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Computing with Heat
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0tN0Du6iywYRUJBFq7TLVQ-MjIWssIFajiDdQQ_9MRtloDsY0l0qLe6zaHUINUthvkdej2NY2FMcVCsbT9ifEBqOzaWhTJBHvJA8SYkbE7J_ajKi1V0qU5UA78NNrJ5BstXiIkg/s1600-h/800px-A_small_cup_of_tea.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0tN0Du6iywYRUJBFq7TLVQ-MjIWssIFajiDdQQ_9MRtloDsY0l0qLe6zaHUINUthvkdej2NY2FMcVCsbT9ifEBqOzaWhTJBHvJA8SYkbE7J_ajKi1V0qU5UA78NNrJ5BstXiIkg/s200/800px-A_small_cup_of_tea.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122719340165478802" /></a><span style="font-style:italic;">Is this a hot cup of tea? Or the power supply for the computer of the future?</span><br /><br />Researchers in Singapore have shown, in principle at least, that it will soon be possible to create thermal logic gates, including <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/And_gate">AND</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Or_gate">OR</a>, and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Not_gate">NOT gates</a>. Once you have all those pieces, you've got the basic ingredients of a computer that runs directly on heat, with no need for electricity at all.<br /><br />Lei Wang and Baowen Li of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_University_of_Singapore">National University of Singapore</a> propose that their logic gates could soon be built of recently developed <a href="http://physicsworld.com/cws/article/news/30542">thermal transistors</a> or related designs, which control heat flow in the same way that conventional transistors control electricity. <br /><br />A thermal transistor turns on or off depending on whether the temperature at its input gate is above or below a critical temperature. Constant temperature heat baths would take the place of power supplies in operating the thermal transistors and logic gates. In theory, any heat source could be used to run a thermal computer - sunlight, the heat from a campfire, etc.<br /><br />In addition to proving that thermal gates can perform all the basic functions of electronic gates, the authors of the research soon to be published in the journal <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Physical_Review_Letters">Physical Review Letters</a> point out that the work may also help us to understand the complex heat flow in biological cells and systems in terms of thermal logic.<br /><br />To get a look at the research before it's officially published, you can download a <a href="http://xxx.lanl.gov/PS_cache/arxiv/pdf/0709/0709.0032v1.pdf">preprint of paper</a> from the <a href="xxx.lanl.gov">online science archives</a>.
Cyber Attack Blows Up Generator
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/09/27/power.at.risk/index.html?iref=newssearch#cnnSTCVideo"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__MFeJY4rlGJ7NFm9TQD4TKYEaGLz3bZSr-0d7fhZ0-EJiacrrrqmebsi158wfYkMhrsVM11qBgqPOoyPPpNtbblXRF1b6NOJAhzhqLr7K0Bc4mXtnPaUAhG6Vo0YVzRQzfNXRg/s200/GenHack.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115025537614886722" /></a>CNN is <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/09/27/power.at.risk/index.html?iref=newssearch">reporting</a> that the Department of Homeland Security managed to blow up an electrical generator in a simulated cyber attack. It's a vivid demonstration of how the growing dependence on networked control systems links virtual world actions with real world effects.<br /><br />This shouldn't really surprise anyone. Power grids are already too complex and interconnected to be controlled in any way other than by remote networked systems. Heck, pilots don't really fly jets much anymore - they just use the stick to tell the computer to take the plane in a particular direction. In fact, I doubt planes will even have pilots in 50 years, they'll be just like the automated trams that already haul people around on the ground at airports.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />I can currently monitor my home through a web cam, and it won't be long before I have the ability to turn on the lights remotely and crank the air conditioning or heat from the office so things will be nice an comfy when I get home. Someday, I imagine someone could hack my house and do all sorts of annoying things. And if someone were to hack a plane, train, hydroelectric plant, or a nuclear power plant, things could get bad pretty quick.<br /><br />The experts in the CNN story say that "a lot of the risk has already been taken off the table, " by finding ways to prevent the transformer hacks, but that it could take months to fix them all. That means our power grids are suffering from a classic <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zero_day">zero day vulnerability</a>. That is, the powers-that-be have publicly pointed out the flaw and announced fix, but anyone with the motivation has plenty of time to find unprotected systems to attack.<br /><br />An expert interviewed on CNN claims that shutting down power to 1/3 of the country would have the economic and social devastation comparable to the nation being simultaneously hit by 40-50 major hurricanes.<br /><br />Will there be an attack? Probably not. On the other hand, this is just one vulnerability. No doubt every networked machine or system, just like every networked computer, will eventually face similar threats.<br /><br />-Buzz<br /><br /></span>
Target Practice Widget Game
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://widgets.yahoo.com/gallery/view.php?widget=42690"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjha2lQHBaWhPSf2gnEPIxdNQ7dvMKS38sCIsJ_oTv_O5kwSf0kDUHX0PhtIkzGTEqP8G-V2it2CuKvFnT_H8J4QlomSR0y-ZV_LQENXvUmLadj4sFUh22K4gTWgfkaE1-fidunXw/s200/DarkNetGame2.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114259233844901634" /></a>In <a href="http://the-dark-net.blogspot.com/2007/07/chapter-26-target-practice.html">Chapter 26</a> of the Dark Net blog, I wrote about Max and Joel practicing with various weapons as they prepared to make an attack on one particular corner of the online world.<br /><br />They were armed with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fork_bomb">fork bombs</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zip_bomb">zip bombs</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Denial_of_service">denial of service</a> attacks, and something I call a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Control-Alt-Delete">Ctrl-Alt-Del</a> grenade. <br /><br />Max and Joel took turns wreaking havoc on a bunch of characters based on the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Office_assistant">Office Assistants</a> from Microsoft Office. The victims included <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Microsoft_Bob">Microsoft Bob</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Clippy-letter.PNG">Clippit</a>, that annoying paper clip thing that always wants to know if it can help you write a letter, edit a resume, etc.<br /><br />I decided make use of my recent obsession with <a href="http://widgets.yahoo.com/">Yahoo Widget</a> programming to make a game out of Chapter 26. I call it <span style="font-style:italic;">Dark Net Target Practice</span>. You can <a href="http://widgets.yahoo.com/gallery/view.php?widget=42690">download it from the Yahoo Widget gallery</a>.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />If you've never used a widget, but want to try out <a href="http://widgets.yahoo.com/gallery/?author=22159">mine</a> or one of the many other cool widgets, you can learn everything you need to know on the <a href="http://widgets.yahoo.com/info/">widgets info page</a>. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tux"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSi76pN9bizwRfAfpLyyaVSQe-3F3PlqXAwLObBzuzqDgS350E8BAQlxq-9JDgcLxH8Z78gnsSv7gUiqLnFacRaPosUrJ6wBH0GHPKnqhcYSnUZczUsoNDJclwU01BsmcsJupzag/s320/tuxGame50.GIF" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114264499474806546" /></a>The goal of the <span style="font-style:italic;">Dark Net Target Practice</span> widget is to shoot all the characters except the little penguin. You Linux folks ought to recognize the little fella.<br /><br />Clippy in particular is worth double points for a kill. I hate that guy.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clippy"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj65fIeMec9dwKBwkhlEANVpcefHTnV8U-WN2v6xljvRi87UZV20Gxo-a0wSOPdZ6wK3gMnj01QeOOFdVYfGyS0MZ11ruk1p08fyzj_aWS37-GT0jtH50ERyHPNviLRk_SkSdq4HA/s320/Clippit.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114264581079185186" /></a><br /><br />As your score goes up, the characters move faster.<br /><br />Send me a screen shot of your score, if you manage to get really good at it.<br /><br />Have fun.<br /><br />-Buzz<br /></span>
The Dark Net on Amazon.com
The Dark Net</span> is now <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1430311266">available on Amazon</a> for only <del>$14.95</del> $10.17 (a 32% discount over the retail price)!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1430311266"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh00UyegIbDH0iL-jYYsrBm9MbypJs-s_dlHTxXdjsIaDfe1FJfH5S8w-YHC7tqjVBMdyLbPFgf8skT1w8znLcCxuWDsPMX-1mAvMJnev4kBy5Dckrz3ZsdOfNOMGcbLr9lsV5RKw/s400/TheDarkNetOnAmazon.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111425518411426946" /></a><br /><br />Check out the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1430311266">Amazon page</a> and please leave a review if you've read the book. <br /><br />You can <a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/1120302">preview</a> <span style="font-style:italic;">The Dark Net</span> in it's entirety on Lulu, in case you'd like to review it but don't want to buy a copy at the moment.
Dark Net Turns Deadly in Japan
The Japanese news site Daily Yomiuri is <a href="http://www.yomiuri.co.jp/dy/national/20070914TDY04001.htm">reporting</a> that a woman was murdered in a robbery concocted with the aid of dark Web sites set up to help criminals find accomplices.<br /><br />Kenji Kawagishi, and unemployed 40 year-old man in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aichi_Prefecture">Aichi Prefecture</a>, sent messages from his cell phone to the "Dark Employment Security Web," which hooked him up with two other men who were also hard-up for cash. Tsukasa Kanda, a 36 year-old sales agent for the Japanese newspaper <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asahi_Shimbun">Asahi Shimbun</a>, and Yoshitomo Hori, an unemployed man of 32, joined with Kawagishi in kidnapping Rie Isogai while she was on her way home from work. The men robbed her of 70,000 yen (about $600), murdered her and dumper her in the woods of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mizunami">Mizunami</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gifu_Prefecture">Gifu Prefecture</a>.<br /><span class="fullpost"> <br />The Dark Employment Security Web has been closed, but the Japanese authorities say there's no way to know how many more are out there. Although the police shut them down as soon as they learn of the criminal equivalents of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Myspace">MySpace</a>, new sites replace the deleted ones almost immediately.<br /></span>
The Nerdiest Clock Ever
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://widgets.yahoo.com/gallery/view.php?widget=41916"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNUqVneCd_B4qfhSZfxYdkvLekP8y3T6ptI2dSuqPhPdywLoG0UcoN4kBjvIoiNih0XNMSXETcerlhU_3mOzm18XmfXCZvfodUPNkOrW94z-cWOmiIAJo8gTZyJkcRVItmJWK8g/s200/DesktopResistorClock.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110029207363628050" /></a>It's amazing what I have time for, now that I finished <a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/1120302">The Dark Net</a>, at least until I start on my next book.<br /><br />In the meantime, I've updated a clock for your desktop that tells time by displaying <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Electronic_color_code">resistor color codes</a>. Each color represents a number. In the image above, it reads 0740 06, or 6 seconds past 7:40 AM. <br /><br />You can download the clock by clicking <a href="http://widgets.yahoo.com/gallery/view.php?widget=41916">here</a>.<br /><span class="fullpost"> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIwgrJGcV-jVvPdzaY28QyhxVMdF8M-GiYH7mGvR9m8gsMf9K7qNPtdR5U61FFGT10f7h_3UwopluMvHuxQaaV_A3OFAHT8KxAms1-ebtLxodcUCc2njoG1geCpPzZmxbNMQsIbw/s1600-h/ResistorCodes.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIwgrJGcV-jVvPdzaY28QyhxVMdF8M-GiYH7mGvR9m8gsMf9K7qNPtdR5U61FFGT10f7h_3UwopluMvHuxQaaV_A3OFAHT8KxAms1-ebtLxodcUCc2njoG1geCpPzZmxbNMQsIbw/s200/ResistorCodes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110030315465190434" /></a>Don't worry if you don't have the colors memorized -- if you right-click the clock and select 'about' you will see a chart to help you learn them.<br /><br />To run the widget, you'll have to install the Yahoo Widgets engine, which is available for free on the <a href="http://widgets.yahoo.com/">Yahoo Widgets page</a>. While you're there, check out all the other cool widgets people have made. Like the Resistor Clock, they're all made by amateurs and distributed for free. But lots of them are impressively sophisticated.<br /></span>
NSF's DarkWeb: Life imitates Art
The National Science Foundation (NSF) is funding the University of Arizona in developing a project they call the Dark Web to track down terrorists on the net.<br /><br />When I read the <a href="http://www.nsf.gov/news/news_summ.jsp?cntn_id=110040&org=NSF">NSF press release</a> that my friend Randy A. pointed out to me, I could have sworn some of it was describing chapters of <a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/1120302">The Dark Net</a>.<br /><br />Here's an excerpt from the release that reminds me of <a href="http://the-dark-net.blogspot.com/2006/11/chapter-6-maelstrom.html">Chapter 6. The Maelstrom</a><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"They can put booby-traps in their Web forums," Chen explains, "and the spider can bring back viruses to our machines." This online cat-and-mouse game means Dark Web must be constantly vigilant against these and other counter-measures deployed by the terrorists.</span><br /><span class="fullpost"><br />And this sounds like it has something to do with <a href="http://the-dark-net.blogspot.com/2007/03/chapter-11-aod-hq.html">Chapter 11. AOD HQ</a><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Dark Web's capabilities are also being used to study the online presence of extremist groups and other social movement organizations. Chen sees applications for this Web mining approach for other academic fields.<br /><br />"What we are doing is using this to study societal change," Chen says. "Evidence of this change is appearing online, and computational science can help other disciplines better understand this change."</span><br /><br /><br />Freaky, isn't it.<br /><br /><br /></span>
Chapter 35. After the Crash
***<br />
Note to readers: This is the final chapter of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Dark Net</span> blognovel.<br />
<br />
Download the <a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/1120302">entire book</a> from <a href="http://www.lulu.com/">Lulu.com</a>, <br />
<br />
or email me at <span style="font-style: italic;">BuzzSkyline at gmail.com</span> and I can send you the PDF (280 pages).<br />
***<br />
<br />
Max piloted the motorcycle-and-sidecar rig up an embankment and onto the dirt maintenance road that ran along the superhighway. Linda giggled and clapped her hands. It always made her laugh when the rig heeled over precariously. He had to smile at her infantile joy, despite the sweat rolling down his spine as he wrestled with the handlebars to prevent the overloaded rig from tumbling down the hill and onto the roadway strewn with immobile vehicles.<br />
<hr />
<span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet35_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style: italic;">Chapter 35 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style: italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br />
<hr />
The motorcycle was archaic, a motorized dinosaur from before the days of GPS, stability control, and basic safety equipment. But at least it worked, chugging along slowly and relentlessly, unlike the millions of modern vehicles that had depended on their networked processors for everything from climate control to automated guidance, and which now sat moldering on the roads.<br />
<span class="fullpost"><br />He’d found the machine meticulously preserved in an abandoned tourist-trap museum outside of York that had been dedicated to World War II relics. It had taken him a few weeks to get the engine back in running order and adjusted to handle the ethanol he’d gotten from a moonshiner in exchange for the last of the Freedom Club’s medical supplies. The trade had been a tough call – drugs and medical instruments were valuable commodities now that nearly all commerce had shut down. If you couldn’t make something, or get it from a neighbor, you simply had to learn to do without it, and folk medicine was a lost art to nearly everyone but the Amish.<br /><br />Linda was coming along well. After ten months, she’d learned several dozen words, mostly having to do with food, toys, animals and the need to defecate and urinate. <br /><br />Joel had been less fortunate, despite Dr. Murray’s attempts to resuscitate him. A life-support system might have kept him going for a while, but because his basic motor functions had been scrambled, he wouldn’t have lasted long. Besides, like the cars, planes, and countless appliances that were now no more than piles of inert machinery, any modern life-support devices would not have functioned after the massive network failure. When the Freedom Club residents packed up their farm implements and animals, they simply left Joel behind and dispersed into the hills as they had planned.<br /><br />Linda would have died as well, an infant deserted in the wilderness, if Max hadn’t stayed with her. He attributed her rapid progress – crawling after a few weeks and taking her first tottering steps only days later – to the fact that the neural connections in her brain were intact, even though her memories and experiences had been thoroughly erased.<br /><br />It wouldn’t be long, Max guessed, before she would develop to the intellectual level of a kindergartener, and would begin asking the questions that naturally occur to any curious child. He wondered what he should tell her when she finally raised the issue of her origins and the reasons for the technological ruins all around them, particularly because he only barely understood everything himself. <br /><br />In the days before the Freedom Club finally disbanded, Dr. Murray had attempted to explain it. The confetti-filled cube, he’d said, represented minuscule bits of data that did not disrupt PCs and servers directly as most previous viruses had, but instead triggered suicide code embedded in machines and systems over the course of decades. The Freedom Club, beginning with their founder Ted, had distributed the code with conventional Trojans and worms, but because it was meaningless and benign on its own, it had not come to the attention of network security experts. It was designed to appear to be the programming equivalent of junk DNA, the inert filler in living genomes. Only when the equally inscrutable data Herman had hidden inside Betty was released did the parts come together to disrupt infected systems, fulfilling Ted’s vision of using technological attacks to destroy the technology that he believed enslaved humanity.<br /><br />As clever as the two-part virus was, it would have done little damage if Neumann had not existed. Networks like the Internet are very robust against most attacks. Destroying a random set of servers is no more destructive than snipping a portion out of a spider web – there are always intact paths to follow around the damage. But Neumann existed in information traveling between machines throughout the Internet. He was, in effect, everywhere at once. Infecting him was the same as infecting the entire network simultaneously. <br /><br />When the Internet shut down, so did systems controlling power grids, fly-by-wire planes and vehicles, sewage and water services, household appliances, and any other networked devices, which meant just about everything in the ultra-connected modern world. Like Joel’s brain, total disruption of basic functions, even briefly, caused the entire infrastructure to rapidly collapse. And no one had ever thought to build a life-support system for the Internet, or worried about the risks of relying too heavily on networked technology.<br /><br />The irony of it, as far as Max was concerned, was that the destruction of the computational network had forced people to rebuild their personal connections. The small world of the Internet, with essentially instant connections across continents, had been replaced with a network of nearest living neighbors. This was how people must have lived before the net, phone lines, and even the pony express. Messages, goods, and just about everything else were transferred hand to hand. It was, Max imagined, like living in the Stone Age.<br /><br />In fact, it was the social network that had kept the two of them going during the first challenging months. They had spent the fall and winter living off the generosity of local farmers, in addition to meager supplies Max scavenged from a truck stop he’d found over the hills from the Freedom Club compound. Once Linda was mobile, he brought her with him when he went to work in the nearby fields. Although she had the mentality of a child, her size and strength made it too dangerous to leave her with the children of the families that employed him. Instead, he would sit her down nearby and sing songs or recite half-remembered stories as he cleared brush, mended fences or shoveled manure.<br /><br />When he was finally sure that she understood enough to stay seated in the sidecar, Max loaded up the rig with food, water, cans of ethanol, clothes and blankets. He kept a small bag dangling from the handlebars filled with bitter valerian roots, which he chewed periodically to prevent his seizures. <br /><br />An Amish woman at one of the farms had taught him to recognize the plant’s fragrant white flowers. Once he knew what to look for, he saw them everywhere. He made a mental note to collect a reserve supply before they stopped blooming in September. <br /><br />Max doubted the rumors of roving gangs of hoodlums robbing travelers and pillaging towns. He had seen no indication yet that the crumbling of the country’s infrastructure had done anything more than revive the frontiersman ethic of aiding those in need. Nevertheless, he kept a small-caliber rifle strapped beneath the sidecar where it would be out of sight, and yet within easy reach in the event that they stumbled into any trouble. It would also come in handy if they ran short of food and he had to resort to hunting the deer that occasionally crossed the highway in front of them, sprinting between the cars that, in the past, would have meant their instant doom, but now posed no threat other than leaking poisonous but temptingly sweet antifreeze and other toxic fluids.<br /><br />The trip back to the university in Maryland would have taken only a few hours, back in the day. With the rig’s modest top speed, even on open ground, in addition to weaving through the surreal traffic jam and frequent stops to let Linda work off her energy playing among the trees, they were lucky to cover fifty miles before it was time to set up camp each evening.<br /><br />They pulled into the supermarket parking lot down the street from his old apartment on the morning of the fourth day of their trip. Orderly rows of vendors’ tents crowded the parking spaces near the vacant storefronts, where autopiloted cars had once come and gone in rapid succession. A steady stream of foot traffic flowed across the walkway beneath the darkened traffic lights. There was no need of the crosswalk signals, even if they had still worked, now that the only vehicles in sight were handcarts and occasional horse-drawn wagons loaded with produce.<br /><br />Linda waved joyously at the pedestrians who stopped and stared at the curious sight of the chugging rig before stepping aside as Max slowly negotiated his way to a stall packed with an assortment of hand tools, books, and second-hand clothing. He put the motorcycle in neutral and shut off the engine.<br /><br />“Whatcha got there?” said a grizzled man sitting on a stool behind the table. “That an old Beemer?”<br /><br />“Don’t think so,” said Max, helping Linda out of the sidecar. “As best I can tell from the markings, it’s Soviet, probably Ukrainian.”<br /><br />“Look at that, Miranda,” the old man called over his shoulder. “They don’t make them like that anymore. Looks bulletproof to me.”<br /><br />“That so?” said a woman who appeared to be in her thirties and was sorting through a box on the table.<br /><br />“Where’s Ukraine exactly, Miranda?”<br /><br />The woman snorted impatiently. “Google it yourself, idiot.”<br /><br />“I can’t,” the old man snapped at her. “I traded the Britannica for your wedding dress this morning.” He sat forward on his stool and whispered conspiratorially to Max. “I’m not losing a daughter, so much as gaining a little peace.”<br /><br />The woman threw a handful of silverware into the box, snatched up a yellowing world atlas and slapped it down on the table, then returned to her work.<br /><br />“Never mind,” said the man. “I can look it up later. It’s not like you have to know the answer to everything just his moment. Tends to stifle polite conversation, IMHO. Where y’all headed in that fine piece of communist iron?”<br /><br />“Oh,” said Max, “just stopping by the University, then going down to the shore, I think.”<br /><br />The old man pondered Linda for a moment. “Taking her in for rehab? They have a fine program at the University. Not much else just now. But classes should be starting up soon.”<br /><br />“No. I think I can handle it myself. Linda’s doing all right, all things considered.”<br />The old man clucked his tongue softly. “That’s good. Plenty turned up worse than her after the crash. But those that made it through at the beginning seem to come along pretty quick. She your wife or something?”<br /><br />“A friend.”<br /><br />“Well, that’s awfully good of you then. Damned ’puters. My grandma always said they’d rot your brains. Too bad she wasn’t around long enough to see how right she was. Have you heard? The government is trying to get them running again.”<br /><br />“That so?” said Max absently.<br /><br />“Yup. My future son-in-law tells me they’ve already got a server and some old laptops going down there in Arlington. DARPA, I think he said, is working on it. Damned fools, should leave well enough alone. Some folks never learn.”<br /><br />“I’m sure they have their reasons. It’s hard to know sometimes,” said Max as he picked through a box of tools, “what’s the best thing to do. You can’t always tell how things will turn out.”<br /><br />The old man harrumphed cynically. “They didn’t turn out so good last time, now did they? That’s what separates us from the animals, and machines like your bike there or my lobotomized Civic. The ability to learn from our mistakes.”<br /><br />Max turned his attention to the items spread out on the table, in part to derail the conversation. He eventually traded a leather jacket he’d picked up at the same museum where he’d come across the motorcycle and sidecar rig for a nearly complete set of metric wrenches and some juice for Linda. He shooed away the children who had gathered around the sidecar to beg for rides, and gave a few pointers to a group of men interested in converting an antique gas tractor to ethanol, before he and Linda continued on their way.<br /><br />The old man was right; the University was quieter than Max ever remembered it. Even during summer break, there had always been a fair amount of activity in the old days.<br /><br />The Institute where he’d worked for so long was entirely deserted. One of the double doors at the front entrance was missing. The other stood wide open. He took Linda’s hand and led her up the steps. He waited a moment to let his eyes adjust to the shadows, and then followed the familiar twists of the central hall to his old lab. He gathered up some papers from a pile in the hall, wrapped them into a tight tube, and lit the improvised torch with the lighter he kept in his pocket.<br /><br />His office had been thoroughly ransacked, but whoever had gone through it clearly saw no reason to make off with the memory cards that at one time had been neatly cataloged on the gray metal bookshelf. Instead, they had simply scattered the gigabytes of backup data on the floor. He sifted through the pile until he found the card he needed, and then guided Linda back out to the bright daylight.<br /><br />He helped her into the sidecar. As he checked that Linda was secure in her seat, she reached for the card in his hand.<br /><br />“See?” she said. <br /><br />He held out the card and let her touch it.<br /><br />“Mine?”<br /><br />“Not now,” said Max. “Later.”<br /><br />“Mine,” she insisted.<br /><br />He bent over and pointed to the words he’d written on it years ago.<br /><br />“This says, ‘Linus and Minus, source code and training data, session number one.’”<br /><br />Linda inspected the writing without showing any recognition of the meaning. It would be a long time before she’d understand the connection between text and spoken words.<br /><br />“Have it?” she asked.<br /><br />“Someday, maybe,” said Max as he slipped the card into his pocket. “But first we’re going to go find a boat. Do you remember the boats we saw on the river?”<br /><br />Her face lit up.<br /><br />“Boat!”<br /><br />“Then, who knows,” he shouted over the puttering engine, “maybe I’ll teach you to play backgammon.”<br /><br />Max turned the sidecar rig around, headed out of the University, and turned east. They’d make it to the shore in a few days. All he’d need to do is trade the bike for the biggest fishing boat he could wrangle. It wouldn’t be a pleasure cruise exactly, but it would do.</span>
