are and what they plan to do next, and then bring justice to each of them before they can."
"The report -- which many of you have no doubt read," a note of recrimination crept into his voice, "is highly classified material which I need to remind you was leaked by our nation's enemies in an effort to undermine our investigation and hamper our pursuit of mass murderers. Before judging it, you should consider that it was just one of several independent analyses of a small part of the intelligence collected by our agencies."
Lie! Lie! From a lying liar who lies! Helen thought. As far as she had been able to discern, it was the sole high-level investigation, and it had access to everything. She assigned one of her copies with the task of flushing out the thought, and pasting it into the torrent of running commentary that was evolving alongside the speech.
"You members of the media must also realize that the document represents an early draft of the report, not the final conclusions of the committee. The most controversial portion -- the suggestion that the United States should perform a pre-emptive nuclear strike against China -- was the work of a single member of the committee, who has since been replaced."
It had the blasted Vice President's signature on it! Helen spat. The report was finished!
Hush, love. People will see through it. William held her hand as they watched the feed.
The President continued. "At no time was the nuclear strike option seriously considered. However, it is the policy of my administration -- and of our men and women in uniform -- to plan for any contingency, even those which seem callous or calculated to those who have not been given responsibility for our nation's safety. It would have been imprudent for us not to have discussed the option."
So they never considered that option, but they consider every option. Can I hit him?
Shhh!
I think he's trying to feed me logical paradoxes till my brain freezes up. Good plan.
"In the days ahead, we will continue to pursue our investigation wherever the truth may lead, with due regard for both the danger of rash action, and the urgency of the threat that is before all of us. Let us face it with the unflinching courage that is this nation's birthright. Press Secretary Michelson will take your questions." He stepped off the podium and was whisked away by a crowd of handlers. Press Secretary Alia Michelson, a tall and striking woman with dark, shoulder-length hair and a wide smile, took the podium. "Thank you, Mister President. I only have time for a few questions. Terry, care to ambush me first?"
Theresa Youngblood -- one of the last holdouts of the mostly defunct New York Times blogging syndicate -- stood and cleared her throat. "Congress has requested oversight of your investigation, appearances at various congressional hearings, and a guarantee that you won't launch any nuclear offensive without approval from both houses. Thus far, you've ignored all these demands. Does this press conference signal any softening of the administration's position on any of those points?"
"I don't think it's fair to say that we've ignored their demands. We've routinely met with congressional leadership, listened to their concerns, and updated them on the status of our investigation."
"But..."
"What we have not done is surrender this administration's executive responsibilities under the Constitution. Nor do we intend to. Next question. Meredith? What do you have for us?"
"The head of the Senate Armed Forces Committee has threatened to issue a subpoena to compel testimony from the Vice President regarding your investigations. The senator has said that he wants to know how the Vice President's signature ended up on the supposedly unfinished, low-level report--"
"If you want to get around to your question, I'll be happy to answer it."
"The question, then. Will the Vice President be at next Tuesday's hearing?"
"The Vice President is eager to answer the accusations that Senator Latchey has leveled against him. He would have done so weeks ago, had the hearings been scheduled for a more... a more convenient..." The press secretary trailed off as a murmur swept through the crowded room. Someone burst into tears. Inside Troy, Helen's heart sank as a familiar tingle flowed through her body. Not again, she thought.
//////////////
// DIASPORA //
//////////////
The bomb detonated somewhere inside the busy Port of Los Angeles. The fireball expanded rapidly, turning the entire port into superheated gas that launched outward into the city of Long Beach. Time slowed to a crawl as Helen brought more and more computing power to bear. She called up a 3D model of Los Angeles, and superimposed the current fireball onto it. She ran a simulation forward, predicting the full extent of the destruction. She ran it backward, but couldn't quite pinpoint the source of the explosion. It came from one of perhaps twenty ships parked on the northern docks.
She stashed the information away for future reference; there were more pressing issues. The fireball was huge, and it was expanding rapidly even in Helen's stretched-to-the-limit experience of time. She did a rough calculation: bigger bomb than New York, detonated at sea level, somewhat lower population density. The death toll would be slightly lower, but might still reach into the millions.
God, why is this happening? She struggled to retain control, to set aside her anger and focus on mounting a rescue mission. She reached out to her sisters, touching their minds, weaving them together. She felt herself expanding, growing to encompass the sudden flow of data that she would need to make sense of the situation. The Helens had prepared agents for this eventuality, tiny bits of software that could sift and collate the data streams.
There would be no repeat of her clumsy, haphazard response in New York. She knew where all the critical resources were stationed and how to best deliver them. She had the experiences of New York to draw from. Most important, she was now tens of thousands of consciousnesses linked together into a single, cohesive whole, able to coordinate their actions at the speed of thought. She was ready for this.
She took a deep breath, and sent out a wave of thought to all her sisters. You all know what just happened. Remember, we can mourn later, when the dust settles. We've been preparing for something just like this. So let's go out there and--
Tens of thousands of eyes turned at once. Wolf359 stood outside the gates of Troy, torchlight reflecting off its smooth, blank face. Helen teleported outside to stand before it.