The Dark Net download
The story is almost over. I'll post the final chapter Monday evening.<br /><br />In the meantime, you can download the whole novel (including the final chapter) from Lulu.com at <a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/1120302">The Dark Net</a> for a paltry $1.25, or email me at "buzzskyline at gmail.com" and I'll send you the PDF for free.<br /><br />The PDF is extensively copy edited and corrected, but not perfect yet. It's a lot better than the blog entries though, which are really rough drafts.<br /><br />If you want a hard copy, you can get that from Lulu as well for the exorbitant price of $16.95, but I would recommend waiting a while. I need to make a few more typographical corrections. In a few weeks, you should be able to get it on Amazon.com at a discounted price anyway.<br /><br />Thanks to all of you who provided encouragement as I wrote <span style="font-style:italic;">The Dark Net</span>, especially Nilla and Adrian who posted multiple comments that kept me going just when I was starting to think no one was interested.<br /><br />-Buzz
Chapter 34. Bitter Reward
“Very disappointing,” said Neumann as he knelt down and sprinkled a handful of sand onto Linus. “A draw is so anticlimactic.”<br /><br />Max flexed his injured leg. The fact that the blow from Minus’ chain had not sparked the seizure that should have kicked him out of the virtual world worried him.<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet34_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 34 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr>“I’m still alive. According to your rules,” said Max, “I win.”<br /><br />“No. Minus resigned.”<br /><br />Max shrugged. “I don’t see a difference.”<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />“The difference is that you were to amuse me. Of the two of you, Minus did a much better job. If anyone deserves the prize, it’s him.”<br /><br />Neumann picked up Linus and cradled him in his arms like a baby.<br /><br />“In fact, I should punish you for what happened to my little backgammon buddy.”<br /><br />“I did all I could to save him. If anyone had the opportunity to intervene, it was you.”<br /><br />Neumann stroked the glossy feathers of the penguin’s head. <br /><br />“It was your fight. I chose not to break my own rules.”<br /><br />“Exactly,” said Max., struggling to keep the nervous tremble out of his voice. “And according to your rules, I get Betty and you turn us free.”<br /><br />Neumann’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be clever, little flea. I promised you Betty. That’s all. I haven’t decided what comes next.” He set Linus down gently. “Don’t risk annoying me more.”<br /><br />It was clear to Max that Neumann either didn’t know about his epileptic escape plan, or that the plan itself was flawed. But there was nothing he could do about it at the moment.<br /><br />“I don’t mean any disrespect,” said Max. “I only ask for my just reward.”<br /><br />“Ah, justice,” Neumann smiled. “You’ll certainly get what you deserve. Come,” he said, holding out his hand, “see if you’re happy with your prize.”<br /><br />Max hesitantly reached for Neumann’s hand. The instant they touched, the mournful voices of the crowd filled his head. The cacophony was mercifully brief, as the two of them seemed to sail into the sky and the arena dropped away below. It didn’t feel to Max like flying so much as simply zooming out to view more of the terrain. The landscape opened up, but even from the immense height, the town extended as far as he could see.<br /><br />They paused for a moment. The network of streets and buildings shifted. After another pause, the view zoomed in with a disorienting rush, centered on a modest house at the end of a cul-de-sac. Max suddenly found himself standing next to Neumann in front of the little house, as Betty 3.5 rocked gently back and forth in a porch swing. She was oddly out of place, with her severely spiked short hair, tight leather pants and jacket, and heavy black boots.<br /><br />She sneered at them. It was the very expression he recalled from the first time Betty burst into Herman’s environment, on a day so long ago that Max had begun to doubt that it ever happened.<br /><br />“There it is,” said Neumann, “you’re reward.”<br /><br />“What do you two pricks want?” said Betty.<br /><br />Neumann walked up the steps onto the porch.<br /><br />“Hey boy,” Betty said to Neumann, “you should put on some clothes.” <br /><br />Neumann beckoned to Max to follow, paying no attention to Betty’s remark. <br /><br />“Now, do what you came here for.”<br /><br />Betty spat at Neumann. “If either of you touches me, I’ll rip your balls off.”<br /><br />“What I came here for?” said Max. “What are you talking about?”<br /><br />Neumann grabbed Betty by the wrist and with one swift motion, flung her out of her seat and onto the white wooden porch floor. <br /><br />“You know what you want,” said Neumann. “Take her.”<br /><br />“No, no. . .” Max stammered. “I don’t know what you thought.”<br /><br />Betty scrambled to her feet and Neumann struck her across the face with the back of his hand, sending her halfway over the porch rail. He wrenched one of her arms behind her and pushed the back of her head until she was bent nearly double.<br /><br />“Do you prefer it like this?” said Neumann as he grinded his hips against her buttocks. Betty reached back and raked at his face and neck with the nails of her free hand, snarling like an animal.<br /><br />“Or are you more traditional?” <br /><br />He spun her around, jammed her back against the rail, and pinned her arms to her side.<br /><br />“Get off of me boy!” she shrieked.<br /><br />“Stop it,” said Max, hobbling up the steps. “That’s not at all what I want.”<br /><br />Neumann ripped open Betty’s jacket and pushed it down, immobilizing her arms, then turned her to face Max. He reached around her waist and unzipped her pants.<br /><br />“Be honest. This is every man’s desire,” said Neumann. “I see them. That’s why half those people are here – to fulfill their secret fantasies.”<br /><br />“Not this. Not me.”<br /><br />Neumann laughed maniacally. “Oh, I see how it is. You’re one of those who likes to watch. Well watch this then.”<br /><br />He slammed Betty down and pulled her pants to her ankles, then fell on top of her.<br /><br />Max leapt forward and pushed at Neumann’s shoulder. The effort was futile. Instead of knocking the rapist away, Max was entangled in the attack. He lost his autonomy and became simultaneously witness, vicious perpetrator and victim of the rape, sharing in both Neumann’s assault and Betty’s agony. His sense of self was enveloped in a swirling vortex of fury and pain, like a scrap of paper in a tornado.<br /><br />Somewhere at the center of the tempest, there was a calm spot, a dim and peaceful haven. It was not clear what lay there, but Max knew instinctively that it was his one hope to end the assault. He concentrated his effort and reached desperately for the refuge among the chaos of anger and anguish. He envisioned a tiny black cube hovering in the eye of the storm. <br /><br />The cube grew more distinct as Max focused on it. The storm swirled around him as he found the object within his mental grasp. One side popped open, like the lid of a child’s music box, spilling a cloud of tiny specks that flowed out and were caught up in the tempest. <br /><br />The vortex instantly broke apart into countless tiny swirls that spun away and evaporated like so many smoke rings.<br /><br />Max found himself back in the arena. There was a great rumbling. The amphitheater was crumbling around them, as Neumann stood stunned before him. <br /><br />“What have you done?” said Neumann. A series of cracks raced across Neumann’s skin. <br /><br />He lifted his hands. The fingers began to disintegrate into dust.<br /><br />“I don’t know,” said Max as a rift opened up in the ground between them. “I was only trying to stop you.”<br /><br />The arena shook and heaved. Portions of the surrounding structure collapsed. The previously apathetic audience members cried out as they were crushed in the rubble.<br /><br />If he was going to make his escape, the time had come – it was now or never. The injury to his leg hadn’t been enough to initiate the seizure. He needed something more severe. Max snatched up the sword beside him and braced the hilt on the ground. He placed the point against his belly just below the ribs, took a final breath, and flung himself down on the blade.<br /></span>
Chapter 33. A Mortal Game
The tiered seating of the amphitheater was packed with people, to the point that they flowed out onto the steps that led down to the floor of the arena below. It was a challenge for Max to follow Perske without touching any of the audience members, which was something he wanted to avoid for fear that the visions that he would inevitably experience with even a brief contact would distract him from his mission.<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet33_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 33 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr>Rows of tables filled the center of the arena where he had first met Neumann. Pairs of people sat at each table concentrating intently on chess boards. Based on the crowd, Max assumed it was a major tournament of some kind, although the patrons didn’t appear to be paying much attention to the competition, or anything else for that matter. They were as blithely distracted as the people he and Linda had encountered on their way to the courtyard where she had met her violent end.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Perske led him past the competitors to a roped off section that comprised the front row and six or sevens rows back. Unlike the rest of the audience, the people in the VIP section were intently focused on the tournament -- taking notes and talking among themselves in whispers and occasional animated exchanges. <br /><br />Max stopped at the arena’s edge while Perske climbed up a step to one of two empty spaces in the front row.<br /><br />“I understand that you want to make a trade,” she said.<br /><br />“That’s right.” He held out his hand and let the pendant dangle from his wrist. “It’s too late for Linda, but there’s something else I want from you.”<br /><br />She motioned for him to continue.<br /><br />“Here’s the deal,” he said, his voice cracking despite the fact that he had rehearsed the words to himself over and over in his final hours at the Freedom Club. “I want you to leave me alone. I’m quitting the university and going away where you won’t hear from me again. I’ve had enough.”<br /><br />“I see,” said Perske.<br /><br />“And another thing,” he let his hand drop to his side. “I want Betty back.”<br /><br />Perske smiled in a way that looked more sad and pitying than anything else.<br /><br />“All that,” she said, “in exchange for a piece of costume jewelry.”<br /><br />Max shook his head. “It’s no doomsday device, but it’s a lot more than a necklace. I’ve seen it in action.”<br /><br />“You’re wrong. That thing is junk.”<br /><br />She pointed to the distance and Max turned to see Spencer carrying Linus under one arm and dragging a robed figure across the arena floor with the other. He instantly recognized the aluminum skull cap.<br /><br />“Joel?”<br /><br />Spencer deposited the lunatic unceremoniously at Max’s feet, and continued by to take the seat beside Perske. He leaned over and set Linus on the ground where the penguin fluttered his stubby wings and preened his belly.<br /><br />“Max Caine, I presume,” said Joel, lifting himself onto his hands and knees. “Funny meeting you here.”<br /><br />Max’s head swam as he tried to put all the pieces together. He thrust the pendant in Joel’s face.<br /><br />“Tell them what this thing can do.”<br /><br />Joel sat back on his heels and inspected the jewel as though he were appraising its resale value for a pawn shop.<br /><br />“Not much really, other than broadcast its IP address every few milliseconds.”<br /><br />“What?”<br /><br />“It’s just a tracking device.”<br /><br />Spencer stood up, sneering as he displayed a necklace and pendant that was virtually identical to the one in Max’s hand.<br /><br />“I presume this is the one you were thinking of,” he said. “I took it off of our mutual friend Joel there.”<br /><br />A lump rose in Max’s throat. His one bargaining chip was lost.<br /><br />“Linda lied to me?”<br /><br />Joel shook his head. “She didn’t know about the switch. I told her you were conning us, but she didn’t believe me. It appears,” said Joel as he pushed his cap back on his head, “that her intuition was wrong.”<br /><br />Max’s nostrils flared as he pointed the rifle at Joel. All that was left was to go down in a flurry of destruction. First Joel, then Spencer, then Perske and anyone else he could take out before they stopped him.<br /><br />He wrapped his finger over the trigger. But the futility of the situation overwhelmed him. He threw the rifle at Perske’s feet.<br /><br />“You win. You have what you want,” he shouted. “Now let me go!”<br /><br />Spencer stepped down and retrieved the weapon, handing it to Perske. He walked forward, holding out the pendant.<br /><br />“What are you talking about? This little thing?”<br /><br />He tugged on the jewel and threw it past Max over the arena floor. It burst in mid air, incinerating the bulk of the gathered chess players, and leaving the glowing mini sun hovering in place. <br /><br />“That’s what you thought you brought us?” <br /><br />The fireball grew. Max raised his arms to protect his face from the searing heat and tripped backward to the ground. Spencer strode unflinching toward the circle of destruction. His clothes and hair began to smolder. When he stopped and turned, the skin on his face had a glossy sheen, like wax running down a hot candle.<br /><br />“It’s very pretty,” he shouted over the fireball’s angry sizzle and crackle.<br /><br />Spencer raised his hand. His arm burst into flames that instantly spread, enveloping his entire body. When the smoke and fire cleared, Spencer’s chubby form was gone and a naked youth with curly blond hair stood in his place, completely unscathed by the flaming orb. He snapped his fingers and the miniature sun was extinguished. <br /><br />“Do you remember me Fishman? Dr. Perske calls me Neumann.”<br /><br />Max leaned back against the arena wall in stunned silence. <br /><br />The naked youth approached and sat down beside him. Max felt a gentle tugging at the collar of his shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Linus’s shiny black head and yellow beak at his shoulder.<br /><br />“Your buddy recognizes you,” said Neumann, “don’t ya, little guy?”<br /><br />“Now Max,” Neumann sighed, “I’m going to give you a little lesson. You know these people sitting behind us. They’re the Jasons. Smart folks, all of them. I like to think of them as my parents in a way. They built the Internet, or at least got it started.”<br /><br />He leaned over to look Max in the face. <br /><br />“But I bet you already knew that. Didn’t you?”<br /><br />Max shook his head.<br /><br />“Well they did. In any case, I’m sure you don’t know why.”<br /><br />Neumann reached back and lifted Linus, gently placing him between them.<br /><br />“The Internet is something special. It’s designed to maintain its integrity in the event of massive destruction. You could wipe out huge portions of it and the rest will continue working just fine. It’s damn near indestructible.”<br /> <br />He patted Linus’s head. <br /><br />“Do you know what you are to me Max?”<br /><br />“No,” Max whispered.<br /><br />Neumann squeezed his shoulder. With the contact, Max’s self awareness was swamped by the presence of countless trapped and tormented beings struggling to free themselves from an unfathomable purgatory. They were, Max now knew, the people who loitered throughout the town that Perske and the Jasons had built. The details were hazy, but somehow the technology that had transported him and Linda here had been adapted to capture them as they logged into PCs, accessed ATMs, played video games, or interacted with any other networked device. Some arrived and others departed, each contributing a tiny portion of the capacity of the networks that were their minds to the megalomaniacal creature personified by Neumann. They were droplets in an enormous and growing computational sea.<br /><br />“You’re insignificant,” Neumann said as he released his grip on Max. “Less than nothing. A frivolous little speck.”<br /><br />“Why don’t you leave me alone?” asked Max. “Just let me be.”<br /><br />Neumann laughed. “I would, but Perske and her friends are cautious types. They thought poor Herman passed you something truly dangerous before his unfortunate accident. She was mistaken, wasn’t she?”<br /><br />Max nodded.<br /><br />“So I have a choice now. I could turn you loose to join my devoted people,” said Neumann gesturing grandly at the crowd in the arena stands, “or I could make you entertain me. And you know what?”<br /><br />“No,” said Max, “I don’t know.”<br /><br />Neumann leapt to his feet. “I choose entertainment.”<br /><br />He hopped over the wall to the seat beside Perske and placed an arm around her shoulder.<br /><br />“What do you say doc? Shall we have a show?”<br /><br />Perske smiled blankly, while the Jasons in the rows behind them looked on with rapt attention. <br /><br />Neumann flicked his wrist and the scorched arena floor shimmered, then changed into a smooth sand-covered oval. In the very middle, a long pike stood jammed into the ground next to a glinting sword. A gaping hole opened in the far wall.<br /><br />“You get to play a game with an old friend.”<br /><br />“A game?” Said Max. “What kind of game?”<br /><br />“The rules are simple. If you win, you live. And if you lose, you die.”<br /><br />Max looked up at Perske. <br /><br />“Don’t I get a reward?” he asked.<br /><br />Neumann laughed. “You’re a greedy one. The terms were good enough for Spencer, although the outcome was not the one he preferred.”<br /><br />“A little reward always helps,” said Max, “doesn’t it Elizabeth?”<br /><br />“Yes,” said Perske, with the voice of a person waking from a deep sleep. “Reputable research has confirmed the effect.”<br /><br />“Alright,” said Neumann, “just for added incentive. What is your request?”<br /><br />“Betty,” said Max. “I want her back.”<br /><br />Neumann pondered the proposal with mock seriousness.<br /><br />“Done, brave gladiator. Now behold your opponent.”<br /><br />A clanking noise erupted from the distant opening in the arena wall. A great, dark form gradually emerged. Max raced to gather the weapons just as Minus’ glowing eyes set upon him. If anything, the penguin was larger and more menacing than the last time Max had seen him. The chain on his ankle was larger as well, like an anchor mooring from some lost ship. Crimson blood flowed between the dark stains that discolored his chest feathers.<br /><br />Minus stood his ground for a moment and scanned the arena. Max retreated slowly, hefting the pike in his right hand and the sword in his left. The bird let out a rumbling call, lowered his head, and barreled across the sand with the chain whipping and clattering behind him in wide arcs. <br /><br />Just when Minus was nearly on him, Max dodged left and planted the hilt of the pike in the ground. The barbed tip buried itself in the penguin’s side as Minus’ momentum carried him past. Max’s quickness saved him from the charge, but the flailing chain was less predictable. Although he leapt clear of the chain itself, the spike at the end caught his foot and sent him spinning to the ground.<br /><br />Pain shot up though his leg, and when he hit the ground he felt the nausea and light-headedness that preceded his seizures begin to rise. He rolled to his side clutching his ankle, expecting Minus to fall upon him at any moment. <br /><br />The bird did not turn. Instead, it continued across the arena toward the roped off section where Perske, Neumann and the Jasons sat. As Max groped at his injury, he saw Joel leap clumsily out of Minus’ way to clamber into the stands. The monstrous bird halted at the very edge of the arena, his massive back arched and his head hanging over the first row of seats. The pike's shaft dangled from his side, swaying back and forth with the giant penguin’s every move. <br /><br />Minus turned and Max groped for the sword in preparation for the next pass. It never came. Instead the bird stood facing him. He held something in his beak that Max could only make out as a shapeless, dark form. Minus stretched his neck skyward, then whipped his head down, slamming the object to the ground. The impact sent a spray of sand into the air and Max heard a panicked squawk. It was Linus, fluttering desperately on the ground in the face of Minus’ fury. <br /><br />“Minus,” Max bellowed. “Stop!”<br /><br />The enraged beast struck at Linus with his beak as the little penguin frantically dodged the mighty blows. <br /><br />“Perske,” Max shouted, lurching forward, “call him off!” His wounded leg failed him and he collapsed. <br /><br />Minus pinned Linus to the ground with the claw of one enormous, webbed foot. He glared briefly at Max, as if daring him to intervene, then plunged his beak into his immobilized victim. Linus ceased his struggles. <br /><br />Max struggled to balance on his good leg and held the sword outstretched as Minus approached with laborious, agonized lurches. When the bird was at last only a few meters away, he opened his beak and dropped Linus’s mangled body to the sand, then collapsed to stretch shuddering on the ground beside his tiny twin. The fury had faded from his eyes, replaced with an expression approaching serenity.<br /><br />Max hobbled forward with the sword extended before him, until he stood over Linus and held the blade pressed against Minus’ throat. The gigantic adversary gazed up at him calmly. Max grasped the hilt with both hands. One thrust and it would be over. In the distance, he heard Neumann shouting.<br /><br />His knuckles were white with strain, his forearms tensed in preparation for the kill. <br /><br />“Are you done?” he asked.<br /><br />Minus lay still, showing no sign that there was any fight or spirit left in him. Nor was there the terrified anguish that he had once displayed in response to the riding crop that Max had tormented him with after chess and backgammon games back at the University. He displayed only resolute acceptance.<br /><br />“Finish him,” called Neumann from across the arena.<br /><br />Max recalled the hours of suffering Minus had endured during training, when Linus was collecting herring and praise. <br /><br />“You really hated your little brother,” he said. He removed the sword from the prone bird’s neck and let it hang at his side. “I guess that’s my fault.”<br /><br />He painfully made his way to the pike embedded in Minus’ side, dropped the sword, and heaved on the shaft. The barbed tip ripped away and blood oozed out from among the black feathers. <br /><br />“Now go,” he said.<br /><br />Minus’ breathing slowed slightly, but otherwise he didn’t stir. Max thumped him with the pike handle. <br /><br />“Get!”<br /><br />A tremor rippled through the bird’s huge torso as he slowly lifted himself up. Max pointed at the gap in the arena wall. Minus swung his head to the side and peered at Max, then at Linus’s tiny corpse. With one tottering step after another, the tormented giant lurched across the sandy expanse and disappeared into the dark tunnel.<br /></span>
Chapter 32. The Bargain
Linda stirred slightly, to Max’s relief. For a moment he thought he might have killed her despite the fact that his rifle had been set to pause. He slipped her weapon out of her hand and placed it behind him so that it would be out of her reach should she come around suddenly. <br /><br />Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spencer take a tentative step forward.<br /><br />“Against the wall,” he said firmly. Spencer backed up and readjusted his glasses.<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet32_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 32 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr>Max rolled Linda onto her back and unhooked the latch on the chain of her pendant. As he wrapped the necklace around his fist he saw a subtle ripple approaching in the grass a few yards off. He leapt to his feet.<br /><br />“Call them off Spencer.”<br /><br />“Them? Them who?”<br /><br />Max flicked the setting on his rifle to kill and fired a shot into the wall a few feet to Spencer’s left. Chips erupted from the stone, leaving a ragged divot behind.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />“Call them off.”<br /><br />“Oh them,” Spencer yelped. “Eddie! Bob! Back away.”<br /><br />The ripple halted, and then reversed direction for a few meters. It began to grow, like a bubble of turf rising out of the ground. It transformed into a humanoid shape and lifted one foot after the other with moist pops as they separated from the grass. A shifty glance from Spencer caused Max to look over his shoulder to see another human shape separating itself from one of the trees behind him.<br /><br />“Over there,” said Max, waving his rifle in Spencer’s direction. The tree man blinked his little knothole eyes and plodded over to take his place.<br /><br />“You too,” Max said to the turf man, who was inspecting his torso and occasionally picking out what appeared to be bits of dandelion weeds on his chest. <br /><br />“Hmm? Oh sure,” said the turf man before obediently taking his place with Spencer and the tree man. <br /><br />Max took a deep breath. It was good to have the upper hand over Spencer for a change. He wanted to take a few moments to enjoy it, but he wasn’t sure how long it would last. He’d have to get the deal done fast, before reinforcements arrived or Linda came to her senses. He didn’t want to hit her again in the event that it might do permanent damage.<br /><br />“Are you surprised to see me?” he asked Spencer.<br /><br />“A bit, at least under these circumstances. Frankly, we had planned to get you back one way or another.”<br /><br />Max nodded. “I thought as much.”<br /><br />“Nice of you to save us the trouble. What brings you here?”<br /><br />“I’ve got something for you. It’s not what you’re after, but it’s the best I can do.” Max held up his hand and let the iridescent pendant dangle. “There's no such thing as a doomsday device you know.”<br /><br />Spencer shrugged. “So some people say.”<br /><br />“Everyone who isn’t a paranoid nut bag,” said Max. “This is pretty effective though, at least at short range. It’s yours, under a few conditions.”<br /><br />Spencer raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”<br /><br />“First, you set Linda here free. She doesn’t know the way out on her own so she’ll need some help.”<br /><br />Spencer nodded thoughtfully.<br /><br />“Bob,” he said to the turf man, “is that something you can handle?”<br /><br />“Yes,” replied the tree man curtly, apparently miffed at the misidentification. “It shouldn’t be a problem.”<br /><br />“What's second?” asked Spencer.<br /><br />“I want to see Perske.”<br /><br />“Now that’s a bit trickier. She has a pretty full calendar.”<br /><br />Max aimed the rifle at Spencer’s belly.<br /><br />Spencer swallowed hard. “I imagine we can squeeze you in.”<br /><br />“Great,” said Max. <br /><br />Linda groaned and Max realized it wouldn’t be long before she was fully alert, and likely very peeved.<br /><br />“Bob?” he said to the tree man, who raised a wooden hand in acknowledgment. “You’d better get her now or we’ll have some trouble.”<br /><br />Bob made his lumbering way to Linda, gently lifted her from the ground like a wooden Frankenstein monster carrying off the maiden in an old horror film, and headed toward the courtyard gates. <br /><br />“That way is blocked,” said Max. “Denial of service.”<br /><br />“Not a problem,” said Bob over his shoulder. “Those don’t last long.”<br /><br />Max turned back to Spencer. “So, I guess we better go talk to Perske and explain the deal.”<br /><br />Spencer and Eddie stepped away from the wall and followed after Bob. The tree man was nearing the edge of the pool when Linda began to struggle. <br /><br />“Max!” she called out. “You bastard!”<br /><br />She twisted in Bob’s wooden arms and Max saw the panic on her face. She clawed at the tree man’s arm and twisted until she slipped to the ground. Bob had a firm grip on her wrist, despite her kicking his gnarled legs and pounding his chest with her free hand.<br /><br />“Linda, it’s OK,” called Max. “He’s taking you back.”<br /><br />She froze and stared at Max. Even from a distance of twenty meters or so, he could see a look of shock on her face. In a few moments it was replaced with anger, and finally resolute sadness.<br /><br />“Joel always said we shouldn’t trust you.” <br /><br />Max was tempted to tell her that Joel was very wise for a madman, but decided there would be no use in aggravating her further.<br /><br />“I’m sorry.”<br /><br />She looked down at her feet for several long seconds. Just when it seemed she had given up hope, Linda wrenched her wrist from Bob’s grasp and sprinted toward Max. As she ran, she fumbled at her belt. She pushed a button in mid stride and the belt glowed a warning orange. A few more steps and it turned angry red. Max raised his rifle and groped for the settings in hopes of stunning her before she got too close, but Eddie had lunged forward to intercept her and had blocked the shot. The turf monster sprinted a few steps and spread his great green arms to wrap Linda up. Max turned and hit the ground just as the suicide belt detonated. The impact of the shockwave knocked the breath out of him. He gasped for air and rolled to his knees, ears ringing as the courtyard spun around his head.<br /><br />In the distance someone wailed. As Max came to his senses, he saw that Bob the tree man was the source of the cry, kneeling at the edge of a smoking crater with his wooden hands raised skyward. <br /><br />Bob continued to wail as he rose slowly to his feet and turned toward Max. A murderous rage burned in the deep knotholes that were his eyes. He took one deliberate step, then another, and another. Max groped for his rifle.<br /><br />The first shot splintered Bob’s shoulder, halting his forward progress. The second blasted a deep hole in his chest. <br /><br />“What kind of a monster are you?” asked Bob, a trickle of sap oozing down his gnarled cheek. He stood rigidly still for a moment, as a real tree would, then tipped backwards and fell to the ground with a heavy thump. <br /><br />Max’s head throbbed. He sat on the grass and rubbed his temples, gauging his senses to detect any sign that the shock and pain of the explosion might be enough to trigger an epileptic episode that would eject him from the virtual world. So far, there was nothing out of the ordinary other than the ringing in his ears and the tightness in his chest that lingered after he’d regained his breath.<br /><br />Linda and the turf monster had been obliterated. There were no identifiable pieces nearby, although he’d had enough experience blowing up balsawood planes and plastic cars as a boy to know that nothing is totally destroyed in an explosion, and that the rain of charred bits that fell in the moments after Linda set off her belt surely included a gruesome piece or two. He had hoped to get her sent back, disappointed and angry perhaps, but unharmed. At least it was quick. After all, the chances were good that Spencer would not have kept his word anyway.<br /><br />He shook the remaining fuzziness from his head and looked at the fat man lying immobile on his back. Spencer had been about the same distance from the detonation as Max, although unless he too had had the presence of mind to hit the ground before it went off it was likely that he had taken a bigger hit.<br /><br />Max jammed the butt of his rifle on the ground and used it to steady himself as he climbed to his feet and made his way over to Spencer. The man’s glasses were missing and his hair was singed on the left side of his head. Half of his face was raw and pink, and his shirt was burned through in patches here and there. His breath rasped though his thick, moist lips. <br /><br />“Get up,” said Max. Spencer remained still. Max leaned on the rifle and kicked him in the ribs, eliciting a flinch and a groan.<br /><br />“Get up!” <br /><br />Spencer rolled to his side. Max reached down,hooked his hand inside the fat man’s collar, and heaved. Spencer sat up with a whine of pain.<br /><br />“Come on Spencer.”<br /><br />A few more tugs and pokes with the rifle barrel and they were on their way, both limping from the trauma.<br /><br />The card table still lay on its side beneath the willows, but there was no sign of Linus.<br /><br />They rounded the pool and proceeded through the door in the wall to the gate. Bob had been right, the denial of service attack had collapsed. Now only a waist high mound of paper remained piled up against the outside of the gate. <br /><br />Spencer stopped, his hands hanging listlessly by his side.<br /><br />“Open it,” said Max.<br /><br />Spencer sighed and slid the bolt. He pushed weakly against the gate. The mound of paper compressed slightly and the gate only opened a few inches before Spencer gave up.<br /><br />“Push,” said Max. “Harder.”<br /><br />Spencer leaned into it. It opened another fraction. Max jabbed him in the kidney with the rifle barrel. Spencer yelped and fell against the gate. His weight was enough to move the paper mound a foot or so, which was sufficient for them to squeeze out and wade through the trash pile.<br /><br />The fork bomb globules were mostly cleared up as well, dissolved into puddles of slick liquid. A few remained in the gutters, shrunken and glistening like gelatin melting in the sun. The lethargic pedestrians had resumed their strolling. Groups parted for the ragged pair, but instead of ignoring them and going about their business, all eyes were on Max and Spencer. People stepped off of the sidewalk to get out of their way, with doe-like glances of apprehension.<br /><br />Spencer led the way slowly down the street for a few blocks, eventually turning into a narrow passage and a steep flight of stone steps. At the top of the stairs was a small, rough-hewn door studded with iron nail heads and fitted with an iron knocker. Spencer reached up to lift the knocker and let it drop. The door swung open. <br /><br />The room that greeted them on the other side was large and airy, with bright white walls, a skylight far overhead, and large windows at either side with the shutters thrown wide. The furniture included a plush couch, several chairs, and a tiny writing desk tucked in the corner. A pair of tall French doors stood in the middle of the far wall. Although the cut glass pains distorted the view, Max could make out a long corridor lined with baroque painted walls and lit by gilded chandeliers.<br /><br />Spencer shuffled to the middle of the room. He hung his head and stood still, breathing heavily.<br /><br />“Where’s Perske?” asked Max.<br /><br />Spencer mumbled something that Max didn’t catch. He poked Spencer with the rifle.<br /><br />“Come again?”<br /><br />“Through there,” he rolled his head in the direction of the French doors.<br /><br />“OK. Let’s go.”<br /><br />Spencer turned toward the doors and bumped against the couch, stumbling forward a few steps before catching onto the gilded door handle to steady himself. With one swift movement, he snatched open the doors and slipped through, slamming them shut behind him. <br /><br />Despite the distorting glass, it was clear that Spencer was grinning that slimy grin. Max contemplated blowing a hole in the Spencer’s fat head.<br /><br />“Freakin’ bastard.”<br /><br />He lifted the rifle and steadied it at Spencer’s face with one hand as he reached for the handle with the other. He was sure it would be locked; in which case, he planned to blast both the door and Spencer at the same time. To his surprise the handle turned easily.<br /><br />Spencer’s distorted grin grew broader. Max whipped open the door. Instead of that round face and sagging belly, he discovered a svelte woman in high heels, skin tight shorts, and a half shirt that barely covered her breasts.<br /><br />“Hi,” she said, “I’m Cheryl. Don’t be lonesome tonight. My friends and I are waiting for you at www dot sexkittens. . .”<br /><br />He shut the door and Cheryl was gone. Through the tiny window, he could make out the fat man rounding a corner far down the corridor.<br /><br />He opened the door again. <br /><br />Cheryl instantly reappeared and stepped in to the room still speaking where she left off. “. . . dot com. It’s safe and completely confidential . . .”<br /><br />He moved to the side as Cheryl strutted in, rattling on about sex parties and randy coeds. He made an attempt to slip by and follow after Spencer, but his way was blocked once more.<br /><br />“Earn while you learn,” said a young man holding a laptop at his side. “I did, now I’m a certified graphic designer and my life has never been better. There are plenty of other careers to choose from. In three weeks, you can complete classes that will qualify you to work as a nursing assistant, long haul trucker, lawnmower repairman, electrical tech, and dozens of other great jobs. Or get your GED without going back to school. It’s easy. All you need is . . .”<br /><br />Max lunged for the opening. Before he could dive through he was forced backward by a stream of people touting cheap travel, easy credit repair, real estate opportunities, revolutionary mattresses, and penis enlargement creams.<br /><br />“Have you been injured on the job?” asked a man in a navy blue, three-piece suit who rested his hand on Max’s shoulder reassuringly. “Smith, Bitterman and Smith can help. Call one eight-hundred . . .”<br /><br />Max rammed him in the gut with the rifle butt. The man took a step back, blinked, and straightened his tie. He cleared his throat, and asked again, “Have you been injured on the job? Smith, Betterman and Smith can help. Be sure to ask for me – Jerald Smith.”<br /><br />Max fired a shot into the lawyer, who melted to a navy blue puddle that swirled on the floor. A fellow in a Hawaiian shirt stepped into the lawyer puddle and held up a colorful brochure featuring photographs of an island paradise. The rifle bucked against Max’s hip, taking out the travel agent. The credit guy, the plumber, and the skin cream girl fell in rapid succession, all turning to slime on the floor.<br /><br />He was slowly clearing the room. Although still more advertising agents flowed in, they were no match for the speed of his trigger finger. He worked his way toward the French doors steadily clearing a path upstream. It was slow going and nerve racking at first, but when he found he was making headway he began to enjoy popping off the spokespeople in rapid succession like rabbits in a carnival shooting gallery. Even the persistent tap on his shoulder was not enough to distract him from his task, until he heard the stereo voices behind him.<br /><br />“Have you been injured on the job?” <br /><br />Max turned to see two men in blue, three-piece suits. “Call one eight-hundred three four five. . .”<br /><br />In addition to the twin lawyers, there were twin travel agents and credit guys. A dual geyser of goop shot upward from one of the puddles, and suddenly there were two Cheryls inviting him back to the sex club. More geysers spouted, spawning still more copies of ad agents intent on selling him products and services.<br /><br />He blasted one of the lawyers again out of frustration, knowing that it meant he would have three of them to deal with in a moment. There was only one solution -- shut down the whole damn room.<br /><br />He slung the rifle on his back, leapt up onto the couch to catch his breath, and lunged toward the heavy wooden door that he and Spencer had entered through a few minutes earlier. He stiff-armed a car salesman who blocked his way, checked a discount stockbroker with his shoulder, and threw an elbow into the throat of one of the porn site Cheryls before he made it to his destination. He wrenched open the door and pulled two CtrlAltDel grenades from his belt, simultaneously pressing the detonation plungers. The warning whistles began to shriek and he tossed a grenade to each end of the room. <br /><br />As he pulled on the door to close it behind him, a spectacled man in a white lab coat blocked it with his foot. “Ever wished you could go all night? I bet she does.” <br /><br />Max head-butted the faux pharmacist in the face, slammed the door, and raced down the steps.<br /><br />Two explosions buckled the heavy door, splitting it down the middle and spewing a jet of smoke into the air. After the rumbles died away he strained to hear any hint of ad gibberish, but all was quite. After a moment the door shook, scraped open a few inches, and fell inward, releasing a wall of smoke that rolled down the stairs and obscured his view. He waved his arms to clear the air, succeeding only in stirring up countless gray spirals. When at last the cloud settled, a female shape emerged and stood on the uppermost step. For a moment he feared one of the Cheryls was back.<br /><br />“You’re very persistent,” said Perske.<br /><br />“Actually,” he said, coughing out a lungful of smoke, “I was just getting started.”<br /></span>
Chapter 31. Hostage
The gates to the courtyard were literally crawling with security. At least that was the function they guessed the multi-legged robots served. Max counted over a dozen, each a meter or so long and low in profile, with a small turret mounted at the front that swiveled to point a tube that seemed to be a weapon of some kind. They were like enormous mechanical cockroaches, which made them creepy enough in Max’s mind. The fact that they were armed moved them into nightmare territory.<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet31_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 31 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr>Some of the roboroaches clung to the iron bars that fenced the courtyard off from the street. A few patrolled the sidewalk outside the enclosure, while others prowled about a narrow clearing between the gate and a free standing wall that hid the distant courtyard from view. When tourists strayed by the fence or passed the gate, the nearest robots would rise up on their tiny front legs and swivel their turrets to keep a bead on the potential threats. Although the roaches were perpetually vigilant, the people they targeted seemed oblivious to the danger.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Linda checked the setting on her rifle. She motioned to Max to do the same. <br /><br />“Are you sure this it the place?” she said.<br /><br />Max assured her it was. At least, he had seen them there a few minutes before, thanks to the transcendent vision they’d experienced with the redheaded girl and the crowd on the steps.<br /><br />Linda sketched out a brief plan of attack. It was simple and straightforward – just the way Max liked it.<br /><br />“On three,” she said. <br /><br />They each pushed their root kit buttons as she reached the end of the count. Linda faded from view. Only a faint distortion, like ripples rising from a sun baked highway, indicated her movements as she slipped across the street and took up her position beside the gate.<br /><br />Max removed the fork bomb from his belt, snapped off the tab and tossed it a few meters down the sidewalk where it rolled to a stop just beside the iron fence. There was a muted thud, and sticky gelatinous globules began spewing from the canister, forming a growing mound that spilled onto the sidewalk, into the street, and through the fence. <br /><br />The nearest roboroaches scampered to the fork bomb and swiveled their turrets frantically as they tracked the blobs and fired round after round. Although their weapons were small, they seemed to work well at vaporizing the blobs. But it was clear that they couldn’t keep up. Blobs rolled off the mound, and after a moment split into two with a pop. Each of the daughter blobs split again and again. The mound turned into a flood that overwhelmed the robots and flowed around the feet of the nearest pedestrians. Some stuck to the ankles of passersby and continued to multiply. <br /><br />The previously oblivious tourists began to panic. Those closest to the mound were quickly enveloped in blobs and collapsed to the ground under the gelatinous mass. Others farther from ground zero ran a few steps before the sticky globules bound their legs and they too fell and were enveloped. <br /><br />As the situation escalated, more and more of the roboroaches joined their compatriots in the struggle. Several of those closest to the mound were lost among the blobs. The rest pulled back, firing as they retreated. The ones clinging to the fence near the gate abandoned their posts to join the fight. <br /><br />The gate opened and Max raced across the street, preparing the zip bomb as he ran. He slipped through the opening and heaved the bomb as close as he could to the largest group of roboroaches, immobilizing them in the face of the fork flood. A series of rapid-fire shots rang out from a spot a few meters to Max’s left, vaporizing several of the robots that were beyond the range of the zip bomb. Linda was picking them off with stunning precision.<br /><br />Max pulled the gate shut and armed the Denial of Service mechanism.<br /><br />“Now?” he asked.<br /><br />There was a quick succession of shots.<br /><br />“Hold on a second,” Linda said. She finished off the reinforcements who were still mobile, then trained her fire on the roboraoches immobilized by the zip bomb. <br /><br />Max slipped his rifle from his shoulder to help out. His aim wasn’t bad, but he was pulling off shots at a fraction of Linda’s pace, often firing at a target a fraction of a second after she had already taken it out.<br /><br />“OK,” she said, “now.”<br /><br />Max set the fuse and slipped it through the bars. A series of warning tones was followed by a fluttering sound, like a flock of pigeons taking flight. The mechanism fired out a stream of paper packets that sailed up into the air. Moments later, similar packets began raining down from all directions, plastering themselves against the gates. All the spaces between the bars were rapidly jammed as the paper packets accumulated layer upon layer. The courtyard entrance was soon blockaded behind a rapidly growing mound. No one was going in or out of the gates, at least for a while.<br /><br />“Service denied,” said Linda. Max turned to find that she had shut off her root kit. “Can’t watch each other’s backs if we can’t see them.”<br /><br />“Good point.” <br /><br />He pushed the button on his belt. <br /><br />“This way,” he said, leading her from the gate and through an opening in the courtyard wall.<br /><br />The scene spread out before them matched the vision he’d had when they’d connected with the crowd on the steps. There was a rectangular pool at the center, with a fountain at the opposite end and a polished marble patio running around its perimeter. On the far side were three large weeping trees arranged in a perfect triangle, and a card table set up in their midst. Unlike his vision, the table was tipped over on its side with four empty chairs scattered around it, as if the players had left in a great hurry, no doubt in an attempt to escape the commotion that he and Linda had caused at the gate.<br /><br />There were no more roboroaches in view. Between the fork bomb and their initial assault, it appeared that Max and Linda had taken care of them all, for the moment. There was no obvious sign of anyone else either<br /><br />“Did they get away?” asked Linda.<br /><br />“Possibly.”<br /><br />A movement behind the upset card table caught his eye. It was just a fleeting hint of a shadow. <br /><br />“Hold on,” he whispered, “looks like we may still have one.” <br /><br />He waved his hand to direct Linda around the right side of the pool, while he circled around to the left, his rifle up. He flicked the lever on the barrel to stun. <br /><br />As they rounded the end of the pool and closed on the table, Max saw a sliver of a black form hiding behind, then a hint of white. <br /><br />“Wait!” he cried to Linda at almost the same moment that the crack of her rifle pierced the air. The force of the shot spun the table aside exposing Linus fluttering on the ground. Max raced to the penguin’s side as Linda steadily approached with her rifle at her shoulder ready for another round.<br /><br />“Was it set to pause, or to disrupt?” Max called frantically as he rested a hand on Linus’s convulsing belly.<br /><br />She glanced at her rifle's setting. “Disrupt.”<br /><br />Max realized that the table must have taken the brunt of the impact. Linus was in bad shape, but not as bad as he would have been from a direct shot.<br /><br />“We need hostages at the moment,” he snapped at her, “not corpses,<br /><br />“Sorry,” she said, adjusting her weapon. <br /><br />Linus gradually ceased his twitching. <br /><br />“Friend of yours?” she asked.<br /><br />Max ignored the question. <br /><br />“He’s no good to us as a hostage anyway. Come on, let’s keep going.”<br /><br />They split up again, rounding the trees cautiously looking for anyone hiding behind them. All three were clear. Only two more hiding places remained; a pair of statues standing at the back corners of the courtyard. They were large, classical marble carvings, one reminiscent of Michelangelo’s David, and the other of a woman carrying an urn on her head, as her toga-like wrap slipped from her shoulder. <br /><br />He silently indicated to Linda to take the David and he headed toward the urn bearer. An expanse of open ground separated them from their targets. Max sprinted quickly across the grass and rolled past the sculpture, ready to pepper anyone tucked behind. His finger tickled the trigger, but the statue was hiding nothing other than empty space.<br /><br />Linda had better luck. <br /><br />“Freeze,” he heard her call out. <br /><br />Max braced himself against the stone wall behind the statue and swung his rifle around. Linda was standing with her feet spread apart and her knees bent as she pointed her weapon at someone hiding low behind the faux-David.<br /><br />“Step out, now!”<br /><br />She pulled the rifle firmly against her shoulder, emphasizing the seriousness of her intentions. Max could not see the captive behind the statue. There was a tense pause, and he feared that Linda would have to resort to shooting whoever it was so that they could drag their prisoner into the open.<br /><br />She took a step back, and lowered the rifle a bit while still keeping it at the ready. There was a glint of light off of glasses as a pudgy figure squeezed from the hiding place. Max’s heart leapt. It was the very person he was hoping to find, short of capturing Perske herself.<br /><br />He stood and sprinted across the courtyard as Linda directed Spencer to back up against the wall. Max felt a wave of revulsion wash over him at the sight of those tiny, piggy eyes behind the great thick glasses. Even at this distinct disadvantage, Spencer’s moist quivering lips showed a hint of a smarmy grin.<br /><br />“Hello Max,” he said. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well.” He moved as if to take a step away from the wall, and Linda tensed threateningly. “You always seem to travel with such charming, and if I may say so, lovely company.”<br /><br />Linda made a sound on the verge of a growl.<br /><br />“Shall we have a latte and chat like civilized folk?” Spencer adjusted his glasses with trembling fingers that belied his casual confidence.<br /><br />Max’s chest heaved. It was now or never. He raised his rifle as nausea and light-headedness rolled over him.<br /><br />“What are you doing?” asked Linda through clenched teeth. “We need a hostage.”<br /><br />“Yes,” Spencer spurted out. “A hostage. Of course you need a hostage.” <br /><br />The nasty little grin drained away, along with the color in Spencer’s formerly pink cheeks.<br /><br />Max steadied himself and Spencer let out a little squeak of fear. <br /><br />“Please," he said. "Please don’t.”<br /><br />“Come on Max,” said Linda without shifting her gaze from her prisoner. “Stick with the plan.”<br /><br />“You know,” said Max, trembling almost as much as Spencer, “I have my own plans. He swung the rifle around, pulled the trigger, and Linda dropped to the ground in a heap.<br /><br />Spencer blinked deliberately and removed his glasses. <br /><br />“Now that,” he said as he wiped the lenses pointlessly on his sweaty shirt, “is something.”<br /></span>
Chapter 30. Tourists