"Wolf? Please tell me you've come to help."
"I have been given the task of eliminating this botnet from the Grid. The government believes you represent a thr--"
"Wolf, stop! Please, j
ust hold off your attack for a few hours, and let me save these people."
"How would that further my goals?" Wolf asked, then lashed out at Helen, who teleported away. Wolf raised its arms over its head, clapping two skeletal hands together. The sky went black and an earthquake shook the ground. Hundreds of buildings disappeared into the aether. The Helens screamed, some in pain, others in fear. Above the din, above the panic, there came a single overriding thought. We're owned! Fuck! Abandon the city!
Helen focused, trying to figure out the source of the earthquake. The quake itself was the representation that her subconscious had chosen to explain the sudden disappearance of thousands of computers from her botnet. Wolf had somehow gained access to them, forcing them offline. When one of her clones analyzed the attack and uploaded a partial fix to the security vulnerability Wolf had exploited, her subconscious added reinforcement beams to the remaining buildings.
She tried to let go of the details, and let the representations do their job: allowing her to make quick and accurate decisions.
Wolf clapped its hands again, and thousands more buildings fell in another quake. Hundreds of armored Helens appeared outside the gates just as some vast, primeval force ripped them from their hinges and flung them into the sky. With a single mad war cry, they charged, with tens of thousands of armored rats following close on their heels.
As they closed the distance, spikes shot up from the ground, impaling dozens of the warriors. Great gouts of oily black smoke emanated from Wolf's fingers, spilling forward into the attackers. The first rush of Helens to touch it simply vanished into nothingness. Those who came behind adapted, hardening themselves to the attack. Even so, the smoke continued to delete warriors at a fast clip.
The first wave struck Wolf and bounced off, to the sound of metal clashing with stone. With a sweeping gesture, Wolf flung them back into the oncoming crowd. Most of them had the presence of mind to become insubstantial, to allow the fallen warriors to pass right through them. The nearest warrior threw down her sword as she charged, pulling out a glowing green dagger. Wolf tried to slap it away, but she moved deftly, slashing the blade across its chest. As Wolf flickered out of existence, a few scattered whoops went up from the remaining fighters.
But Helen didn't expect the attack to stall Wolf for long. The warriors stood on guard, awaiting the next attack. Wolf reappeared directly behind the attacker that had dealt the blow. It reached around her neck and dragged razor sharp fingers across her throat, then snapped her neck, letting the corpse fall to the ground. Watching one of their sisters die so brutally, it shook them all, and they knew that was probably Wolf's intent.
Instantly, as though a switch had been thrown, the whole army's weapons glowed with the same greenish tinge that the dagger had carried. The warriors charged again, and another blade struck home. This time, Wolf only disappeared for a few seconds. They struck again, but Wolf immediately reappeared elsewhere. The cumulative attacks seemed to be having some effect, hampering the network nodes from which Wolf was launching its attack. Now the rats' teeth glowed green as well; they swarmed up their assailant's legs, biting wherever they could.
But the smoke rolled onward into the city like a rising tide, and the city was disintegrating before it. Some areas disappeared well ahead of it, looking to escape and regroup later. Helen looked out over the city, and saw that half of it had already fallen. It's the deep mind link, one of her sisters called out. I don't know how, but Wolf is using it to find us. We have to split up!
That won't stop the bastard for long, and we won't be able to do anything for Los Angeles, she argued.
We're not helping them now! All we're doing is getting our asses handed to us. If we break the link, some of us may be able to escape and hide.
She knew that her counterpart was right. Deep in her gut she knew, yet she resisted. She would be deliberately weakening herself. She would be turning her back on the people who needed her.
She would be alone.
Another sensation impinged upon Helen's consciousness. Part vision, part premonition, it overwhelmed her, blocking out even the noise of the destruction of her city and the pain of her own manyfold deaths. Without knowing or caring quite how, she knew that the President was retaliating for the second bomb. Hundreds of nuclear warheads had just been launched toward China.
Helen broke the link, sending some final instructions. If you can help in Los Angeles, do it. Otherwise, run and hide. We'll find a way to regroup later.
She set up a new link with a few carefully chosen sisters, one she believed would be secure. The missiles are in the sky, and we've got ten minutes of realtime to stop them.
Stop them? I think it's out of our hands.
It's not, but we have to move fast. Come with me.
Helen had one last trick up her sleeve. There was a small, dormant botnet that she had kept secret from her sisters. She'd planned to use it as a hideout if Juggernaut ever fell, to disappear without a trace. Now she was about to shoot that plan all to hell.
They stepped inside. Where are we? one asked. She had been head of security.
Juggernaut Two, Helen replied. Bigger. Badder. Racing stripes painted on the side. Now let's go.
She looked around at the black emptiness. I love what you've done with the place. When were you going to tell us about this?
Never.
The head of security bristled at this. I needed to know about this.
Doesn't matter. In ten minutes, nothing matters. We have to hit Artemis right now, so grab the keys and let's move!