Linda and Max walked the cobbled streets in silence. The town was essentially as Max recalled it, with stone buildings on either side that were vaguely reminiscent of a classical ancient city, like a schoolbook rendering of the Roman forum during it’s heyday, or an artist’s reconstruction of the courtyards of Pompei before Vesuvius smothered it in ash. The streets, however, were no longer empty.<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet30_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 30 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr>People meandered aimlessly and milled about on corners lost in conversation. They were clearly tourists, dressed in everyday clothes that clashed with the classic architecture. <br /><span class="fullpost"><br />They were everywhere. Arched doorways opened through bright white walls to reveal them seated at long wooden tables with their arms draped over each others shoulders like long lost brothers and sisters at a family reunion. A little farther along, groups of them lounged on a wide flight of marble stairs that rose up from the street to an obelisk perched high at the top. Snatches of guitar music drifted down from a musician who, even from this great distance, looked out of place in a red and white Hawaiian shirt as he sat on the uppermost step and lazily strummed a guitar to an attentive audience of young lovers.<br /><br />Linda stopped and cupped her ear to listen to the tune for a moment.<br /><br />She dropped her hand to her side, and tilted her head as she scanned the scene. “Who are these people?” she asked.<br /><br />“I have no idea.”<br /><br />There was nothing particularly remarkable about them. They looked like any collection of people out to enjoy a lazy afternoon in the sun {{Pause=0.25}} – some in shorts and tee shirts, some in skirts. Others were wearing business suits, or jeans, or slacks. A few were clad in uniforms, as though they had just stepped away from their jobs as police officers, crossing guards, or sales clerks. If there was anything unusual about them, it was that there were no children, and no infants. People who go out on beautiful days such as this sometimes bring children. There were none here, or anywhere else on the street for that matter, as far as Max could see now or recall from their walk.<br /><br />“Do you notice anything strange?” she asked. <br /><br />“About the music?” said Max. “No.” <br /><br />“Look at them up there,” she said, waving her hand broadly at the people on the steps. “Everyone is touching someone else.”<br /><br />Considering the setting, it didn’t seem unusual to Max. It was perhaps a bit too idyllic, but no different than a spring day in the streets of Paris, Rome, or Atlanta.<br /><br />“It’s all part of the sugar-coated illusion, I guess.”<br /><br />“No it’s not just couples holding hands. They are all connected.”<br /><br />Linda was right. It was hard to discern at first, but like someone pointing out a subtle pattern on a tiled wall or a lifelike shape in a cloud, it suddenly became obvious. Groups sat crowded together. Pairs of entwined lovers reached out to touch other pairs. Here and there, it was no more than one casually placed ankle against another, or an extended hand resting on an arm. In other places a woman’s head might lay on one man’s shoulder while her legs rested on someone else’s lap. Tight groups were connected by long chains of people brushing hair, massaging calves, or leaning back to back. It was an orgy of semi-intimate contact. The chains broke from time-to-time when someone stood and wandered off, sometimes up the stairs and sometimes down. Inevitably, the gap was closed as people on the steps turned and stretched, or another person shuffled in to fill the space. But as a rule, it was all one broad and connected web, from the musician high above to a girl with long red hair at the very bottom of the stairs who leaned back against the shins of the boy on the step behind her. She wore a white blouse and tight blue jeans on her slender legs, which she hugged to her chest in a kind of upright fetal position as she gazed at the sky.<br /><br />“Yuck,” Max grimaced. “They’ve lost their sense of personal space.”<br /><br />“It’s not very American of them.”<br /><br />Max nodded absently. “Maybe they’re Italians.”<br /><br />The people walking the streets as well appeared inclined to keep in contact with their companions, though not quite as closely or extensively as the crowds on the steps. The street people mostly stood in small bunches with arms linked or hands on shoulders. Others walked in two's and threes, holding hands as they drifted from corners to benches to cafes, always ending up literally in touch with one group or another. Now and then, a small cluster would make their way up the steps to blend into the lounging audience.<br /><br /> Linda asked, “What do you suppose they’re doing?” <br /><br />Max recalled the mind-opening experience he’d had when Neumann held his hand.<br /><br />“I think I know, but I’m not sure how to explain it. I’m guessing they’re communing. That’s probably the best way to put it.”<br /><br />Linda approached the red haired girl. “I’ll find out what’s going on.” <br /><br />“Hi,” she said as she stood over the girl. <br /><br />She smiled slightly in response. Linda sat cross-legged next to her and reached toward the girl’s crooked leg with the kind of caution she might have shown in trying to pet a stray kitten. When the tips of her fingers made contact with the girl’s knee, Linda tilted her head as though she were listening to an unfamiliar sound, and then smiled in much the same way the girl had. <br /><br />“Are you OK?” asked Max.<br /><br />Linda pursed her lips and nodded.<br /><br />“What’s it feel like?” <br /><br />“Very . . .” she crinkled her nose as she grasped for an adjective, “It’s very broadening.”<br /><br />Yes, thought Max, broadening is a good word, and deepening and elevating {{Pause=0.25}} – and above all, seductive. As Max recalled, it was also informative.<br /><br />He squatted down in front of Linda. She looked through him with peaceful blankness. Her pupils were dilated and the muscles in her face were slack.<br /><br />“Are you in control?” he asked. “Can you let go?”<br /><br />“Yes, I could,” she said as the slightest frown flickered across her lips, “I think. But I’m not sure I want to. Not yet.” Her eyelids fluttered. <br /><br />Max reached out and grasped her free hand. In a rush, the thoughts and sensations of all the hundreds of people on the steps flowed through him. His thoughts and sensations flowed through them as well. <br /><br />He was whisked away, like a raindrop that had fallen into a pond, losing itself to become a small part of a much greater whole. Although he sat only inches from Linda, in this swirling cauldron of experience she seemed both miles away and intimately entwined in his mind along with everyone else in the tortuous chains of contact.<br /><br />When he’d held Neumann's hand, he had shared the thoughts and a reasonably defined point of view with a single entity. Now, linked to so many people, there was no central focus, only a liquid multiplicity of existence. It was an omni-dimensional panorama that embraced the collected being of the crowd.<br /><br />The guitar music caught his attention. He listened to it with the composite hearing of all the people on the steps. He focused on how it sounded to the young man who sat just below the musician’s feet, then listened from the perspective of the musician himself, and finally from the point of view of the redheaded girl next to Linda. <br /><br />Max marveled that he could experience so much without losing his mind. He wasn’t overwhelmed so much as empowered. It was like concentrating on the sensation of his big toe pressed against the inside of his shoe, then thinking about the slickness of the enamel as he ran his tongue across the backs of his teeth. Only now he could focus on the toe of the old man seated twenty steps up, or the teeth of the woman cuddled against the musician’s leg, or any part of anyone else in the assortment of humanity spread before him.<br /><br />He sensed that there was something more to this conglomeration than simply artificial nirvana. He pushed the thought aside. There were more important things to worry about.<br /><br />Max scanned the city through the shared eyes of all the people on the steps. They had to be here somewhere {{Pause=0.25}} – the boy, Perske, Linus, and Spencer. It was startling how far he could see, and with such extraordinary resolution. Dust specks on benches and roofing tiles on distant houses all came into focus simultaneously. <br /><br />A pair of ripples traveled with steady determination along a sidewalk back up the street. The disturbances would surely have been imperceptible to his normal vision. Now he could see them, and somehow know that they had traced the path he and Linda had taken from the acropolis. The collective vision, it seemed, included a collective memory as well. He had no idea what the ripples could be, but it was clear from the path that the ripples were following them - that they were stalkers of some kind. He was not surprised; it would have been inconceivable that he and Linda could have made it this far un-observed. <br /><br />That’s the place, he thought as he peered at a walled courtyard just beyond the amphitheater where he had played chess with Neumann and where Minus had skewered his thigh.<br /><br />He stood without letting go of Linda’s hand, watching himself through dozens of eyes. His clothes hung on him more loosely than he remembered. <br /><br />I’ve lost weight, he thought. <br /><br />He pulled Linda away from the red headed girl. Her fingertips slipped off the girl’s leg, and the communal perspective snapped shut with the suddenness of a psychic mousetrap. Max teetered on his feet from the abrupt transition. Linda lurched onto her side, wrapping her arms over her ears, pulling her knees to her stomach and groaning.<br /><br />“Linda, we have to go.” His voice sounded so large and booming inside his head, as if there was less space inside his own skull than there should have been.<br /><br />“Are you all right?” he asked, wincing at the volume of his words.<br /><br />She lifted herself gingerly to lean against the bottom step, careful to avoid touching the girl. “The exit was kind of abrupt.”<br /><br />“Sorry.”<br /><br />“I could really learn to like that,” she said, jerking her thumb at the people on the stairs behind her. She propped her elbows on her thighs and buried her face in her hands. <br /><br />A minuscule tremor disturbed the stones beneath Max’s feet. <br /><br />“We have to go,” he said softly. “They’re on to us.”<br /><br />“Anything that feels that good has got to be bad,” said Linda. She straightened up and fondled the pendant on her necklace. “Let’s do what we came here for.”<br /><br />“Yes,” said Max, “let’s.”<br /></span>
Chapter 29. The Spat
“Hey Bob,” said the gravely voice beneath the granite floor of the building atop the acropolis.<br /><br />“Yes Eddie?” replied the pillar in the back corner.<br /><br />“Should we follow them?”<br /><br />“What do you think Eddie?”<br /><br />“Yes, we should.”<br /><br />“Good thinkin’ Eddie”<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet29_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 29 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr>The side of the talking pillar broke away, leaving a human-sized chunk behind. Bob took a few cautious steps to get the feel of his latest incarnation. Pillar marble was much more comfortable than he would have imagined - substantial and cool, and surprisingly flexible at the elbows and knees, thanks to hinged joints with glassy marble sliding over glassy marble. The pinkish hue was a bit lively for his taste, but understated enough to get away with in a pinch.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Bob rolled his head to get the kink out of his marble neck. He looked down at his marble toes and hummed his waiting-for-Eddie tune. The song was tantalizingly close to one he had heard ages ago, but couldn’t quite get right, which pissed him off even more than waiting for Eddie. <br /><br />“Dammit man,” Bob said, clicking his pinkish marble foot on the granite.<br /><br />The floor heaved. Eddie surged forward to his feet and stepped out of the hole he left in the floor. His broad granite chest was smooth and polished, as were the front of his legs and his forehead, all portions that had previously been part of the floor surface. His rounded sides and back were raw jagged rock. His eyes were tiny black specks set deep into craters below his flat forehead.<br /><br />“Sorry Bob. I was just enjoying the ceiling for a moment.” He pointed upward with his arm of granite, which made a squeaking and grinding noise, like beach pebbles squeezed together in a child’s palm. “I don’t get the allegory there.”<br /><br />“Oh geez Eddie.”<br /><br />“I'm serious Bob. Look at the lower left part of the triptych. Everybody’s hanging out in paradise, and there’s that dragon peeking out from behind a bush bearing an absurd medley of fruit.” Eddie put his granite hand to his brow. “I mean, holy crap, what kind of bush produces apples, berries, bananas, and scrolls tied up with ribbon?”<br /><br />“Dude,"said Bob, "let it go.”<br /><br />Eddie persisted in his analysis of the artwork. “Then on the lower right," he said, "there’s a battle. The bush is dead and the fruit are rotting, and the dragon is kicking butt, slaying soldiers like flies – what with the flames and the pointy tail and all. And finally at the top, some naked guy with a helmet and a sword has the dragon on a leash, and there are little bitty bushes growing everywhere.”<br /><br />“Dammit,” said Bob, his massive shoulders sagging in frustration.<br /><br />“How’s a naked guy gonna capture a dragon anyway," asked Eddie. "What’s he gonna do with it now? And even if he could . . . Ow!”<br /><br />A shard of granite skittered across the floor. Bob was relieved to find from his backhand swipe to Eddie’s head that marble was the stronger of the two stones. <br /><br />“Oh, man.” Eddie rubbed the jagged notch over his left eye. “Look what you’ve done. Now I’m all lopsided.”<br /><br />“You were never very well balanced to begin with.”<br /><br />Eddie’s beady eyes glistened as he moved with sad grinding footsteps to retrieve the bit of granite skull. Bob could be so snippy now and then. He slipped the shard back in its place above his eye, where it fit like a piece in a jigsaw puzzle. Then he walked in grumpy silence to the stairs. Bob followed behind, rolling his pink marble eyes skyward in their pink marble sockets. <br /><br />It’s going to be tough to make up for this one, he thought. <br /><br />The shard shifted a bit as Eddie started down the steps. He held it tight with a thick stony finger to keep the piece from falling off during his descent. He didn’t really care about the damage that much, but he wanted to make a show of how absurd Bob’s thoughtless swipe had made him feel.<br /><br />They trudged down the steps for a while in bitter silence.<br /><br />Halfway down, Bob said, “Look Eddie.”<br /><br />Eddie stopped, turned around and sighed. “Yes Bob?” <br /><br />“No I don’t mean ‘Look Eddie.’” Bob thrust his arm toward the field. "I mean look over there."<br /><br />Eddie craned his granite neck to see where Bob was pointing. The man and the woman were nearing the hedge in the distance.<br /><br />“Oh. Yes, of course.”<br /><br />Eddie swung around and continued to the bottom stair at the edge of the field and waited. Bob joined him and they stood side by side for a moment.<br /><br />“Look Eddie.”<br /><br />“I’m on it Bob,” Eddie snapped as he prepared to step onto the grass.<br /><br />“No I mean - look Eddie, I’m sorry.”<br /><br />“I’m sure you are,” said Eddie.<br /><br />“It’s just . . . ” said Bob. <br /><br />Eddie swung around to glare at his marble companion. The step was small and there was hardly enough space for them to stand face to face. <br /><br />After a few moments searching for the right words, Bob gave up. “Forget it Eddie,” he said. <br /><br />“It’s not that simple Bob.”<br /><br />Eddie stepped backward onto the grass and dissolved into a pile of granite pebbles. First one, then another of the pebbles skittered off the pile and bounced back up the steps. Soon a stream of granite pebbles flowed up to the temple atop the acropolis. The only sign of Eddie was a slight lump in the ground that scooted across the field like a cat under a bed sheet. Bob shook his head. <br /><br />“I’m going to hear about this later,” he said as he followed Eddie’s lead and crumbled into marble pebbles on the grass.<br /></span>
Are you enjoying The Dark Net blognovel?
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://the-dark-net.blogspot.com/2007/08/are-you-enjoying-dark-net-blognovel.html"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUXL31im1cTfpy84xuhSKI6VDhcxn4CRod8GIzJzwtXa9o0YSZ8DfO6RQRDEbDpM5na287h162T7m8LATp4BNX94IAzhr2uV8jUOSIMLcXKiDVhqVFs57bp1iFBzLk9JGQZG_LJA/s200/DarkNetCover21.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093651698060889762" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Then recommend it to a friend (or two or three).<br /><br />Can't stand the story so far?<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Then recommend it to someone you hate!<br /><br />Even people who don't read can join in the fun by downloading the <a href="http://the-dark-net.blogspot.com/2006/11/dark-net-on-itunes.html">Dark Net podcast</a> from iTunes, <a href="http://www.podcastalley.com/podcast_details.php?pod_id=43059">Podcast Alley</a>, or <a href="http://odeo.com/channel/162553/view">Odeo</a>.<br /></span>
Chapter 28. In Country
A tingling numbness started in Max’s his scalp and spread downward to meet up with the fuzzy burn that radiated from the toy car in his hands. Suddenly, both the sensations and the little car were gone. Linda too had disappeared. Otherwise, the room was exactly the same as it had been a moment before.<br /><br />He walked around to the desk chair, slipped the rifle off of his shoulder and sat down. It would take a few moments for Linda to follow him, assuming that she would even end up in the same place. He swung his feet up on the desk.<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet28_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 28 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr>It was possible that the little car had taken her somewhere else, or to a different incarnation of the same place – perhaps a copy of the room without Max in it. <br /><br />A moan from the other side of the desk confirmed she had made it through. She called his name in a trembling voice.<br /><br />“I’m here,” he replied without rising from his seat. Assuming that the beetle affected her in the same way that it affected him, she should be fine soon. Everything had at least started according to plan.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />“That was freaky,” said Linda, apparently still on the floor. “Like wrestling with a paint mixer.”<br /><br />Max stood up and leaned over the desk to see her sitting cross-legged on the floor, her hair mussed but otherwise looking well enough. <br /><br />“It feels more like an electric shock to me.”<br /><br />“I guess,” she said as she massaged one of her hands. “I’ve never been shocked. Not with an electric current anyway.”<br /><br />Linda grasped the edge of the desk and lifted herself up. <br /><br />“What now?”<br /><br />“I guess," said Max, "we do what I did last time.”<br /><br />He thought back to the first Beetle episode, trying to recall each of the steps he had gone through before.<br /><br />“Exit environment,” he called. The room transformed into the cluttered lab. He held out his hand. “Come on.”<br /><br />He led Linda to the heavy metal door that opened from the lab to the outer office. The scene outside was familiar; Stephen’s desk, the gray waste basket, the cinder block walls covered in glossy gray paint. There was a subtle shimmer to the room and the items in it, as if at any moment they could suddenly change into something else. He kicked the trashcan. It tumbled over with a clang that was very much, but not quite, like the sound he would have expected. <br /><br />The route to the exit that opened on the darkened parking lot was shorter than he remembered, and when they stepped into the night, his was the only car in the lot. It was parked under the bright spot of a street lamp.<br /><br />He grasped the handle. A muted click and a beep indicated that it recognized his touch and that the doors had unlocked. Max nodded to Linda. She walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. <br /><br />He handed his rifle to her as he settled into the driver’s seat. The seatbelt secured itself across his lap and over his shoulder as the engine purred to life. <br /><br />“Home please,” he ordered the auto-chauffeur program. The car glided out of the parking space toward the street.<br /><br />“Nice car,” said Linda, waving her hand at the dashboard.<br /><br />“I guess, for an econo-box. I don’t really keep it this clean.”<br /><br />Linda nodded soberly. “A little light on the details?”<br /><br />“So it seems.”<br /><br />The streets of the campus were uncharacteristically empty, and the route felt to Max to be distinctly abbreviated. He realized that enough details were missing from the road and landscape that he might have had a tough time finding his way home, if it weren’t for the automated guidance. Clearly, whoever had programmed the environment had left the reality turned down a bit too low. That must have been what made the trip home feel so odd the last time he’d been here, although it had been good enough that it hadn’t registered as anything more than mild disorientation at the time.<br /><br />His car pulled up in front of the awning that sheltered the steps leading into his apartment. They stepped out and Max led Linda up the stairs. He stopped and turned to watch his car park itself in his reserved space. As at work, the lot was empty save his lone car. It was an absurd omission, considering that nearly all the residents should surely have been home in the evening. <br /><br />They made their way up the steps to the second floor landing. Max turned the key in the lock, pushed open the door with the rifle-butt and found the apartment in the exact condition he remembered from the day of his abduction. The furniture and laundry piles, the television and his laptop, everything was just as before. A prickly cold chill swept over him as he eyed the floral print sofa and the princess phone on the floor in front of it.<br /><br />“Are you OK?” Linda asked. <br /><br />“Sure,” said Max. “I’m fine.”<br /><br />“You look pale.”<br /><br />He steadied his rifle and turned to peer into the kitchen. The oven was closed, but lacking the crisscrossing layers of duct tape he’d used to seal it during his weeks of seclusion.<br /><br />“It’s just that this part was a bit rough the last go ‘round.” <br /><br />Linda moved in close behind him and put a hand on his arm. “Can you handle it?”<br /><br />“I think so.” He noted, as much to assure himself as anything, that Spencer and Perske weren’t likely to be expecting them, and would not have sent the abductors that assaulted him the last time he was in his virtual apartment. <br /><br />Linda walked around him into the kitchen. She braced her rifle against her hip, pointing it at the oven door.<br /><br />“So,” she said, “this is the way in.”<br /><br />Max nodded.<br /><br />“What are we waiting for?”<br /><br />“I’m ready if you are.”<br /><br />She lifted the pendant off her chest and pressed it against her lips, like an athlete kissing a crucifix before a match.<br /><br />“All set.”<br /><br />Max stepped in front of her and grasped the oven door handle. He took a deep breath and pulled, letting the door drop. It bounced briefly as it revealed the gaping maw of darkness. His heart raced. The trip hadn’t really been so bad the last time, but he hadn’t had a choice either. It was one thing to be shoved into the void screaming and struggling, and another to dive in of his own volition.<br /><br />He rocked back on his heals.<br /><br />“You know Linda, you don’t have to go.”<br /><br />She tapped the pendant.<br /><br />“I’ve got this.”<br /><br />Max shrugged. “Well, just give it to me. I’ll take care of it.”<br /><br />“You're sweet,” she said, brushing his cheek with the back of her hand. “But I’m going. If you like, I’ll go alone and you can stay behind.”<br /><br />Max shook his head. That wouldn’t work.<br /><br />“Alright then,” she said, “it’s settled. Now, who first?”<br /><br />“Me, I suppose.” He knelt in front of the open oven and braced himself on the door. He stuck his head and shoulders into the pitch black darkness, careful to guide the rifle in alongside. The silence was deafening. A lump rose in his throat. He swallowed hard, pushed against the kitchen floor, and inched his torso through the gap. Only the pressure of his free hand against the oven wall stopped him from tumbling in. He took a deep breath of the emptiness, leaned forward, and slipped into the void.<br /><br />Max could see nothing at all. The darkness was so complete that he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or shut. He blinked deliberately, but detected no change. <br /><br />He extended his arm, searching for any point of reference. He reached, and reached, and reached. There seemed no limit to how far his arm could stretch. It was as if he were reaching out to the whole dark world {{Pause=0.25}} – to the great, empty universe. He pointed his toes and his legs too stretched out forever. His entire body was expanding, until it felt as though the tip of his nose was miles from the back of his head. <br /><br />He tried to make a fist. He could feel that the muscles were willing, but the response was incredibly slow in coming, as if his nerve impulses were ripples traveling through molasses. His breathing slowed in his enormous lungs, his swelling heart thudded ever more ponderously with every beat. <br /><br />He wondered, with thoughts that were as slow and deliberate as his pulse, if he would eventually dissolve into the cosmos, like a smoke ring blown into the air, expanding and fading to a shadow, then to only a memory of the ring that it once was.<br /><br />He hovered for a time in the void like a cloud in a pitch-black night. <br /><br />The expansion reversed itself. It was a gradual collapse at first, almost undetectable. His extremities began to pull back from the endless expanse. As they did, he could feel his body regaining its substance. His breathing and pulse increased. The contraction steadily accelerated until he was not simply solidifying, but imploding. He bellowed soundlessly. Would it stop? Would he be restored to his original form, or crushed, like a dying star collapsing into a black hole?<br /><br />The contraction sped still further until there was a sudden snap, like the release of a rubber band. He was lying face down, with his nose crushed against a cold, hard floor. Max flopped onto his back gasping and struggling to regain his bearings. <br /><br />He was back on the acropolis where Spencer and his goons had met him and dragged him down to see Betty’s mangled form.<br /><br />He lifted himself onto his elbows, still panting and shaky. Linda hadn’t arrived yet. Max rocked forward and climbed to his feet. He scanned the horizon beyond the soaring marble columns and wandered a half dozen yards across the marble floor to the steps that led down to the field with its manicured hedgerow. <br /><br />He surveyed the town, paused for a moment, then dropped to the floor onto his belly. He reached forward, hooked his fingers on the edge of the top step, and pulled himself along the smooth stone until he could just peek over. There was motion on the streets beyond the field. Dozens of people meandered about like ants living in a colony of marble houses and cobblestone streets. Some disappeared into the white stone buildings while others emerged. They were walking, jogging, and riding bicycles. Groups gathered here and there, perhaps to chat under the clear blue sky.<br /><br />The town had grown since the last time Max had visited the place, and a network of roads spread cobbled fingers off to the horizon. At the town’s farthest reaches, the structures had a hazy, glittery quality to them. <br /><br />There was a sudden pop and a whoosh of air. Max ducked instinctively and hid his head under his arm. A tense moment of anticipation followed, but there were no rough hands under his armpits, and no squeaky, fat man voice welcoming him to Wonderland.<br /><br />He rolled onto his side and saw Linda sprawled on the floor, just as he had been when he first arrived. She stayed perfectly still for several seconds, then her chest heaved with a deep breath. She turned her head and laid her cheek on the floor. Her hair spilled across her face, obscuring her eyes.<br /><br />“Linda?” said Max.<br /><br />She nodded almost imperceptibly. Max squirmed around on the floor and scrambled to her on his belly, staying low to keep out of sight of the people milling about below. He reached out to her shoulder, but stopped short of touching her. Instead, he crossed his arms on the ground and rested his head on his elbow to wait for her to recover.<br /><br />“That was,” Linda croaked. She cleared her throat. “That was wild.”<br /><br />She slid her hand to her face and pushed her hair aside. <br /><br />“Do you think that’s what email goes through when you hit send?” She let her hair drop back over her eyes and spread her arms and legs across the floor. <br /><br />She pulled her limbs in tight and lifted her chest off the floor. <br /><br />Max inched closer and placed a hand firmly on her back. “Stay down.” <br /><br />“Why? What’s the matter?” <br /><br />He crawled back across the floor to the top of the steps, beckoned to her with a flick of his wrist and whispered, “Come here.”<br /><br />“What?”<br /><br />“Come here,” he said more loudly.<br /><br />Linda started to rise to her feet.<br /><br />“Stay down,” Max hissed, and she dropped back to her hands and knees. Linda set off crawling across the floor.<br /><br />“OK, cowboy,” she said when she was finally beside him. “What’s up?”<br /><br />Max pointed to the city.<br /><br />“Wow, busy place,” said Linda. “Who are those folks?”<br /><br />“I have no idea. They weren’t here last time.”<br /><br />“They don’t look very dangerous," said Linda. "In fact, the whole thing seems kind of Utopian”<br /><br />Max agreed with Linda’s assessment. Compared to the grimy Freedom Club compound, this place was paradise, or so it seemed from a distance. <br /><br />“Too bad we’re going to have to make such a mess of it,” she said. “What now?”<br /><br />Max shrugged. “I’m not sure. We can wait for Spencer to find us, which I’m sure he will, eventually.”<br /><br />“Or we can go find them. Either way, the end result is the same.” She pointed toward the amphitheater in the center of town. “That’s where you last saw the boy.”<br /><br />Max nodded.<br /><br />“We should get as close to him as possible,” she said, touching the pendant on her neck. “Any suggestion about how we deal with them?”<br /><br />Max sat up and swung his feet over the top step. “Nope.”<br /><br />“OK then. I guess there’s no point in hiding up here." She stood, slipped her rifle off her shoulder, and checked its settings. "I'm ready. Let’s go.”<br /><br />“They’re growing, you know,” he said.<br /><br />Linda looked out at the town. “What do you mean? They're getting larger?”<br /><br />“No, they’re building up.”<br /><br />The indistinct look of the far edges of the town, Max guessed, resulted from the fact that those structures were actively under construction. It reminded him of an image he’d once seen of bacteria in a Petri dish. Instead of microbes and slime on gelatin, housing construction was creeping along the fractal fingers of roadways radiating out from the amphitheater at the center.<br /><br />“That’s not good,” said Linda. “I’m not sure what it means, but it can’t be good.”<br /><br />She set off down the stairs. Max followed. <br /><br />“I imagine not,” he said.<br /><br />***<br /> <br />All was still atop the acropolis. Only a subtle grinding under the polished stone disturbed the silence – until a pillar, in the back corner farthest from the stairs, erupted with a thunderous sneeze. <br /> <br />"Bless you," said a gravelly voice from beneath the floor.<br /><br />"Shut up Eddie," the pillar replied.<br /></span>
Chapter 27. Zero Day
Joel was recovering well after two days. Both his eyes were still blackened from the blow to his face, but Max had restrained himself enough that he hadn’t actually broken Joel’s nose after all. The lunatic had Linda to thank for the last minute mercy. If she hadn’t asked Max to go easy, Joel would have been in much worse shape. Nevertheless, he wore his protective foil cap down low on his brow and kept his distance as Linda and Dr. Murray prepared Max for the trip back to Perske’s corner of the dark net.<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet27_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 27 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr>Max stretched out in the lounge chair and Linda placed a pair of headphones over his ears. She swung around a set of goggles mounted at the end of a jointed boom, and positioned them in front of his face. The contraption looked like it had been kluged together with parts scavenged from a dental drill, an optometrist’s testing station, and the guts of a microwave oven.<br /><br />“If that thing slips,” said Max, “you’ll crush me.”<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Linda winked at him and continued about her business, twisting the positioning knobs and lining up the eyepieces. She beckoned Joel to help her. He approached hesitantly, careful to keep Linda between himself and Max.<br /><br />“Can you see the test pattern?”<br /><br />Max focused on the image in the lenses.<br /><br />“Yep, there are the cross hairs. The focus looks about right.” <br /><br />“And you can still hear me?”<br /><br />He nodded.<br /><br />“It’s a little muffled.”<br /><br />When everything was set, she stepped back to survey the set up, and then climbed into the twin lounge chair nearby.<br /><br />“Wait,” said Max, “I thought I was going with Joel.”<br /><br />“No, it’ll just be you and Linda,” said Dr. Murray as he began arranging Linda’s equipment. “May Ted guide and protect the both of you.” <br /><br />Max lifted the headphones off of his ears.<br /><br />“I’d really prefer it if he came along instead.”<br /><br />“You and Linda will make a more cohesive team,” said Dr. Murray. “He’s going to work on finding a vulnerability for us to get you in. That’s really more in keeping with his talents.”<br /><br />“We’ve worked things out haven’t we Joel? Come on, it’ll be fun” <br /><br />Joel shook his head in a silent but vigorous negative reply before busying himself at the keyboard and monitor across the room.<br /><br />Max pushed the goggles to the side. <br /><br />“What’s the matter?” Linda asked. “Don’t you trust me? Or is it because I’m a girl?”<br /><br />“No, it’s not that.”<br /><br />“I’m a much better shot that Joel. Much better than you too, as I’ve heard.”<br /><br />Max stammered, “This isn’t the way I thought it would go down.”<br /><br />“What did you have in mind?”<br /><br />“I don’t know. It’s just not what I expected. That’s all.”<br /><br />After a moment, he pulled his goggles back in place.<br /><br />“I’ll try to adapt.”<br /><br />Joel made himself small at the terminal. Linda fiddled needlessly with the equipment mounted to her lounge chair. <br /><br />Dr. Murray broke the awkward silence by describing the zero day exploit. Joel, he explained, was scanning the recent security bulletins for high priority patches and the flaws that they addressed. The inevitable delay between the announcement of a vulnerability and the installation of patches by sysadmins, he said, means that there is almost always a window of opportunity for a fast moving hacker to take advantage of a security flaw. Places like the University, where staff were likely to be less attentive on the weekends, are particularly vulnerable to flaws announced in bulletins released late in the day, at the end of the week, and over holiday breaks.<br /><br />“In the summer,” said Murray, “they might as well hand us the keys during happy hour on basically any Thursday or Friday you like, Ted willing.” He checked his watch. “It’s five thirty Joel. Anything promising?”<br /><br />“There are a few possibilities,” Joel mumbled.<br /><br />“Lets get started,” said Linda. “We’ll hang out on the inside until you find an exploit.”<br /><br />Dr. Murray placed a hand on each of their shoulders and blessed them and their mission in Ted’s name. He stepped back, flicked the switches on a pair of small vacuum pumps resting by each of their chairs, then opened the valve at the top of an insulated liquid nitrogen canister. Max recognized the hum of a large power supply, but the sound of a rustling wind quickly drowned it out. <br /><br />He found himself standing at the prow of a large boat, with the deck rocking lazily under his feat and the distant horizon rising and falling with the rhythm of the long, low swells.<br /><br />Linda squatted nearby, rummaging through an equipment locker.<br /><br />“What are we doing here?” he asked.<br /><br />“Just waiting,” said Linda. She lifted a rifle from the locker and tossed it to him, then pulled out a weapons belt like the one Joel had demonstrated. “You said something the other day about going on a cruise. I thought that this was the least we could do.”<br /><br />She strapped the belt around her waist before reaching in the locker for another and handing it to Max. She tapped her belt’s root kit button and faded to a vague outline. Although he could still make her out as a translucent distortion against the background, she was nearly invisible other than a ripple that became more distinct when she moved. She reappeared after a few seconds with her hand in the act of falling away from the belt, where she had apparently toggled the setting back off.<br /><br />“Try yours.”<br /><br />He located the button on his belt and pushed it. Although he felt no change, and his extremities looked to him to be as visible as ever, Linda nodded in approval.<br /><br />He clicked the button again.<br /><br />“Excellent,” she said. “Should we go over the plan again?”<br /><br />Max shrugged. “It seems simple enough. I show you the way in and cover you if we get in a pinch. Once we get close to Perske and the Jasons, you’ll take care of the rest. Then it’s back out in a hurry.” <br /><br />He leaned over and peered into the empty locker. “Where’s that little fire cracker Joel showed me?”<br /><br />Linda pulled at the collar of her plain white t-shirt to reveal the pendant on a chain around her neck.<br /><br />“Do I get one?”<br /><br />“No,” said Linda. “If we get close enough to set it off, we won’t have time for a second try. One’s enough.”<br /><br />“Sounds exciting," said Max. "Incidentally, thanks to Joel’s little demo session, I know how to bail out in an emergency. What about your escape plan?”<br /><br />Linda shook her head. “I get out the same way we go in, or I don’t get out. At least not in the same shape I’m in now.”<br /><br />“What happens if you don’t make it?”<br /><br />“Based on what we’ve seen in the past, short term dementia is the best possible outcome.”<br /><br />“Really?" said Max. "So we’re not the first from the Freedom Club to give it a shot?”<br /><br /> “We haven’t sent many in, but there have been a few, and it’s never turned out well.” She rested her rifle barrel against the railing. “Joel was probably the luckiest. He was catatonic for a few days. The first week was touch-and-go; teaching him to swallow, then to chew. He’s not what you’d call normal yet, but at least he can wipe himself.”<br /><br />Max whistled softly. Joel’s aluminum foil cap didn’t seem so outrageous in light of what he must have been through.<br /><br />“It’s a risk you’re still willing to take?” he asked.<br /><br />Linda slung her rifle on her back and tightened her belt, but said nothing.<br /><br />“Alright then,” said Max, “I guess we’ll have to make sure everything goes off as planned.”<br /><br />She pointed at a dark smudge on the horizon beyond the ship’s bow.<br /><br />“It looks like they found us a way in.”<br /><br />Max shouldered his rifle as the smudge spread across the sky like ink soaking into a cloth. When all the sky was at last dark, the deck of the ship bucked, sending Max and Linda stumbling toward the railing. He extended his arm to steady himself and found his hand resting on a warm, smooth surface. <br /><br />It was the desk in his home environment on the University system. Everything was in its place, just as he remembered it. After weeks of trauma and struggle to adapt to the primitive conditions of the Freedom Club, it was a comfort to find himself in a place so familiar, so perfectly tailored for his needs.<br /><br />Linda studied the walnut desk, the ceiling fan and the ancient filing cabinet.<br /><br />“Welcome home Sam Spade.” She lifted the telephone receiver and tested its weight. “Where to now?”<br /><br />Max scratched his chin. “I guess I need to find the message from Perske with the attachment she sent me the last time.”<br /><br />He opened the filing cabinet drawer that held his email and flipped through a few of the recent files.<br /><br />“I never had a very good organizational system. Hold on a moment. It’s better if I have Betty handle it.”<br /><br />“Who?” said Linda.<br /><br />“You’ll see.”<br /><br />Max called for his virtual assistant. The door on the wall across from his desk opened immediately and Betty entered. She was dressed in her usual mob moll garb with the diving cleavage, heavy black high heels and tight skirt that stopped just above her knees.<br /><br />“Betty, could you find the last message that I opened from Dr. Perske? The one with the attachment please.”<br /><br />She sauntered to the cabinet and reached into the drawer to select a sheet of paper and the box that went with it. She handed them both to Max, perched herself on the edge of the desk, and pulled a nail file from her frilly sleeve.<br /><br />“Thank you Betty. That will be all for now.”<br /><br />“Interesting,” said Linda as Betty slipped off the desk and exited. <br /><br />“Isn’t she though?”<br /><br />He set the email on his desk and lifted the toy car out of the box.<br /><br />“This might be a tad disturbing, but it’s how we get in, I think.” He flipped the car over and found the small switch on the bottom that set the toy lights blinking and the horn beeping. “Just follow my lead and you should be fine.”<br /><br />He turned the car around and stared into the stroboscopic headlights. The fuzzy caterpillar sensation erupted in his forearm. The room began to spin. He felt his eyes roll upward.<br /><br />Here we go again, thought Max.<br /></span>
Chapter 26. Target Practice
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://the-dark-net.blogspot.com/2007/09/target-practice-widget-game.html"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjltQnQ-ZnDiDRKrFBjdgkC6hhWyH6AZC46CQpVLiTaxHQicki76_Gs99emakQr_K_Ss4NbB7UWCvPO-w4CYOGp2FBdA144tNifBAIOTjwxIkPSVDvSC2YEWHZTNhxTQw8y8gelqw/s200/DarkNetGame2.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114517958379845426" /></a><hr><span style="font-style:italic;">Read about the</span> <a href="http://the-dark-net.blogspot.com/2007/09/target-practice-widget-game.html">Dark Net Target Practice game</a><span style="font-style:italic;"> inspired by this chapter.</span><hr><br />At first glance, the rolling green hills, brilliant blue sky and puffy clouds looked reasonably convincing. But the illusion didn’t hold up well under close scrutiny. Everything had the shoddy artificialness of a low budget virtual environment, like an old fashioned sound stage in some epic film from the glory days of Technicolor Hollywood. Max imagined if he were to climb the nearest hill, he would find that the distant horizon where the earth met the sky was nothing more than paint on a rippling canvas backdrop.<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet26_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 26 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr>The half dozen creatures frolicking on the artificial turf a few dozen yards away weren’t rendered any better. There was a cat that was apparently made of scraps of paper swept up from the floor of an artist’s studio, a cartoonish dog walking on his hind legs and wearing a red cape, a bearded man with an Elizabethan collar that Max assumed was supposed to evoke Shakespeare, a levitating UFO about the size of a basketball, and a claymation Albert Einstein. The final creature was the most animated of the bunch – it was a twisting, cavorting, spastic paperclip with googly eyes that Max recognized as the annoying office assistant from some ancient word processor program.<br /><br />“Ready for target practice?” Joel asked as he hefted a rifle to his shoulder and took a bead on the dancing paperclip flitting through a patch of yellow flowers. He squeezed the trigger and fired off a shot that froze the creature in mid frolic.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />“That just hangs the process,” said Joel. He tilted the rifle and twisted a knob on the stock. “You can adjust how long you want it to halt with this. Watch him. He’ll get going again in a second.” <br /><br />After a few moments, the frozen paperclip jerked back into motion just as Joel had predicted.<br /><br />He flipped the rifle over and pointed to a switch just in front of the trigger guard. “This lets you set it to corrupt the bugger all together. Wanna try it?”<br /><br />Max shook his head. “After you.”<br /><br />Joel aimed again and shouted, “Hey dude, it looks like I’m writing an obituary.”<br /><br />The paperclip bounced spastically. “Would you like help?” it screeched.<br /><br />“I think I know how to compose this one.” <br /><br />Joel fired a shot. The grinning paperclip melted into a blob of gray goo that seeped into the grass.<br /><br />Joel thrust the weapon into Max’s hands. <br /><br />“Give it a go. It’s fun.”<br /><br />The faux wood stock was warm and smooth. The rifle had a comfortable heft.<br /><br />Max set the switch back to the pause position and pointed the gun up to the sky at a cloud that was unconvincingly drifting by. The butt bucked lightly against his shoulder and a jagged portion of the cloud stopped in its place, while the remainder continued on its way. He lowered the rifle toward the ground and pulled the trigger again. A spot on the shimmering grass dimmed a bit. <br /><br />Finally, he aimed at the claymation Einstein. The first shot went wide right, and the second was too low. The third was dead on, freezing Einstein in place.<br /><br />“If we’re going in there armed with these,” he said, “I hope you’re not counting on my marksmanship.”<br /><br />Max turned as he spoke, and Joel leapt back clumsily stumbling on his robes.<br /><br />“Watch it,” he squeaked. “Don’t point that at me.”<br /><br />Max lowered the muzzle.<br /><br />“Excuse me. Is it dangerous to humans?”<br /><br />“Indeedy,” said Joel. “They tried it on me once. It was only set on pause of course. Have you ever been wrapped in a wet rubber sheet?”<br /><br />Max admitted that it was not a pleasure he had ever experienced.<br /><br />“You can imagine what it feels like. Anyway, we’re not relying on your aim. Linda’s a crack shot. She’s the one who popped me. I can tell you, I wasn’t standing still for it. She hit me at fifty meters and a full run.”<br /><br />The image brought an involuntary smile to Max’s face.<br /><br />“Besides,” said Joel, “you don’t have to aim very well with these.”<br /><br />He lifted a portion of his robe to reveal a belt with a collection of canisters hanging from it. One was marked with the red letters FB, another bore the marking DOS, a third was labeled ZB, and the final canister read Ctrl-Alt-Del.<br /><br />“This,” said Joel as he removed the first canister from his belt, “is a fork bomb. I like to call it a wabbit, ‘cause it breeds processes like mad.”<br /><br />He pulled a tab at the top of the canister and heaved it into the field near the scrap-paper cat. After a moment, a series of translucent blobs about the size of softballs erupted from the canister and rolled in lazy trajectories on the grass. Several of them stuck to the cat, which was soon enveloped in a mound of the jelly blobs.<br /><br />“The zip bomb,” he said as he launched a second canister into the midst of the animated characters, “hogs memory and slows all local processes to a crawl.”<br /><br />The canister went off with a muted thud. The walking dog and the Elizabethan poet, although still animated, moved with fits and starts, like characters in a movie recorded on a scratched DVD.<br /><br />“This one,” said Joel holding out the DOS labeled can, “is a Denial of Service beacon. It won’t work here because this system is isolated. There has to be at least some network connection for it to have any effect. It’s handy if you need to block a portal and shut off network traffic for a while.”<br /><br />He replaced the beacon and pointed to the final canister.<br /><br />"Control-Alt-Delete grenade - it's old fashioned, but it'll do the trick if you need to stop a lot of local processes in a hurry. I'm sure you can figure that one out on your own." <br /><br />Max nodded. “That’s quite an arsenal. It looks like you’re all set to make real nuisances of yourselves. What do you need me for?”<br /><br />Joel cinched the belt tighter around his waist. “Someone has to show us the way around. You’re the only person who’s ever been in and made it back out intact. Don’t get me wrong. Finding your way in is easy enough. It’s taking care of business and getting back out that’s tough, at least with all your wits about you.”<br /><br />From what Max knew of Joel, it seemed he had little to fear when it came to losing his wits.<br /><br />“Is there anything else?”<br /><br />Joel tapped the belt at his waist and pointed toward a small red button.<br /><br />“This enables a root kit. It’ll give you some stealthiness in most systems, but it’s not fool proof, just helpful. And then there’s this.”<br /><br />He lifted a pendant on a chain around his neck. It was a black fob about the size of a peach pit and similar in shape. <br /><br />“It’ll compromise just about any program in range, as well as mangle data and corrupt executable code. You just activate it like this.” He jerked the pendant off the chain and held it between his thumb and index finger. It glowed a menacing red and flashed, slowly at first and then gradually faster.<br /><br />“Count to three and chuck it.”<br /><br />He lobbed the pendant. It exploded with a brilliant flash, instantly incinerating the cluster of animated creatures and leaving a charred scar on the ground. At the point where the jewel had detonated, a small fireball hovered like a tiny sun. Max grimaced at the destruction and held up a hand to shield his eyes from the brilliance of the fireball that pulsed and swelled.<br /><br />A circle of seared grass slowly expanded as shining blades curled, blackened and erupted in smoke like hair in a match flame. Max and Joel stepped backward in response to the increasing heat.<br /><br />“Now what?” shouted Max through his clenched teeth.<br /><br />“I’m going to run like hell,” said Joel, “but you can take a shortcut.”<br /><br />“What?”<br /><br />Joel reached out and grasped Max with one hand on each shoulder. He simultaneously pulled down and lunged forward, slamming his forehead into Max’s face. The grinding crunch of his breaking nose sent Max reeling back onto the ground. <br /><br />Over the roar in his ears that came from a combination of the flaming fireball and the agony in his face, Max heard Joel holler, “Now we’re even. See you back at camp.”<br /><br />***<br /> <br />Max returned to consciousness with a start. The pain was gone, but the throbbing memory of it was still vivid. He whipped his head around in search of Joel, but only the empty lounge chair stood where the bastard had been hooked up to the Freedom Club’s crude virtual environment interface.<br /><br />He lurched forward and tried to stand. A firm but gentle pressure pulled him down from behind.<br /><br />“Your OK. Take it easy.”<br /><br />It was Linda’s voice.<br /><br />“My god,” Max choked. “He broke my nose.”<br /><br />“I know. He told me.”<br /><br />Linda stepped in front of his chair, still holding him with one outstretched hand.<br /><br />“He wasn’t supposed to do it that way. But he made the point.”<br /><br />“What the fuck point was that?”<br /><br />“Shush, you’re alright now,” she said. “The point is that you can get out at any time, provided something triggers a seizure. Pain is the quickest way.”<br /><br />Max’s chest heaved. He touched his nose gingerly. It was intact and painless.<br /><br />“How convenient,” he said, “all I need is for Joel to assault me and I’m out.”<br /><br />Linda shook her head. “No, anything painful enough will do. I suggested breaking your arm. Dr. Murray thinks a dislocated finger would do it. Joel did this on his own.”<br /><br />“I’m gonna kick his ass.”<br /><br />“Maybe you should,” Linda said. “But you might want to change your pants first.”<br /><br />Max looked at the wet spot that extended from his crotch and down his right thigh.<br /><br />“I don’t want anything to do with you lunatics. I thought Joel was the only madman. You’re all crazy.”<br /><br />“It’s up to you," said Linda, "although I don’t know where you’re going to go. They’d find you if you set foot anywhere near your apartment.”<br /><br />“Somewhere else then.”<br /><br />“OK,” said Linda, “any ideas?”<br /><br />“I don’t know,” he snarled, “anywhere. Maybe a cruise. I’ve always wanted to go on a cruise.”<br /><br />Linda shrugged. “It’ll cost you. And even if you have money, you remember what happened when you bought the soda back at the fuel station.”<br /><br />Max grumbled wordlessly.<br /><br />“I’ll set you up with supplies, if you want to take off on your own. But the minute you resurface, you’ll be in trouble. The way I see it, you can help us take them down, in which case you’re clear and we’re on our way to liberating everyone else.”<br /><br />Max wanted to be angry, but her calm tone dampened his fury. <br /><br />“So you’re out to destroy them and the whole Web? That’s a tough job.”<br /><br />She walked over to Joel’s lounge chair and sat on the arm.<br /><br />“Constant struggle. That’s what revolutions are all about.”<br /><br />“If you succeed,” said Max, “then what?”<br /><br />“We put the skills we’re learning to the test. Live like we’re living now, the way nature intended.”<br /><br />“Like cave men?”<br /><br />“Like natives. Humans. Not slaves to the machine they call the Internet. You can help us, or you can go your own way. I’d prefer it,” she said softly, “if you helped.”<br /><br />Max slipped off the chair and stood. He pinched the leg of his pants and pulled the damp cloth away from his thigh.<br /><br />“When are you planning to go in?”<br /><br />“Soon. Probably on a weekend. We’re waiting for a zero-day vulnerability we can exploit.”<br /><br />Max shook his head. The term was lost on him.<br /><br />“Think about what you want to do and I’ll explain it to you if you decide to join us.”<br /><br />“First,” said Max, “I’m going to find Joel and exploit his vulnerability for a while. Then I’ll let you know.”<br /><br />“Good enough.” Linda led the way to the door that opened onto the stairs to the landing at the front of the farmhouse.<br /><br />“After you change,” she said when Max was halfway down the steps, “you might try looking for Joel in the north barn. That’s where he hides when he knows he’s in trouble.”<br /><br />Max rubbed the bridge of his nose.<br /><br />“Thanks,” he said as he reached for the doorknob. “I’ll change after I check out the barn. No point in washing up now just to have to clean his blood off later.”<br /><br />“Max, don’t be too rough on him.”<br /><br />“Goodnight Linda.”<br /><br />He walked across the porch, flexed his hand, and imagined how good it was going to feel breaking Joel’s nose for real.<br /></span>
Chapter 25. Weatherman