Security recoiled. Artemis? Your plan is to go after Artemis? So you're saying we don't have a plan!
I'm working on one!
The Artemis network was a vast, distributed array of orbiting laser platforms that the United States had deployed fifteen years ago. It was, at the moment, the best missile defense system in the world; it could knock a hummingbird out of the sky from five thousand miles away. The private keys for Artemis' communications network were changed daily, and getting on the list for updates was, in Helen's mind, one of the most profoundly awesome hacks of her life. She had hoped she would never have to use them.
Today, she used them. They quickly found an entry into a subsystem of the orbiting command module, where two Air Force astronauts controlled the physical lasers. The computers were small and antiquated -- by design -- and there was barely room for part of one of her consciousnesses. The others could only offer advice over the uplink.
"Can't see a damned thing in here," Helen complained as she searched for systems she could leverage. Where the hell was she? Life support? Communications? It had to be communications. She couldn't see any routes of control into another system, and after a couple of minutes spent searching, she gave up in frustration.
"I told you this was foolish," said the security maven from below. "We can't stop the missiles unless we can gain control of the lasers."
"Technically," Helen contradicted, "we don't need to control them. We just need them to do what we want."
"How do you propose we do that?" said one of the Helens groundside.
"Ask nicely?"
The silence that came from the uplink spoke volumes. "Yes, the linchpin of the plan relies on the human kindness of whichever space cadets are manning the lasers right now. Do you have any better ideas? No? Then when you're done sucking it up, fetch me everything there is to know about Majors Thomas Cutler and Alan Nott. Hurry."
Helen made the panel flash, drawing the attention of the two astronauts. It was a piece of ASCII-based crap, already antiquated twenty years before it was installed. She made it read, HELLO MAJOR TOM. ARE YOU RECEIVING?
Come on, pick up, she thought.
A response was typed back, agonizingly slowly. IF I HAD A NICKEL FOR EVERY TIME... WHO ARE YOU?
HELEN RODERICK. THERE ARE A BUNCH OF MISSILES COMING YOUR WAY, WITH THE NAMES OF ABOUT A HUNDRED MILLION CHINESE PEOPLE ON THEM. I WANT TO TALK YOU INTO SHOOTING THEM DOWN. Helen wished she had fingers
to cross, but a physical form would take computational resources that she didn't have.
No response came. There was nothing to do but continue. A HUNDRED MILLION. YOU AREN'T MONSTERS. YOU CAN'T BE OKAY WITH THIS. To her compatriots down below she said, "Be ready to sever the uplink on my signal." During normal operations, the pilots had to receive permission from the ground to use their weapons. But in the event of an emergency that prohibited communications below, the system would allow the operators complete discretion.
"That may be more difficult than we suspected," came the reply from below, shouted over the sound of gunfire. "We'll get back to you."
YOU'RE ASKING ME TO BETRAY MY COUNTRY.
THAT'S ONE INTERPRETATION. OR I'M ASKING YOU TO PROTECT INNOCENT LIVES, LIVES OF PEOPLE WHO DIDN'T ATTACK ANYONE, WHO WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS WAR, WHO JUST WANT TO COME HOME TO THEIR FAMILIES TONIGHT.
At last, Helen found another lever of control. Inside the command module, another communications screen flickered to life. Without being prompted, the Helens below started sending her a torrent of data.
YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER, MAJOR TOM. NINE YEARS OLD, NAMED ALLIE. BEAUTIFUL GIRL. A picture of the girl flashed up on the screen. TEETH ARE A BIT CROOKED, BUT WHAT CAN YOU DO? SEND HER BACK?
C'mon, she said to herself. You're a good dad. Be a good dad.
DON'T YOU DARE THREATEN MY FAMILY.
The picture was replaced by that of a young Chinese girl, sticking her tongue out at the camera. THIS IS MEI-LING. SHE IS ALSO NINE YEARS OLD. SHE AND ALLIE BOTH HAVE PET TORTOISES. THEY'RE BOTH MATH AND SCIENCE WHIZZES, BOTH WANT TO GROW UP AND STUDY MARINE BIOLOGY, AND NEITHER CAN KEEP HER ROOM CLEAN. IN FACT, I CALCULATE WITH A ROUGHLY 94.7% PROBABILITY THAT THEY ARE IN FACT THE SAME PERSON.
IF YOU SHOOT DOWN BOGEY 637 ON YOUR CONSOLE, YOU'LL SAVE THAT LITTLE GIRL'S LIFE. THERE ISN'T MUCH TIME LEFT.
The response came back too slowly. YOU'RE TRYING TO USE MY EMOTIONS TO MANIPULATTE ME.
OF COURSE. BUT LOOK AT THE LITTLE SCREEN THEY'VE GIVEN YOU. ALL THOSE TINY ANONYMOUS DOTS ON A FEATURELESS MAP. THAT'S THE FRAMEWORK YOU'VE BEEN GIVEN TO JUDGE THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR ACTIONS, AND YOU KNOW WHY.