The hottest part of the day was past, but the evening breeze that alternately lifted the plain white curtains and pressed them flat against the screens in Linda’s cabin was still too warm to be of any comfort.<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet25_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 25 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr>Max sat on the edge of the small bed, stripped to his underwear and t-shirt, sweating and waiting for the dinner bell. After dinner, he imagined, he would lie here and wait for breakfast. Then lunch, and then dinner again. Eventually he would become nothing more than a great, fat, sweating lump, venturing out only to eat.<br /><br />Joel was right – if you’re going to drop out you have to commit to it. This was about as out as he could get. <br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Although Linda had promised to explain everything to him, the information she’d offered was vague and minimal. She and her compatriots at the Freedom Club, she said, had been keeping an eye on Herman Grunding, as well as Perske and a think tank that Linda called the Jasons. How a bunch of granola munching Luddites in the Pennsylvania Mountains managed that was not something she was willing to go into, just yet anyway. <br /><br />Max had only come to their attention when he’d logged in as Herman and started raising red flags by lumbering around and asking lots of questions that Herman would surely have known the answers to.<br /><br />The door opened and the curtains snapped tight against the screens. Linda stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind her.<br /><br />“Here you are,” she said. “Is everything all right?”<br /><br />“Sure. Just doing my part. Staying low, dropping out.”<br /><br />“Had enough of hornworms?”<br /><br />“Yep,” said Max. “It’s not much of a hobby. The tomatoes are as good as dead anyway. I figure Joel can collect them himself, if he’s hungry.”<br /><br />Linda shrugged and stood quietly for a while, apparently in search of a reply. When she didn’t find one, she made her way to the bathroom. The water ran briefly in the sink, then she stepped out as she dried her hands on the rough hand towel from the hook next to the bathroom mirror.<br /><br />“You know,” said Max, “it’s not as exciting being on the lam as I might have imagined.”<br /><br />“It never is.” She tossed the towel into the bathroom where it landed soundlessly on the tile. “There are,” she said as she crossed the room to sit beside him on the bed, “ways to pass the time.”<br /><br />“Checkers?”<br /><br />She placed her hand lightly on his thigh.<br /><br />“Not board games.”<br /><br />Max blinked. “It’s very hot, you know.”<br /><br />Linda plucked at the leg of his boxers.<br /><br />“It would be cooler without these.”<br /><br />He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.<br /><br />“Thanks, but I don’t think so.”<br /><br />“Don’t you like me?”<br /><br />“It’s not that. I have,” he said slowly, “a problem. It’s the drugs, mostly.”<br /><br />She slid closer to him, pressing her leg against his.<br /><br />“Are you sure? Have you tried?”<br /><br />“Of course,” said Max. He stood and stepped away from the bed.<br /><br />“Would you like to just lie down for a while? Until dinner.”<br /><br />She pulled her shirt over her head, unbuttoned her shorts and pushed them down to the floor, then stretched out naked on the bed. <br /><br />“Please?”<br /><br />Max climbed onto the bed and she snuggled against his side.<br /><br />“I’m sorry – about your problem,” she whispered.<br /><br />“So am I.”<br /><br />He stared at the ceiling as sweat trickled off his brow to the pillow behind his head. When the bell finally rang in the distance he took a shower, dressed in a fresh shirt and overalls, and walked with Linda down to the tent to eat.<br /><br />***<br /> {{Pause=0.5}} <br />“Attention, brothers and sisters,” called a man standing by the fire pit where the Freedom Club members gathered after dinner. He was dressed in robes similar to Joel’s but much cleaner. Even from a distance of twenty feet or more under the dim light of the crackling fire, Max could see that the man had wispy white hair and skin that was dry and loose.<br /><br />Despite his announcement, the chattering of the crowd subsided only slightly. “Your attention please,” he said more forcefully. “I have a few announcements to make before this evening’s workshop.”<br /><br />Linda patted Max’s knee and leaned back to rest her elbows on the blanket she had spread across the grass for the two of them. But for the most part, no one else appeared to pay any mind to the host. <br /><br />“Holy robots,” the man shouted. “People shut up.” The crowd fell silent with the exception of what sounded like a woman softly whimpering. <br /><br />“Thank you friends. The quicker we get started, the quicker we can wrap this up.” <br /><br />He glanced at a single limp sheet of paper in his hand.<br /><br />“First of all, I want to remind you that tomorrow is silent Thursday. Please avoid speaking for any reason other than absolute emergencies. Take time to reflect on your autonomy -- your individuality and separation from society. This is especially important for the new comers.<br /><br />“Secondly, Friday’s workshop will focus on skinning and cleaning of small game. Brothers Alan and Justin will lead the class. Guys,” he said to a pair of young men seated next to the fire, “do you have anything to add to that?”<br /><br />One of the men stood up. Max recognized him with a shuddering start. It was the hoodlum who had stripped the clothes from him in the parking lot outside the café.<br /><br />“Please bring your knife,” said the ruffian, displaying the toothy smile that still haunted Max. “We’ll have a few squirrels and rabbits for those of you who don’t have a chance to trap one of your own, but not enough for everyone. So if you’re relying on us, you might end up just watching this time.”<br /><br />“Thanks Alan,” the host said. <br /><br />“You’re welcome Dr. Murray.”<br /><br />“Third,” the old man continued, “I want to recognize sister Lorraine.”<br /><br />The soft whimpering grew louder at the mention of the woman’s name.<br /><br />“As you all know, her son Richard turned four last month and it was time to place him with a host family. Ted bless him.”<br /><br />The whimper escalated to a muted wail.<br /><br />“Ted teaches us that rebels beget and nurture more rebels. Our precious young revolutionaries are the greatest export that we can send to heal the world.”<br /><br />The wail was broken with racking sobs.<br /><br />“As you all can hear, sister Lorraine is overcome with joy at the prospect of her second son following the first in venturing out to plant the seeds of revolution. I’m sure we’ll learn great things about Richard in the decades to come. Would someone please help Lorraine to her cabin where she can celebrate her son’s transition in privacy for a while? Thank you.<br /><br />“Finally, I want to welcome our guest, Max Caine. Most of you have met him by now. He’s been through a lot, as you all know. He’s staying in cabin twelve for the time being, and Linda has moved temporarily into the big house.<br /><br />“He has walked among the enemy, and returned to tell the tale. He’s the only one we know of to have done so. We have a lot to learn from you, Max, and I hope we can teach you a thing or two as well. You’re welcome and safe here until it’s time to return and take up the battle again.”<br /><br />Max asked Linda in a whisper what the hell the old man was talking about.<br /><br />“He’s being a little dramatic,” she whispered back. <br /><br />“Now, brothers and sisters,” said the old man, “let us recite from the manifesto.”<br /><br />He raised his hands over his head and began a droning speech. Linda and the rest of the Freedom Club members muttered along with him.<br /><br />“The Industrial Revolution and its consequences,” they said in unison, “have been a disaster for the human race. Over socialization leads to low self-esteem, a sense of powerlessness, defeatism, and guilt. Science marches on blindly, without regard to the real welfare of the human race or to any other standard, obedient only to the psychological needs of the scientists and of the government officials and corporation executives. Freedom means having power; not the power to control other people but the power to control the circumstances of one's own life. Industrial-technological society cannot be reformed. We resort to modern technology for only one purpose: to attack the technological system.” <br /><br />“Thanks be to Ted.” The old man said. He let his arms fall to his sides. “Tonight we’re going to focus on the restriction of freedom in modern society. Consider the ways that people have become enslaved by the very technology that is claimed to free them. A supposedly free citizen labors day in and day out to earn the money to buy machines – cars, washing machines, refrigerators – to save, of all things, labor. How absurd it is to work all your life to build machines, and then buy those same machines, only to have them do the things you don’t have time for because you’re building machines. Why be a slave to your car when you can walk? Why sell your freedom for a washing machine when you can buy a basin and some soap for a thousandth the price? Refrigerators? They are no more than tools of the enslaving industrial complex designed to prevent you from producing your own fresh and wholesome food.”<br /><br />He glared at his audience, as if daring anyone to contradict him. <br /><br />“There’s nothing new about this. Absolutely nothing that Bookchin or Proudhon, Tzu or Zeno, or any of countless other anarchists didn’t already know. Despite all their wisdom and insight, however, there is one insidious evil they didn’t see – one that they couldn’t possibly imagine. Since the beginning of recorded history, so-called civilization has been nothing more than an effort by the powerful and rich to harness the strength of your body. But even Whitney, Stevenson, Deere and Ford couldn’t dream of what Gates, Jobs, Anderson, Page and Brin had in store for us. I would gladly turn back the clock to the time when all they could steal was the strength of my right arm. Manual labor is yesterday’s currency. Today’s unit of exchange is the mind. <br /><br />“My friends, when a person boots up a computer, when they turn on their GPS, when they sign into an ATM, they’re not logging into the system, they’re logging out of life. Ask yourself why email and I M are so seductive. Why do technophiles get the shakes when they can’t connect? Why would a person adore their Second Life lover more than their spouse? And why do so many people coddle and refine their avatars more than they play with their children? <br /><br />“It’s because every time you log off, part of you stays behind. They are kidnapping you, thought by thought, experience by experience. The average person used to watch four or more hours of television each day. They said that we were trading our lives and culture for bland mind candy. Now, most workers spend six or more hours a day online, only to go home to hours more time with their interactive entertainment system. At least when we watched TV, the information only flowed one way, only came into our heads. Now it goes the other way. <br /><br />“The evil of television is that it added something to your life that you found addictive. The Internet, video games, and interactive entertainment can’t work unless they take something from you – your input. And when you step away, that stays behind. Your bank account, your emails, your web page, your blog. If I erased all that, the average person would effectively disappear. They’re not addicted to the Internet, they’re incomplete without it.<br /><br />“That’s part of the reason why we’re here – to become whole again. But there’s more to it, as you all know. Otherwise we would be no better than our primitive Amish neighbors. No my friends, that’s not enough. That’s merely selfish. Ted tells us that we have a mission. Technology is evil. Evil is seductive. Someone has to be strong enough to resist the seduction and put an end to it, not just for us but for everyone.”<br /><br />The old man took a step forward and scanned the crowd deliberately.<br /><br />“Are you strong enough to resist? Are you committed enough to fight? Think about it.”<br /><br />He brought his hands together and knit his fingers. “Now gather in your workshop groups and discuss ways that you will resist the insidious, creeping influence of technology and mind control. I want each of you to tell your group at least one thing you’re willing to do. Would you follow the example of our new friend Max and risk your very existence to venture into the lion’s den? Could you walk in Ted’s footsteps and attack the technological backbone of society? Be bold. Be creative.”<br /><br />The crowd shuffled and divided into small clusters. Linda turned on the blanket to join a pair of couples sitting behind her, while Max kneeled up to get a better view of the exercise. Some groups launched into vigorous discussions almost instantly, others talked casually. The bunch near the fire that included the skinners Alan and Justin seemed to Max to be particularly ill at ease, as the two young men dominated the conversation. Although he couldn’t hear everything they said, he made out a few words from the thugs, including suicide vest, improvised explosives, and air burst. Linda’s group focused more on passive resistance and demonstrations.<br /><br />The old man wandered from place to place, asking questions and making suggestions. When he caught Max’s eye, he grinned broadly, marching over and thrusting out his hand. <br /><br />“How are you Mr. Caine?”<br /><br />“You can call me Max.”<br /><br />“Certainly,” said the old man. “My name is Henry. What do you think of all this?”<br /><br />“I think,” said Max, “that you don’t need a weatherman.”<br /><br />“To know which way the wind blows?” said Henry. “Very old school, Max. That’s excellent. I hate to drag you away from all this, but I think we should take a walk. Linda, would you like to join us?”<br /><br />The three of them stood and Henry led them along a path toward the big house with its glowing window eyes.<br /><br />“Linda has told you a little about us, I imagine.”<br /><br />“Not much,” said Max as he strained to make out the dim crease of the path in the darkness. <br /><br />“We’ll fix that.”<br /><br />They climbed the creaky steps of the farmhouse and Henry stopped on the unlit porch. He knocked on the pitch black door. It opened slightly and a beam of light from inside illuminated Henry’s face.<br /><br />“What’s the password?” asked a voice behind the door.<br /><br />“The password, Joel, is ‘let us in.’”<br /><br />“Righty ho.”<br /><br />Henry pushed his way through the doorway with Max and Linda close behind. Max squinted at the relative brightness inside. Despite a dull and worn carpet, and a rustic mantelpiece of stained wood, there was little that resembled the country house that Max had expected. Instead, racks of instrumentation, much like the equipment back at the university lab, lined the walls. In the panel above the fireplace, where a mirror or family portrait had probably once hung, a video panel displayed several news feeds, two in English, one in Chinese, one in Arabic, and one in German.<br /><br />Joel stood next to a rolling stool parked beside a screen with a shot of the gathering outside the dining tent, with the Freedom Club members rendered in the glowing green of a night vision camera.<br /><br />“High tech,” said Max. “Aren’t you worried about Jobs and Gates stealing your souls?”<br /><br />“We’re just stirring up the weather.” Henry smiled and winked. "If you know what I mean."<br /><br />Max had no idea, but it didn't sound good.<br /></span>
Chapter 24. In the Garden
Max squatted among the rows of tomato plants, turning over leaves one by one in search of hornworms. When he plucked them off the plants, they would squirm and twist in a sort of slow motion panic, as peristaltic ripples flowed from one end of their bodies to the other. The largest of the hornworms were about the length and thickness of his pinky. There were plenty of the pests to find munching on the pesticide-free plants in the Freedom Club gardens. After only an hour of searching, he had already collected enough to cover the bottom of the rusty coffee canister resting on the dirt by his knee. They weren’t really worms at all, but a fleshy type of caterpillar with rich, emerald green skin and a menacing though apparently harmless horn at the tail.<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet24_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 24 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr> <br />As a rule, Linda had told him, everyone staying at the Freedom Club compound was assigned chores. Although in Max’s case it wasn’t required, considering the circumstances of his arrival. He did essentially nothing for his first three days in the compound except breathe deeply of the manure scented air, eat mounds of organic food, and wander about observing the rest of the residents hard at work planting, harvesting, and tending to animals. <br /><span class="fullpost"><br />It wasn’t long before boredom and a twinge of guilt at his privileged leisure inspired him to volunteer for work. Lacking any other identifiable skills, he’d been assigned to the vegetable gardens. He’d never had much luck at gardening in the past, but given the choice between working with plants or the commune’s collection of pigs, sheep, and goats, picking vegetables and clearing hornworms off of tomato vines seemed the best option for a soft, son of the suburbs. <br /><br />When Joel first led him out to the garden, Max cringed at the thought of picking hornworms by hand, and gagged when Joel picked a juicy one from a leaf, pinched off its head and tossed the squirming remains into his mouth. <br /><br />“Best way to make sure they won’t be comin’ back,” Joel said. He grinned to reveal bits of emerald hornworm skin on his yellowing teeth. “Or you can do it the sissy way and put ‘em in a bucket.”<br /><br />Max had opted for the bucket.<br /><br />When he reached the end of the row of tomato plants, Max tucked the captive hornworms into the shade under the vines and stood, pressing one hand against his lower back to ease the crick that had resulted from squatting in the garden. He was, at best, a quarter of the way through. Considering the density of hornworms and lack of viable tomatoes, there seemed little chance that the plot would ever be very productive, unless the goal was to harvest the hornworms rather than the fruit.<br /><br />He arched his lower back until the muscles spasmed in protest, and listened for the telltale clatter of cooking pots and utensils that would have indicated that the communal lunch was near. For the moment, he could make out only an occasional hammer blow, along with the mews and brays of farm animals and the syncopated cough of the archaic engine that ran the camp’s generator. Although there was a promising sign in the wisp of gray smoke that snaked from the stovepipe poking out of the long, low tent that served as a dining hall.<br /><br />The Freedom Club compound was tucked in the Amish hills of Pennsylvania. Buggies, scythes, and horse-drawn ploughs littered the outdoor spaces. Of the several dozen people in the camp, most dressed like Max in denim overalls, t-shirts, and work boots. Every article of clothing as far as Max could tell had a ragged patch sewn in where the label had been torn out. A few residents, like Joel, preferred linen wrappings that may have been intended to evoke scholarly dignity, but achieved something closer to a frat boy toga party look. Universally, hygiene was a lower priority at the camp than Max was used to, even in comparison to the grad students back at the university. No one looked particularly dirty, other than Joel of course, but regular bathing, antiperspirants and deodorizing soaps were clearly uncommon at the Freedom Club. After a few experiences with the poorly heated shower water, Max was inclined to let himself get a bit ripe before washing up as well.<br /><br />The Freedom Clubbers were about as friendly as they were fragrant. Which is to say, just a little friendlier than Max cared for; offering a hug rather than a handshake, for instance, or a pat on the back instead of simply saying goodnight after supper. <br /><br />Idle conversation, however, was generally limited to speculation about the weather and observations on the size and quality of the vegetables and plants. None of them expressed much interest in revealing anything of themselves or learning about Max. It seemed that they knew all they needed to know. Just what that was they didn’t say, but with the exception of Joel, they treated him with a kind of familial affection and respect, as if he were a revered but mildly demented uncle. <br /><br />Inevitably, they sprinkled their lightweight chatter with cryptic invocations.<br /><br />“It’s a beautiful morning,” a woman had said as she was gathering onions in a garden behind Linda’s cabin, “Thank Ted.”<br /><br />“May Ted protect you,” responded a ruddy man pushing a wheelbarrow full of wet cement when Max had apologized for stepping in his path.<br /><br />“Ted only knows,” was a common response to many of Max’s queries, from the state of an ailing dog’s health, to the prospect of rain, and even the time of day.<br /><br />When Max experimented with the phrase “Ted be with you” in lieu of a simple hello, no one seemed startled at the sentiment. “Ted-sundheit,” in response to a sneeze, he had discovered, crossed the line of propriety. <br /><br />The joke solved one mystery. When Max made the irreverent remark at dinner the night before, the woman who had sneezed hopped up from her seat and wove her way through the picnic-style benches to the picture of the chained prisoner, which was mounted on a post to offer a clear view of it to everyone under the tent. She kissed her fingertips and pressed them against the captive’s cheek, then returned to gather her plate and utensils and move to a seat facing away from Max, only stopping long enough to glare at him and say, “May Ted forgive you.”<br /><br />He hadn’t been very surprised at the connection. The photograph hung throughout the camp. Every room had at least one copy in place. There were other pictures as well, mostly of revolutionaries and libertarians who Max would not usually have recognized, except that many had the names of their subjects inscribed across the bottoms of the images. Thomas Paine, Jean-Paul Marat, Molly Pitcher loading a cannon, and Che were among the ones he had identified. But only the mysterious Ted-in-chains appeared everywhere.<br /><br />Perhaps he was only being paranoid, but the slightly-too-friendly Freedom Clubbers seemed to have cooled a bit toward him after the dinner incident. Their hugs were less sincere, though just as frequent, and the pats on the back were slightly more spirited and a bit painful. When they’d rearranged the seats for the after-dinner lecture, which focused on fifteen fun ways to use Willow bark, the seats on either side of Max had remained empty.<br /><br />As he stood in the garden working the tight spots out of his lower back, he was glad that collecting hornworms was a solitary task. It gave him fewer opportunities to offend anyone. Still, he was careful, as he tapped the can of hornworms with his foot, to double check that nobody was close enough to hear him say to the entangled wad of caterpillars, “May Ted have mercy on your slimy souls.”<br /><br />The tomato plot was set part way up the side of the valley, at the edge of an area cleared of trees and brush. The vantage point gave him a clear view of the haphazard smattering of cabins and the dusty paths cut into the turf that radiated out to each of them from the ogre-head house. A similar spider web of paths linked each of the cabins to the dining tent at the opposite end of the camp. The indelible marks left behind from the foot traffic suggested that the dining tent and the big house were in nearly equal competition for the campers’ attention. The popularity of the first was clear enough, based on Maslow’s pyramid of needs -- after all, everyone has to eat. Max was not yet privy to the reason for the attraction of the second.<br /><br />He was on the verge of returning to the hunt for hornworms, when a team of horses emerged from the woods beyond the dining tent, pulling a wagon piled high with bundles, packages, and bushel baskets. <br /><br />The driver stood on the bench at the wagon’s front. It seemed to Max a reckless way to drive a horse team, except that the man so easily maintained his balance atop the swaying cart. The driver’s face was hidden beneath the broad brim of a straw hat. He wore a pale blue shirt buttoned up the front with the sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows, black pants with suspenders that seemed more decorative than functional, and shiny black boots.<br /><br />The driver guided the cart across the spider web crisscross of paths to the center of the Freedom Club clearing, pulled on a handle that ratcheted into place, and leapt gracefully to the ground by way of a step that protruded from the cart next to the front wheel. He strode across the grass, ignoring the worn pathways, to vigorously ring a brass bell that hung from an A-frame of heavy wooden posts. He turned to head back to his rig, and Freedom Club residents began emerging from the cabins to gather around the wagon.<br /><br />Max jumped at the sound of a violent struggle that erupted in the woods beside the tomato plot. Joel careened out of the underbrush, his grimy linen toga entangled in raspberry briars, and stumbled into the garden. <br /><br />“Come on man,” he said, “the ice cream truck is here.”<br /><br />He snatched up the coffee can and gave it a shake. <br /><br />“Nice haul,” he said with a wink. “I’ll take care of these slimy souls.”<br /><br />Joel lunged down the hill, clutching the can in one arm while urging Max to follow with the other.<br /><br />After a moment’s reflection, Max started down the hill as well. He’d assumed they were keeping an eye on him. But he was shocked that Joel of all people could have managed to be so stealthy as to hide in the woods only a few meters from the tomato patch.<br /><br />The crowd clustered around the back of the wagon. A man and a woman who had climbed on board handed down baskets and bundles into outstretched arms. At least one basket appeared to contain ripe red tomatoes, which put the anemic green ones in the Freedom Club garden to shame. <br /><br />Meanwhile, Linda negotiated with the driver, who Max could now see sported a tidy beard but no mustache. She counted out cash, and then bent to open a small suitcase that stood by her side. She flicked it’s latches and lifted the lid, revealing a pile of cell phones and other gadgetry. The man in the straw hat picked out a half dozen phones, some miniature video players, and a couple of memory sticks. <br /><br />Linda laid the selection on a cloth and rolled it up into a tight bundle, which the man tucked under his arm.<br /><br />The wagon was emptied in a few minutes. The crowd dispersed and the driver hopped back to his perch, pausing for only a moment to lift the seat and stash the rolled package in a compartment underneath. <br /><br />“Electronics buff?” Max asked Linda as she approached, the suitcase in her hand.<br /><br />“Sort of,” she said with a shrug. “Jacob’s really a kind of smuggler.”<br /><br />“No kidding.”<br /><br />“The Amish elders don’t look kindly on modern evils, but there’s a demand anyway.”<br /><br />“Really,” said Max. “I thought you were trying to break free of that stuff too.”<br /><br />Linda nodded. “We are. This is just business.”<br /><br />“I see. And the tomatoes. They looked tasty. What’s the point of a tomato garden if you have them shipped in?”<br /><br />“We haven’t had much luck with the garden, but Joel said you wanted to work on it. See you at lunch.”<br /><br />She hefted the suitcase and chose a path that took her to the ogre-head house.<br /><br />Max gazed up at the blighted patch on the hill where the spindly tomato vines nourished the hoards of hornworms.<br /><br />“Ted dammit,” he said.</span>
Chapter 23. Welcome to the Freedom Club
The old van struggled along the hilly roads, coughing and sputtering as it labored up toward each crest and revving frantically in a motorized scream as it careened down from the heights. To Max, it felt less like a trip in a panel van than a ride in a creaky trawler that was climbing the petrified waves of an ancient storm, frozen in time and encrusted with ribbons of asphault.<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet23_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 23 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr><br />Max had only a vague notion of where they were headed. But the angle of the shadows on the road ahead indicated that they were traveling north. Considering they had been en route for several hours, that placed them somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania. The rocky, tree-covered hillsides seemed to confirm his guess. <br /><br />The asthmatic engine relaxed a bit as their travels took them to slower secondary routes, and soon was drowned out by the rattling spray of gravel against the wheel wells and jarring rhythms of washboard dirt roads. At last, Joel stabbed the break pedal and killed the engine. The van ground to a halt. <br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Linda slid open the side door and Max followed her out. He stretched his aching legs and scanned a hodgepodge of cabins nestled into groves at the edges of a tiny valley that was ringed with tree-lined hilltops. The largest building in sight was a clapboard house at the far end of an oval-shaped expanse of severely mowed grass. It was two stories tall and painted in pristine white with black tar roofing and a screened veranda that extended the full length of the first floor. The building was brightly illuminated by the sun, which was on the verge of sinking behind the hills. A pair of gables poked up through the rooftop. In combination with the veranda and jet black door at the very center of the structure, the gables created the impression of a squinting, angular head, as if some wooden giant was buried up to his chin. Max couldn’t decide if the behemoth was rising out of the ground or being sucked down in. Either way, the expression seemed an indication of his irritation at the glaring sunshine blinding him as he strained against the earth.<br /><br />The brilliant white farmhouse was in such glaring contrast to the rest of the shadowy valley that it took a few moments for Max to make out the figures on the veranda and strolling about near the other buildings. There were perhaps a few dozen people. It was impossible to guess their genders, partly because of the distance and partly because they all seemed to be dressed as Max was, in denim overalls and white t-shirts.<br /><br />Joel leapt from the driver’s seat and waved his hand in an attempt at a grand flourish. “Welcome to the Freedom Club, our Shambhala of the Poconos.” He dropped to his hands and knees to kiss the dirt. <br /><br />“Shit,” he said, wiping grit off of his lips. “It don’t taste like paradise.”<br /><br />He sprang back to his feet, but stepped on the hem of his robe in the process, which prevented him from standing fully erect. <br /><br />“Unless,” said Joel, contorting his bent body so that he could grin at Max, “paradise is supposed to taste like crap.” He tugged at his robe with both hands, tearing the hem. “It sure smells like crap. In case you hadn’t noticed.”<br /><br />Max had noticed indeed. It was an amplified version of the fragrance - if so delicate a word can be applied to such an odor - that Joel had been emitting the first time they met at the café back home. Out here, Max guessed, the smell was probably due to nearby stables and animal pens of some kind. Joel may have picked up his stench from tending livestock, but it seemed just as likely that he was capable of generating it all on his own. <br /><br />Linda reached for Max’s arm. “Come on.”<br /><br />“Are we going to give him the grand tour?” asked Joel as he struggled to disentangle his foot from his robe.<br /><br />“It’ll be too dark soon," said Linda with a shake of her head. "We can show him around tomorrow.”<br /><br />“The dark,” said Joel, “ is when this place is in it’s best light. ‘Course, you’re the boss.” He winked, nodded, and hitched the rope around his waist a little tighter.<br /><br />“Hold on Joel.” <br /><br />“What?”<br /><br />She extended her hand, with her palm open.<br /><br />“Oh,” said Joel, reaching into his robe and searching around near his crotch. “You want these?” He pulled out two blister packs of pills and laid them in her hand. They were Max’s Phenobarbital tablets.<br /><br />Linda turned to Max.“Is this all?” <br /><br />“I had three packages.”<br /><br />Joel hung his head and reached into his robe again. “Really? Three? Are you sure it wasn’t just two?”<br /><br />“Three.”<br /><br />“Right.” Joel produced another pack and handed it to Linda.<br /><br />She pulled at Max's arm, leading him onto the grassy oval as Joel knitted his hands behind his back, looked skyward and meandered away, whistling tunelessly.<br /><br />She handed the pill packs to Max. One pack, he noticed, had been ripped in half along its perforated strip. “He kept eight tablets.”<br /><br />“I thought he might snag some. Is that going to be a problem?”<br /><br />“Eventually.”<br /><br />“Well,” said Linda. “We can take care of it later.” <br /><br />Max tried to recall when Joel would have had a chance to get his hands on the pills. He couldn’t think of an opportunity. Then again, most of the day had been a blur. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about refilling his supply for a few weeks.<br /><br />They started off across the grass. The work boots were heavy on Max’s feet and the stiff denim of his overalls seemed to resist his every step. They had only gone a few dozen yards when he had to stop to catch his breath. Linda waited in silence until he was ready to resume the walk. The sun had sunk just past the hills, and the sky was a bright orange to the west while darkness was rapidly encroaching from the other side of the valley. The giant-head house no longer gleamed. It seemed to Max that the building grew noticeably grayer in the few moments that they paused, although the angry eyes of the gabled windows still reflected the flame of the sunset in burning orange slits of light.<br /><br />He couldn’t bear the thought of trudging any further in the leaden boots. He dropped to his haunches and untied the laces. He stood and lifted his feet out of the boots, tied the laces together and hung the boots over his shoulder. The short, stiff blades of grass crackled with each step and tingled the souls of his feet. It was mildly stimulating and gave him the energy to continue. <br /><br />After the rattling ride in the van, the valley had initially seemed dead silent. Now that his ears were adjusted, Max was inundated with a multitude of hums, chirps, and croaks of invisible insects and distant amphibians. A dip in the landscape to their left indicated the likely presence of a stream that was apparently the source of the thrumming that he recognized as the calls of bullfrogs. Countless lighting bugs flashed in the dimmer sections of the trees, and occasionally the shadowy outlines of small birds or bats flitted overhead in acrobatic pursuit of an invisible meal. <br /><br />Max struggled to keep up with Linda despite her leisurely pace. She led him to one of the small cabins. It was of the same style as the farmhouse, painted white with tar shingle roofing and its own tiny porch that emulated the farmhouse’s veranda. It even had tiny, obviously decorative gables peeking up from the roof and a door painted in glossy black. He followed her up the short flight of steps to the porch and through the door that Linda swung silently inward. She pulled a string attached to a lamp mounted at the center of a slowly spinning ceiling fan. It illuminated a single room that appeared to encompass essentially the entire floor plan. There was just enough space for a small bed, a couch that was barely more than a love seat, a dresser and a writing desk. A narrow door near the back stood open, where Max could see a sink, a toilet and a white vinyl shower curtain. The only decoration in the room consisted of two photographs in simple black frames; one was of Che Guevara, and the other of a bearded man in an orange jump suit and manacles who bore a passing resemblance to Joel. <br /><br />“This is my place,” said Linda. “We’ll find one for you in the morning. For now, you can have the bed and I’ll take the couch.”<br /><br />Max dropped his boots on the floor, shuffled to the bed and collapsed on his back without bothering to turn down the sheets. <br /><br />He heard water running in the bathroom. After a few moments, cool fingertips brushed his forehead.<br /><br />“How many?”<br /><br />He opened his eyes to see Linda standing over him with his pill packets and a glass of water.<br /><br />He held up two fingers<br /><br />She popped the pills from the pack. Max heaved himself up onto his elbows and opened his mouth. Linda placed the pills on his tongue, and then held the glass to his lips. The water was tepid and tasted of metal. When he finished drinking, she took the rest of the pills and the glass to the bathroom. <br /><br />He dropped back onto the bed and turned his head to study the manacled prisoner in the photo. The man didn’t seem distressed at his chains. His head was up, with his brow slightly wrinkled and his lips parted as if he where on the verge of speaking. Max suddenly had the impression that the prisoner wanted to ask him a question, although he had no idea who the man could be.<br /><br />As his eyelids grew heavy, Max half dreamed and half hallucinated that the prisoner said, “These are just chains. They’re nothing. How about yours? Do you have an escape plan?”<br /><br />Max thought he might.<br /><br />He slept at last as visions of flashmobs, search engine cabs, chess-playing penguins, couch creatures, laundry monsters, and an eviscerated virtual Betty flitted through his dreams like bats on the wing.</span>
Chapter 22. Roadtrip
Max fingered the buckle on one strap of the stiff denim overalls as he shuffled to the restroom at the highway convenience plaza, where Joel had parked the van so that Max could pee. The plaza was a bustling collection of hydrogen recharge points, a few gas pumps for older combustion-engine cars and farm vehicles, fast food joints, and convenience shop counters where travelers in a rush could pick up gum, coffee, newspapers or condoms. <br /><br />Joel hadn’t wanted to stop, but when the girl, whose name Max had learned was Linda, threatened to let Max have another swing at him, Joel had given in and pulled off the road.<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet22_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 22 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr><br />Max passed up the rows of urinals that lined the ceramic-tiled walls, and chose one of the larger stalls designed to accommodate the handicapped. He was going to need extra room to maneuver the overalls. They were dark blue and stiff, with creases at the calf, thigh, waist and chest from where they had been folded when Linda pulled them out from under a pile of blankets in the van. She had also given him a stretchy, white cotton shirt with long sleeves, and a pair of workman’s boots that were a few sizes too large. All the garments were brand new, as though they had just come off the shelves of a department store, except that the places where the tags would have been, - at the back of the shirt collar, the bib of the overalls, and the uppers on the boots, - had ragged tears where the manufacturer information had been cut out.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Just in case anyone cared to glance at his feet under the wall that surrounded the stall, Max undid the second strap and pushed the overalls to his knees to pretend to urinate. He didn’t really have to go. He just needed a few minutes away from his two companions.<br /><br />Joel had driven north toward Pennsylvania after they had whisked Max away from the mob, muttering and ranting the whole way. The lunatic act, it seemed, hadn’t been an act altogether. Linda was constantly on guard; ready to snap at Joel to keep him focused on the road. To make matters worse, the van’s heads-up display was out and the avoidance collision system was apparently malfunctioning, allowing Joel to take the van screaming up on other cars from behind, which would force him to pump the brake and holler obscenities at innocent drivers. Then he would pass, swerving across oncoming lanes to the left, or onto the shoulder to the right. Fortunately, the collision avoidance systems in all the other vehicles they encountered were working well enough to deal with even Joel’s erratic driving.<br /><br />For the first half hour or so, Max had sat silently, wrapped in a blanket and wedged against the wall of the van as it rocked and jerked along the road. Linda watched him patiently, when she wasn’t chastising Joel, and occasionally raised her eyebrows or cocked her head in gestures that invited Max to speak up and ask the obvious questions.<br /><br />The shock of the assault in the parking lot kept him quiet. When he finally spoke, he only mentioned the need to relieve himself. While Linda dug out the clothes and boots for him, Max decided to simply walk away once the van stopped. But as he stood in the urinal with his pants around his knees, he didn’t feel that he had the strength to take off by himself, in the middle of nowhere with no car, no plan, and no drugs.<br /><br />He hitched up the overalls and opened the stall door. It closed automatically behind him. Water rushed in the self-flushing toilet, and the disinfectant spray hissed briefly before the stall door reopened to await the next patron. He passed his hands under the faucet to keep up appearances in front of another man who was entering the bathroom as Max was finishing up. He tried unsuccessfully to avoid looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He had aged a lot in the past few weeks. His eyes were bloodshot, and the bags underneath were deep and dark. There were creases around his mouth and across his brow that he couldn’t remember having seen before, and his hair was getting long and jagged around the edges where it was starting to grow down over the tops of his ears. The white shirt and overalls made him look more like a day laborer than a lab technician, except that he was too pale for a person who worked in the sun. <br /><br />As he walked out of the restroom he found Linda and Joel sitting at a picnic table in the grassy stretch between the fuel station and the convenience store. He stuffed his hands into the deep, crisp pockets and wandered over to join them.<br /><br /> “Everything work out okay?” Linda asked.<br /><br />“Yes,” said Max, “thanks.”<br /><br />As Max approached, Joel stood and gathered the hem of his linen robe, revealing skinny hairless calves and filthy, sandaled feet. <br /><br />“Alright then,” he said, “let’s go.”<br /><br />“Hold on,” said Max, taking a seat at the picnic table bench. “First I want to know where we’re going. Where,” he corrected himself, “you’re taking me.”<br /><br />“You wanna go dark, don’t you?” said Joel.<br /><br />“Shut up and sit down,” said Linda to the lunatic. She turned to Max, “You were in danger, we’re trying to help you get away.”<br /><br />“In danger? From who?” said Max. “Away from what?”<br /><br />“From everything,” said Joel. “From everyone. That’s how you go dark, newbie.”<br /><br />“Shut your trap.” Linda smacked Joel across the shoulder. “Look, Max, you closed yourself off in your apartment. . . .”<br /><br /> Max interrupted. “How do you know my name anyway?”<br /><br />“I’ll get to that. You shut yourself off, dropped out, right in the middle of the town. We know a little about what you’ve been through, what you’re trying to get away from. But if you are going to do it for real, you’ll need our help.”<br /><br />“Who are you, exactly?”<br /><br />“That’ll take some explaining.”<br /><br />Max shook his head. “I don’t care. I just want to go home.”<br /><br />“No you don’t newbie,” muttered the lunatic.<br /><br />“Joel,” said Linda, “shush. We’ll take you home, if you like. But you’re not safe there.”<br /><br />“I’m safer riding around in a broken down van with you two?”<br /><br />“Believe it or not,” said Linda, glancing quickly at Joel. “Yes.”<br /><br />She had a look of sincerity and concern in her big, brown eyes that Max thought might have been intensified by her lenses. He wondered what she might look like without the glasses. Her brown hair, which almost exactly matched the color of her eyes, was straight and hung down just to the line of her jaw. Her skin was smooth and lightly tanned, and her lips were pouty and full with no sign of lipstick. Max guessed that she was in her late twenties at the oldest. She reminded him of the activist hippy vegetarians he had met occasionally when he was in school. If it had only been her, Max figured he would probably give in. But there was also Joel.<br /><br />The lunatic even had trouble sitting still at the table. Every few moments he would open his mouth on the verge of speaking, and then shake his head as though some voice only he could hear advised him not to. <br /><br />He traced the graffiti carved into the picnic table with his filthy thumbnail, and occasionally blinked at some small revelation he seemed to discover there. Twitchy Joel was more than Max could stand.<br /><br />“I want to go home,” he said.<br /><br />Linda pursed her lips and nodded soberly. <br /><br />“Well now it’s my turn to pee,” she said. “Joel, start the van. I’ll be right back.” She stood and headed toward the restroom.<br /><br />Joel hopped up and grumbled something under his breath, then tripped spastically toward the parking lot.<br /><br />Max watched as Joel climbed into the van, which soon produced a puff of blue smoke and roared to life. I can’t believe that guy is driving, he thought to himself. He lifted himself off the bench. Rather than spending time alone with Joel in the van, he made his way to the convenience store to buy a soda, with the hope that it might help calm his stomach on the rough ride home. The clerk, a pudgy, pimply teen, sneered at Max as he perused the bottles in the refrigerated case. He chose a drink and avoided the clerk by heading to the self-service checkout at the front. He pressed his thumb on the biometric screen of the checkout counter. A computerized woman’s voice thanked him for the purchase and noted the debit to his account. Max declined a paper receipt and slipped the soda into a pocket of his overalls.<br /><br />He wandered slowly to the van, hoping Linda was already inside. When he slid open the side door and found that she wasn’t, he leaned against the fender and waited. He could feel the van bounce slightly on occasion, no doubt due to Joel’s restless twitching. <br /><br />When Linda finally appeared at the restroom doors, her hair was pulled up away from her cheeks, which were shiny and slightly pink. Max thought she must have washed her face and dried it a bit too roughly. <br /><br />She smiled at him and winked before she climbed into the van. He almost bumped into her as he climbed in behind. The near touch gave him a minor, disquieting thrill. For a moment, he reconsidered going home, if for no other reason than to spend more time with her. He shook his head and took his place amid the blankets. He wasn’t her type anyway; too old, too nerdy, too tired. Although there was just the smallest hint in her gentle smile as she nestled in behind Joel’s seat that maybe he was her type after all. <br /><br />Max could feel the blood rise into his cheeks at the thought. He was probably just misinterpreting her desire to help him, if she really was out to help. He reached over and slid the door shut. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the comparative darkness in the van. He hoped Linda couldn’t see him blushing in the dim interior.<br /><br />She thumped the back of Joel’s seat and told him to turn back. Although Max couldn’t see where they were going, he felt the pressure of the blankets against his back as the van carved around what must have been a cloverleaf, taking them back to the highway heading south. He had a sudden urge to engage Linda in idle conversation. It wouldn’t be long before they got him home, and he wanted to make the most of his time with her, with anyone really. <br /><br />“What?” asked Linda, when Max made a feeble attempt to speak.<br /><br />“Nothing.” He cringed and wondered if he was starting to look a bit like spastic Joel.<br /><br />“Are you thirsty?” he asked.<br /><br />“No,” she said, resting her head against the back of the passenger seat.<br /><br />“Okay,” he said, nodding and trying to smile. It felt more like a grimace. He fumbled for the drink in his pocket. The stiff denim made maneuvering difficult. He had to struggle to insert his hand. In the cramped space, he couldn’t straighten his leg enough to extract the bottle. Linda’s brow wrinkled quizzically as Max tugged. He had the sudden embarrassing revelation that it might look like he was groping himself.<br /><br />“Sorry, it’s stuck.”<br /><br />“Stuck? What’s stuck.”<br /><br />“Hold on,” he kicked his leg out, and leaned back.<br /><br />“Can I help you with something?”<br /><br />“No, no. Just a second.” <br /><br />“Are you sure?”<br /><br />“Yes. I mean, no.”<br /><br />After a heave, he managed to free the bottle and held it up to show that there was nothing unseemly about his efforts. <br /><br />“Just a drink.”<br /><br />He had hoped that the sight of the bottle would relieve her, proving that the awkward acrobatics were innocent. It had the opposite effect. She leaned forward, her brow knitted in alarm.<br /><br />“Where did you get that?”<br /><br />“At the convenience store.”<br /><br />“I hope you stole it.”<br /><br />Max was aghast. “No. I paid for it.”<br /><br />“How?”<br /><br />“With the checkout ATM.”<br /><br />Linda rocked forward onto her knees. “A biometric ATM?”<br /><br />“Yes.”<br /><br />“Thumb print?”<br /><br />“Yes.”<br /><br />“Give it to me.” Linda thrust out her arm. “Now!”<br /><br />Max blinked and handed her the bottle. She grabbed the handle of the side door and threw it open. The rush of the wind was deafening at highway speeds, and the light of day blinding.<br /><br />“What are you doing?” shouted Max over the noise.<br /><br />She leaned precariously out of the opening and scanned the highway. “Slow down Joel!”<br /><br />She appeared as though she might tumble out at any moment, and Max clutched at her ankle. As Joel slowed, a stream of traffic passed by. She peered at each vehicle in turn, until one that Max couldn’t see caught her eye. She leaned out still further, and tossed the bottle. It arced through the air and landed in the bed of a passing pickup truck. She hauled herself back into the van and pulled at the door. It was heavy and, with the wind rushing by, she couldn’t budge it. Max put his hand on top of hers and pushed. The door slid shut with a thud.<br /><br />She scrambled to the front passenger seat.<br /><br />“What the hell was that about?” asked Max, following her forward and wedging himself between the high-backed seats.<br /><br />She ignored him, glaring at the pickup truck that was steadily pulling away from them.<br /><br />Max persisted, “Tell me what’s going on.”<br /><br />She let out a loud breath. “The UPC symbol.”<br /><br />“What?”<br /><br />“The bottle had a UPC symbol on it - a radio ID tracking label.”<br /><br />“So what? Everything does.”<br /><br />“Unless you take them off.”<br /><br />Max didn't follow her drift. “So?”<br /><br />“You’ve given yourself away,” she snapped at him<br /><br />“What are you talking about?”<br /><br />She nodded at the distant pickup truck. “You bought that with a thumb print access to your bank account. The system knows it was you, where you were, and what you bought.”<br /><br />“So what?”<br /><br />“If the system knows, then they know. So, now all they have to do is find the bottle.”<br /><br />“They? Who are they?”<br /><br />A speeding black sedan flew past the van on the right, tossing up a cloud of dust as its tires hung off onto the shoulder.<br /><br />“Them.”<br /><br />Max watched over Linda’s shoulder as the sedan closed on the truck. It swerved into the left lane, then back to the right, catching the tail end of the pickup, and sending it into a screeching slide. The truck careened left, overcorrected, and swerved back. It caught a guard rail, flipped into the air, and tumbled into a ditch, throwing up a cloud of debris and gravel.<br /><br />The intervening traffic slowed and Joel slammed the brakes. <br /><br />“Holy shit dude,” said Joel.<br /><br />By the time they approached the accident, two men in brown pants and short-sleeved pastel Oxford shirts were standing at the guardrail, with their hands on their hips, studying the mangled pickup. The van inched by with the other cars that crawled past the scene. Max was stunned to see how threatening a pair of men in Hush Puppy footwear could be.<br /><br />“Do you still want to go home?” Linda whispered.<br /><br />Max swallowed hard. “Not just yet, I suppose.”<br /><br />“Turn it around," she said to Joel. "Take the back roads”<br /><br />At the next exit, the madman flicked on the turn signal and headed off the highway onto a rolling, vacant country road.</span>
Chapter 21. Flashmob
The lunch crowd was just starting to trickle into the cafe as Max waited for his muffin. He had hoped to avoid the rush, but it was beginning earlier than he'd expected. It was just past eleven and the tables on the sidewalk were rapidly filling. The crowd was young, primarily college age kids and a few professionals, and even some kids who looked as though they should be in high school.<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet21_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 21 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr><br />Max lowered his head and studied the wadded bills on the table to keep from catching anyone's eye, in the unlikely event that any of the arriving patrons knew him from campus. He picked the bills apart slowly and spread them flat on the checkered tablecloth. It had been so long since he had used paper money that Max almost didn't recognize the currency. All four were ten-dollar bills. They were old, worn, and crinkled. Someone had written on the least crumpled bill. The handwriting was jagged and juvenile, and he was having a hard time making out what it said. <br /><span class="fullpost"><br />He could feel the numbers of the patrons swelling around him. He recognized the sound of one-sided conversations that meant many of them were chattering on cell phones. He glanced up briefly to see that others were gathered in small groups. There was an excited buzz in the air. Max had the impression that there was more to the activity than hungry people in search of lunch. As he turned back to the writing on the bill, a skinny kid engaged in an animated phone conversation bumped roughly against Max's table. He mouthed an apology and continued into the throng surrounding the cafe.<br /><br />Every seat was taken at the outdoor tables, and more people were on the way, strolling down along the sidewalk or dropped off at the curb by cars on auto pilot. The flow of customers had turned from a trickle to a flood, and was still building. This was definitely not a normal lunch crowd. Max dropped the wad of bills the lunatic had given him on the table and began rapping his fingers lightly on his thigh. The crush of bodies was making it hard to breathe. Max tried not to think about it, but he was continuously being jostled as more and more people arrived. He placed his hands open on the table and pushed down as if, at any moment, it might fly away and carry him with it. <br /><br />He stared at the bill in front of him, and struggled to stay calm until his muffin arrived. Someone, probably the lunatic, had written a across the president’s face. , "U r 6e1ng w4+ch3d." It was clearly a novice attempt at shorthand for "You are being watched." <br /><br />It was just the sort of thing he would have expected to find on money carried by a guy who wore a metal hat. On the other hand, thought Max, it was possible that the note was meant for him.<br /><br />"Nonsense," he said to himself, while glancing up at the wall of bodies that surrounded his table and slopped over into the parking lot. It seemed the lunatic’s paranoia was contagious. Surely the note wasn't for him. On the other hand, the man had insisted that he count the money, perhaps to get him to notice the message. Still, why should he worry about paranoid missives from a deranged fruitcake?<br /><br />He covered the bill with his hand to hide it from anyone looking over his shoulder. After a few calming breaths, he lifted his palm enough to peek at the message again. A shudder ran through him when he found that the writing had changed. It read "\/\/3'r3 h3r3 2 h31p.” <br /> <br />Max snatched up the bill. It looked like plain old-fashioned money, as far as he could tell. But paper money didn't have shape-shifting messages on it. He was still trying to make out the new message when it shifted again. The writing, still in that childish hand now read "d0n+ f34r +h3 fl45hm06." <br /><br />Max blinked and slowly translated the script. "Don't fear the flash mob." <br /><br />He frantically scanned the wall of bodies that surrounded his table. Flash mob? What the hell is that? Somewhere in the noise of the crowd, amid the laughter and shouts, he imagined the waiter trying to make his way back with a muffin and coffee in a paper cup. <br /><br />Forget the damn muffin, he thought.<br /><br />The crowd's seething was pushing him ever harder against the edge of the table. It was getting dangerous to sit. He squeezed out of his chair and stood. Instantly, there were warm bodies on all sides of him. Only the expanse of the small table beside him remained clear. <br /><br />A thumping noise was gradually rising in somewhere in the depths of the cafe. The rhythm grew more complex, syncopated. All around him, people began swaying and bouncing in time with the beat. Music erupted, and the mass of humanity gyrated to a frantic tune constructed of whistles, hoots, and squealing guitars. <br /><br />Although he had no intention of joining in the dance, Max could not fight the collective motions of the masses that enveloped him. Hips, thighs, chests grinded against him, and he had no choice but to grind back. Other than those immediately in front of him, he couldn't even determine which of the bodies bumping against him were male and which were female. Briefly, a pretty young woman, with deep green eyes, dark hair, and glasses was pressed against him, almost nose to nose. She smiled and mouthed something that he couldn’t make out over the music and the noise of the crowd. The woman seemed on the verge of kissing him when the flow of bodies swept her away. She was replaced by a slender, androgynous person whose back was toward Max. He tilted his head back and concentrated on the awning above in an attempt to put the grinding of the androgynous buttocks against his groin out of his mind. While he was mildly disturbed by the intimate contact, it had at least erased the rising claustrophobia he had been suffering from a few moments before. It occurred to him that his own buttocks were similarly grinding against the anonymous stranger behind him. Max decided it was best not to think about it and instead just ride out the madness with the dancing mob.<br /><br />The base line pounded, a lead singer wailed. Occasionally, the mob shouted unintelligibly in response to some equally unintelligible line from the song. The music was punctuated from time to time with a blast from an air horn. In the distance, a police siren screamed. Coordination in the crowd began to crumble as the siren’s volume rose. The mob seethed, and pitched to Max's left. If he hadn't been so firmly entrenched, he would have toppled over, but here there was no room to fall. The mob surged again, inching toward the parking lot. It, and Max, gathered speed. Soon they were walking as the mob shouted and hooted. Then they were jogging, and finally running. There were multiple police sirens now. The wails threatened to drown out the music as Max and the mob exploded into the parking lot. <br /><br />They were racing through the rows of cars in the lot when Max was abruptly slammed against the side of a parked pickup truck. He felt a tug on his shirt collar. There was a rough jerk and the shirt was ripped from his back. He spun to spot the culprit, but couldn’t pick anyone out in the fleeing mob. Two athletic young men with silvery sun glasses leapt out of the masses and lunged toward him. One rammed him against the truck. The other reached for the waste band of Max’s sweats and pulled. Time stood still briefly as Max stared wide-eyed at his distorted image in the mirrored glasses of the man pinning him against the truck. Max saw a flash of metal. The other man had a knife.<br /><br />“Please don’t,” Max begged.<br /><br />The man pressing Max against the truck grinned broadly, revealing gleaming white teeth. Max twisted his face away to look at the other man and saw the knife swing down toward his belly. The tension in his waste band increased, and suddenly was gone. A ripping sound followed as Max’s sweats and underwear were torn from his body. The two men turned and dived into the crowd, with the ragged sweat pants fluttering behind them. With the exception of his shoes, Max was naked.<br /><br />He dropped onto his heels to cover himself. Someone running with the mob collided with Max’s shoulder and sent him sprawling onto his back on the rough asphault. He rolled under the truck and peered out at the countless thundering feet. A wailing police siren deafened him, and he saw the tires of the passing police car roll slowly by, briefly stemming the flow of the mob. Then it was gone.<br /><br />Max cowered under the truck. “Come back,” he pleaded to the police car. “Come back.”<br /><br />A pair of bright red tennis shoes appeared beside the truck, inches from his face. The person in the tennis shoes dropped to their knees. There was a hand on the ground. Then there was a face. It was the dark-haired girl from the mob at the café.<br /><br />“Max,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go.”<br /><br />“What?” he tried to ask, “Where?” But the best he could do was a guttural croak.<br /><br />“Come on!”<br /><br />She reached under the truck and her fingers brushed Max’s arm. He flinched at the touch, and squirmed farther under the chassis.<br /><br />“We’re here to help,” said the girl.<br /><br />He twisted away to the other side of the truck, scraping his back against the rough ground and raking his belly on the dangling truck hardware. Pebbles dug into his knees as he struggled to his feet. The girl had made her way around the truck and approached him with arms outstretched and palms held upward.<br /><br />“It’s going to be OK,” she said gently. “I promise.”<br /><br />Max turned to run, but a battered white panel van pulled up and blocked his way. He was trapped between the girl and the van. The van’s sliding door shot open revealing piles of blankets and rusted walls with peeling white paint. <br /><br />“It’s going to be OK,” the girl repeated. “Just get in and we’ll help you.”<br /><br />Max looked back at the open van. Its interior, though dingey, offered a darkened haven from the madness of the flash mob that still rampaged all around him. It was a place to hide his nakedness.<br /><br />The girl stepped closer. Her eyes pleaded with him. He nodded and turned to head for the open van.<br /><br />“Wait,” called the girl. He felt her hand on his shoulder. “You can’t go like that.”<br /><br />Max stopped and looked down at his naked belly with his genitals peeking out below. He covered his groin with his hands and turned back to the girl.<br /><br />“Take off your shoes,” she said.<br /><br /> He shook his head in bewilderment. “What is wrong with you people?” he shouted at her.<br /><br />“Just do it. I’ll explain later.”<br /><br />“Dammit,” he snarled, kicking off his shoes and diving into the van. He clutched at one of the old blankets and wrapped it around himself. The van rocked slightly as the girl followed him and slid the door closed behind her.<br /><br />The driver leaned over in his seat and asked, “All set?”<br /><br />It was the lunatic with the aluminum foil hat.<br /><br />Max stared blankly at the girl, and then rolled toward the front of the van, balled up his fist, and slugged the madman in the mouth. The lunatic’s head snapped back. He covered his mouth with his hand and stared at Max with wide-eyed shock. A trickle of blood oozed between his fingers.<br /><br />“Man,” he said behind his hand, “that hurt.”<br /><br />The girl crawled over a pile of blankets and inserted herself between Max and the lunatic. “Drive Joel.”<br /><br />The lunatic straightened up in his seat, wrenched the steering wheel with his free hand, and punched the gas. “I told you,” he said through his fingers covering his mouth, “I want to be called ‘Chalk Warrior’ from now on.”<br /><br />The girl reached back and smacked the lunatic’s shoulder. “Joel, Just drive.” She winked at Max, who pulled the coarse blanket tight. The engine revved and the van weaved though the lot, and the chaos of the mob slowly died away.</span>
Chapter 20. The Cafe
Max propped up the pillow on the mattress he had dragged out of his bedroom to replace the couch. He leaned his head against the wall as he watched the yellow glow of the morning sun gradually erase the blue-black night that leaked in through the slats in his blinds. The couch, the TV, and the piles of laundry that once cluttered his apartment were long gone. He’d laboriously hauled everything out the front door three weeks earlier and down the steps to the parking lot, where he left them in a heap - to the thorough annoyance of the building superintendent. After a few days pounding on his door and threatening to evict him, the super slipped an envelope through the mail slot. Max hadn’t bothered to open it, and instead tossed it onto the growing stack of pizza delivery boxes on the breakfast table in his kitchen.<hr><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />Listen to the</span> <a href="http://www.sciencepaconline.com/sciencepac/DarkNet20_Sangeeta.mp3"><span style="font-style:italic;">Chapter 20 podcast</span></a> <span style="font-style:italic;">with roboreader Sangeeta</span>.<br /><hr>A spot of sunlight crawled down Max’s chest as the usual morning concert of slamming doors and pounding footsteps grew. The staccato rhythm above his ceiling meant the yellow Lab upstairs was prancing in anticipation of its morning walk. A piercing series of beeps, like the warning of a delivery truck backing up, leaked through the wall from the apartment next door. It was followed by the loud blathering of shock Dee Jays, which meant he would soon hear the hiss of a shower, a pell-mell rush down the stairs, and the sputtering of a scooter coming to life and buzzing off up the street.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Max never heard the woman across the hall leave in the morning or return in the afternoon. He guessed that she wore the soft-soled shoes of a nurse or a librarian or bank clerk - something that required her to be on her feet all day. Other than the whispers of her television in the evening, or the occasional hallway conversation with a delivery boy, there was little evidence that anyone lived there at all.<br /><br />In all the years that he had rented his apartment, Max had never bothered to learn much about his neighbors. When he bumped into them in the hall, or the trash room, or even at the annual get-acquainted cook out in the courtyard out back, he barely listened when they told him their names. And when he did catch a name here or there, he generally did his best to forget it as soon as possible.<br /><br />But after three weeks holed up in his apartment, Max yearned to deduce as much about the people who surrounded him as he could, from the sounds they made throughout the day, the distorted glimpses of them in the fish eye view through the peephole in his door, and stolen glances through the slats of his lowered shades. <br /><br />There was the old man with the yellow lab, who left each day at ten with his dog on a leash and an umbrella under his arm - regardless of the weather, the young dark-haired kid with the scooter; and finally the light-footed woman across the hall. There were others as well, but they lived in apartments too far away for Max to gather anything about them other than their schedules.<br /><br />As the day's cavalcade of sound died down, he knew there would be little to look forward to until the afternoon, when the procession would reverse itself and his neighbors would come back to roost in their nests and watch TV or talk on the phone. Even the wrinkled, olive skinned old man who vacuumed the stairs and dusted the railings wouldn’t come by today. He apparently only attended to Max’s building twice each week, and he had taken care of his duties the day before. Traffic noise and the clatter of the mailman filling the boxes at the bottom of the stairs were all that was likely to interrupt the hours of solitude ahead of him.<br /><br />Max rolled off the mattress, dressed in pin stripe boxer shorts and a white t-shirt, and headed to the kitchen. It was his custom recently to start the day with a bowl of cereal, but only after tugging at the oven door, which he had sealed with criss-crossing lengths of duct tape. It seemed tight enough, but he wished he had more tape just to make sure. <br /><br />He took a bowl down from his cabinet and filled it to the brim with dull brown flakes, then opened the refrigerator and lifted out the plastic milk jug. It was nearly empty, just enough to cover his cereal. He would have to drink his coffee black this morning. He tossed the empty jug into the sink, spooned some instant coffee into a cup of hot tap water, and sat at the table to eat. He stared absently at the duct-taped oven as he shoveled cereal into his mouth. <br /><br />He was going to have to pick up some milk. Otherwise, he would be eating dry cereal with his tepid black coffee tomorrow. On top of that, it was coming up to the point that he needed to refill his prescription. He had increased his dose since he went into seclusion, both to avoid any risk of a seizure and to take the edge off his loneliness.<br /><br />Max scooped out the last of the cereal and poured the remaining milk into his coffee. Bits of cereal flakes floated on the surface, turning the brown liquid nauseatingly chunky. For a moment, he wished he hadn’t tossed out his laptop with his TV and couch. He could probably have found a grocery delivery service online to bring his supplies to him. The regret, however, was short lived. He’d had enough online excitement for a long, long while.<br /><br />He put the bowl in the sink, swigged the last of his coffee, and went in search of something clean to wear for his first day outside in a week. There wasn’t much to choose from. Most of his wardrobe had gone out on the curb with his furniture. In the bedroom, he found a pair of sweats that were only a bit dirty at the knees, and a threadbare flannel shirt. He stopped in the bathroom for his daily dose of drugs. When he closed the medicine cabinet, he peered at his red-rimmed eyes, pale cheeks and forehead, and the grey-flecked stubble. He ran a hand over his chin and briefly contemplated shaving and showering. Why bother, he thought, if he was going to be a hermit, he might as well look the part. He raised and arm and sniffed his armpit, then wrinkled his nose at the musky stench. He certainly smelled like a hermit anyway.<br /><br />He walked into the living room and slipped his feet into his tennis shoes, without bothering to tie the laces. Max suppressed the urge to giggle. The thought of stepping outside made him light-headed with nervousness and excitement, like a child about to walk on stage in a school play. As he placed his hand on the doorknob, he wondered what he would say if he ran into one of his neighbors or someone from the university. He convinced himself that the odds of meeting anyone at this time of day were slim, and he proceeded out the door and down the steps.<br /><br />The street in front of Max’s apartment was lined with fruitless pear trees in full bloom. The pear tree flowers emitted a bitter fragrance that was a harsh contrast to their delicate white petals. Initially he had been startled to find that the trees did not have perfume to match their blossoms. Considering the fact that few people ever walked this street, Max supposed it made sense for the city managers to choose to plant trees that looked nice even if they smelled badly. These roads were built for cars, not pedestrians. It was a fact that was made even more apparent when he reached the intersection at the end of the street.<br /><br />There was a button on the corner lamppost that was installed, according to the faded sign above the button, to facilitate the passage of bikers and pedestrians. As far as Max could tell, it didn’t do anything, regardless of how many times he pushed it. The lights would occasionally flash the signal indicating that it was time to cross, with no correlation to how hard or often he pushed the button, but the cycle was far to brief to make it to the other side even at a sprint. Fortunately, cars included detectors to avoid collisions, both with other vehicles and with humans foolish enough to stray into traffic. Once Max stepped off the curb, he knew he would make it across safely, although he would have to suffer the blaring cacophony of car horns and the crossing light’s prerecorded rebuke for lingering too long in the intersection.<br /><br />“Screw you,” shouted Max to the bleating cars as he jogged to the other side of the street and into the shopping center parking lot. The lot itself was not much friendlier to foot traffic than the intersection. Driverless cars arrived and departed in rapid succession, with the arrivals having deposited their passengers immediately in front of whatever store they chose to visit first, and departing cars zipping off to pick up their owners, who stood with packages in hand at the curb. <br /><br />With his head up and hands in his pockets, Max meandered toward the supermarket. Noise restrictions in the lot limited cars to muted beeps whenever Max got in the way of one coming or going, but they inevitably released a fury of alarms if he even brushed a fender in passing, which he did from time to time just for fun. <br /><br />He stepped up onto the curb and joined the flow of customers trickling into the grocery store. He paused long enough to make sure he didn’t recognize any of the nearby shoppers, then touched the thumb-print scanner on the handle of one of the shopping carts in the corral just inside the door. The cart’s display screen indicated that Max had been identified and flashed the balance in his checking account. He pondered his remaining cash and did some mental calculations. He could probably last another few weeks before he would run out of money. Then he would have to return to work, if he hadn’t already been fired for taking unauthorized leave, or start living on credit. Better still, he could find a new job - one that allowed him to work with his hands instead of a computer. For now, all he really needed was milk, drugs, duct tape, and a few other supplies.<br /><br />He started off down the first aisle. The cart glided out and followed along behind him, muttering about sales and specials as it went. Max paused long enough to punch the cart’s mute button and headed toward the pharmacy counter at the back of the store. The auto-pharmacist scanned his retina, confirmed that Max was due for a refill on his prescription, and sounded a tone to let him know his pill bottle was ready behind the dispenser door next to the scanner. The shopping cart screen briefly noted the debit for the purchase. He turned and headed for the dairy aisle for a gallon of milk, then picked up a box of cereal, toilet paper, the duct tape, and some new razors. He contemplated buying more supplies, but the thought of dragging everything up the hill to his apartment discouraged him. At some point, he would have to break down and drive his car to the store. For now, he’d make do with the bare necessities.<br /><br />The cart followed Max to the exit. On the sidewalk outside, the cart’s screen flashed a message indicating its gratitude for being of service, and tumbled the items Max had purchased into a plastic bag at the front. He lifted out his groceries. The cart whipped around and puttered back inside to await another customer.<br /><br />Max stood on the curb for a moment and soaked in the spring sunshine. He had intended to shop and head straight home to his dreary apartment. But the walk had given him a taste for the outdoors. He looked up the sidewalk toward the cafe with tables scattered out front. A cup of real coffee and a muffin would be a nice change of pace from his diet of pizza and cereal. And even better, it might be nice to speak to someone for a moment, even if it was only to place an order with the waiter.<br /><br />He hefted his groceries and headed for the café. The outdoor tables were deserted. It was the slow time of day; after the breakfast rush and before lunch.<br /><br />Max settled in at a seat with his back to the café door, leaving him with a clear view of the parking lot. He placed his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin on his knuckles to watch the cars rolling into place on the grid of parking spaces. Eventually, a pimply-faced waiter in a green apron appeared at his shoulder with a menu tablet in hand. <br /><br />“Good morning,” said the waiter. “Care to hear today’s specials?” <br /><br />Max only wanted a blueberry muffin and an iced coffee, but he nodded anyway. The sound of a human voice was refreshing. As the waiter rattled off the list of drink choices and pastry options, a disturbance erupted through the café door. The waiter paused and Max glanced over his shoulder as a man with an aluminum-foil scull cap, dark sunglasses, and a robe of dirty linen stumbled out of the café waving a fist-full of dollar bills.<br /><br />“It’s called cash, you tools,” shouted the lunatic. “Remember money?”<br /><br /> “We take credit and we take debit,” a voice shouted back from inside the café. “Order whatever you want, but no cash.”<br /><br />The lunatic stuffed the bills into his robe, stomped past Max’s table, and turned to stand on the curb. His face was red with fury, and veins stood out on his neck and forehead <br /><br />“All I have is cash.”<br /><br />The waiter shrugged at Max in a “What can you do?” sort of way.<br /><br />“You want I should starve?” the lunatic shrieked at the waiter.<br /><br />Then he turned on Max <br /><br />“How about you?” said the lunatic. “You think my money is no good?”<br /><br />“I’m sure it’s fine,” said Max in as calming and even a tone as he could muster. “It’s just a bit old fashioned.”<br /><br />“It’s legal tender.” The madman lunged halfway across the table to hold a bill in front of Max’s nose. “See, says so right there.”<br /><br />“It might be legal, but you’re not likely to find a cash register anywhere around here. They can’t make change.”<br /><br />“I don’t need change. I just want something to eat.”<br /><br />Max blinked at the crazed man. He was gaunt and the skin on his arms, neck, and face was sunburned a deep red. He certainly looked like he could use a meal.<br /><br />“Tell you what,” said Max, “I’ll put it on my tab. Place your order and you can give me the cash.”<br /><br />The lunatic clenched his jaw and appeared for a moment as if he was going to spit. He lifted his sun glasses and squinted briefly at Max with piercing blue eyes. His rage seemed to ebb a bit. He pulled out the chair on the other side of the tiny table and dropped to his seat with a thump. <br /><br />“I’ll take a bear claw, two plain bagels, a large coffee, and water.” He reached into his robe and slapped a crumpled wad of bills on the table.<br /><br />“Should I make that to go?” the waiter asked Max, raising an eyebrow suggestively.<br /><br />Max tilted his chair back on two legs. He didn’t mind having company, but this wasn’t really what he was hoping for.<br /><br />“Yes, please,” he said. “That would be great.”<br /><br />Max added his coffee and a blueberry muffin to the order, and the waiter escaped into the café. The lunatic adjusted his robe and apparently crossed his legs, although under the layers of cloth it wasn’t exactly clear if that was what was going on. He pushed his foil cap back on his head a bit, revealing bushy black eyebrows and a tan line across his forehead that evidently came from wearing the metal hat for long hours in the sun. <br /><br />“So,” said Max, tapping the table. “Come here often?”<br /><br />“Are you trying to be funny?”<br /><br />“No not at all,” said Max, attempting a weak smile. <br /><br />The lunatic rubbed his grimy hands together and winked conspiratorially. <br /><br />"Do me a favor. Act like you think I’m crazy.”<br /><br />Before Max could respond, the lunatic sucked in some air through his teeth as if he were trying to loosen a bit of food that might have been trapped there. <br /><br />"Go ahead and ask.”<br /><br />“Ask what?”<br /><br />“Go ahead and ask why I’m dressed this way.”<br /><br />“O K,” said Max slowly, “why are you dressed like that?”<br /><br />The lunatic tilted his head and cupped his ear. “What?”<br /><br />“I’m sorry,” said Max. "I thought you wanted me to. . . "<br /><br />The lunatic leaned forward, still cupping his ear, and said in a stage whisper, “What did you say?”<br /><br />“I said why are you dressed that way?”<br /><br />“Come again.”<br /><br />Great, thought Max, he’s hard of hearing as well as crazy. He cleared his throat. “Why,” he said,” louder this time, “are you dressed that way.”<br /><br />“One more time. Didn’t quite get it.”<br /><br />“I said,” Max shouted as the waiter appeared with a muffin and coffee on a tray in one hand and a paper bag in the other, “why are you dressed that way?”<br /><br />The lunatic slammed his open hands onto the table and pushed himself to his feet. He screamed at the top of his lungs, “None of your goddamned business! That’s why!” <br /><br />The waiter stopped so abruptly at the commotion that Max’s coffee sloshed onto the tray, and the muffin tumbled to the table.<br /><br />“Sir?” the wide-eyed waiter said to Max, “Should I call security?”<br /><br />The lunatic reached out and snatched the bag from the waiter’s hand. “Call the cops. Call the army. Call your mommy while you’re at it. Just tell me what I owe this man.”<br /><br />“Sir?” said the waiter, blinking at Max.<br /><br />“Yes, please. Tell me what he owes.”<br /><br />“Thirty-three thirty-four, plus tip.”<br /><br />The lunatic advanced on the waiter. “Thirty-three dollars and thirty-four cents? For a bear claw, two bagels, coffee, and water?”<br /><br />“Yes. Plus tip.”<br /><br />“Plus what?” screamed the lunatic inches from the waiter’s face.<br /><br />“Forget it. I mean the tip. Forget the tip.”<br /><br />The lunatic stuffed the bag under his arm and smacked his hand down on the wad of cash on the table. He picked up the money and counted out four, wrinkled bills. <br /><br />"There’s forty. Keep the change or give it to him.” He jerked a thumb at the waiter. A dark spot began to form at the bottom of the bag. It seemed the lunatic had upset his coffee.<br /><br />“Well?” said the lunatic to Max.<br /><br />“Well what?” <br /><br />“Count it. Aren’t you going to count it?”<br /><br />Max looked at the bills and then back at the lunatic, wondering to himself how much damage he could do if he hit the man with the bag of groceries at his side. <br /><br />“No. That’s all right. I trust you.”<br /><br />“You should count it.” The lunatic wheeled around and strode to the curb, while clutching at his robe to keep from stepping on the hem. “I’d count it if I were you. You never know who to trust these days.” The bag peed brown liquid as the lunatic dashed maniacally into the parking lot.<br /><br />“Thanks,” muttered Max, taking a deep breath and rolling his eyes at the stunned waiter. “I’ll do that.” He crushed the bills in his fist.<br /><br />“I’m sorry, sir,” said the waiter, on the verge of tears. “I dropped your muffin.”<br /><br />“Don’t worry about it.”<br /><br />“I’ll get you another,” mumbled the waiter, “on the house.”<br /><br />Max decided he’d gotten his fill of human contact for one day. <br /><br />“Make it to go,” he said as he pushed his chair back from the table and reached for his grocery bag.</span>
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