Konsk: The Great Takeover of the Place

28 Feline double trouble

During the period of the takeover, there was considerable and vociferous debate as to whether what was occurring was either the action of one or more AIs that had evolved in the Net, a coordinated bid for power by various terrorist organisations, the concentrated efforts of a single world power to achieve dominance or a general and diverse uprising of individuals and groups throughout the world whose many separate actions displayed emergent properties of a high order and intelligence.

This debate often led to violent events as reactionary groups attempted to maintain positions of authority and a wide variety of creative solutions became manifest both as a response to violence and as methods for avoiding future violence.

Konsk: appendices.

Catherine Oldman appeared not to hear the statement, looked blankly down at her hands, the fingers lightly entwined on the boardroom table. They were in Manson's meeting room, a minimalist, empty, white space, evenly illuminated, the table being the only object of colour, a bright, red wood, no doubt of some rare tropical species.

Manson, with his back to them, was running on a pure white treadmill, gazing into a wrap-around screen depicting a forest landscape with a track that continuously rushed toward him and passed to either side. His bare back shone with a light glaze of sweat, a subtle directional lighting having been carefully arranged to emphasise each clearly defined muscle group. His PA of the moment, a new face to Catherine since their last meeting, stood behind and to one side, cradling an e-board, his tunic and a towel,

"Sorry?" Catherine asked after a moment, taking her time and wondering, again, how far she would have to push him in order to get a genuinely spontaneous reaction.

From where she sat she could see that he had a smaller screen inset in his forest view, a camera revealing what was behind him; her face nearly filled it. He slowed his run to a brisk walk, then a leisurely stroll, holding out a hand to receive the eagerly proffered towel. Manson, also taking his time, began to wipe down his hairless upper body. She wondered if he took her mild lack of respect as a form of flirting. It was a worrying thought.

He stopped, received his tunic, a high collared affair with shiny buttons and epaulettes. The planet earth logo was a digitised version, a flexible screen on which the globe rotated slowly. He spoke again, at last.

"I said, if it gets to that, then ethical considerations will no longer be so... relevant."

He seated himself opposite her in an almost invisible chair, as white as its surroundings, leaning back into its padded comfort elbows on the arm rests, which were lacking in Catherine's own chair. He seemed to enjoy these off the record meetings, consulting with his currently favoured geeks, the other, apart from herself, being Lorenz. He certainly seemed prepared to speak more openly of his intentions.

"Meaning?" She asked, concealing her concern.

“Meaning,” Manson drawled, “that if the Peninsula can't police its own affairs, we'll have to do it for them."

Lorenz, was quick to support their employer's brash statement.

"Meaning, that the neighbouring states on the Peninsula have already resorted to using their armed forces in unsuccessful attempts to control both their own shifting populations and the EMFs. We've got an upsurge in local militias in response and it looks like civil wars are on the point of breaking out in a number of the countries.”

“Your simple acronym,” Catherine deciding to push, “Is highly misleading; it conceals considerable diversity. Yes, some of these External Malicious Forces are insurgents but others are internal rebels, revolutionaries or reactionaries, plus various extremists including religious and political of either wing, environmentalists and eco-terrorists, among others. They've all got different issues and require different interventions; its not as simple as waving a clenched fist.”

Standish Manson gave a mock stroke to his painted hair and leaned forwards towards her, smiling.

"But you understand the seriousness of the situation here, don't you, Mizz Oldman? Of course you do. I've spent twenty years working on this project and invested truly vast sums of money while shouldering considerable delays and interruptions on the way. If people continue to choose to play these destructive games then we will simply stop them, I will stop them. There is no other option."

Catherine focused on her own breathing, keeping it slow and steady.

“There are some very good reasons for the disquiet,” she said at last, “As you well know, not that I condone the violence. The whole Peninsula is facing significant environmental challenges, they've got increasingly extreme weather, severe droughts followed by catastrophic wild fires, then flash flooding, so massive erosion and pollution of water supplies. Its no wonder people are angry and on the move when their governments just can't keep up with the cascading emergencies.”

“And you would suggest?”

“Why, the World Games Stadium is one of the most secure projects on the planet! You've got massive security, high tech defensive weaponry, a no-fly zone you've enforced for decades, an internal media hub with as much connectivity and more built in redundancy than most nation states can manage. Sit it out! And if you really want to do something to stabilise the neighbouring states, you might think of financing an aid programme, or giving them their water back.”

“Not quite as secure as you suggest, Mizz Oldman,” Manson spoke with a lazy air.

Internally, Catherine froze for a moment but allowed no change to her features.

“Something else has happened,” she stated, not a question.

“Indeed it has, Mizz Oldman. Lorenz? Would you like to...?”

He was enjoying himself. How could he, she thought, when people were dying? He's hiding something. Lorenz cleared his throat.

“I'm afraid the last of the geo-stationary satellites has succumbed to the ablation event. The debris field form the previous collisions has now taken out everything that was covering the central Peninsula. Various states have tried moving more into positions in higher orbits but all their attempts so far have met with failure and-”

"And no further communications have taken place," she intoned.

"The whole Sub-Con-Pen is either firewalled or disabled." Lorenzo became excited. "Everything sent since has either been rendered inactive, destroyed or captured. Ships, aircraft, missiles. Even our drones got hacked - we're employing the most sophisticated technology available and its as if they had open access to our systems and control codes."

He dried up. Understandably, thought Catherine.

"Presumably we don't know who is actually responsible," she said.

"A number of different actors made claims initially, including," he paused to read from his e-board, "The remnant central government, the Southern Regional Collective, whoever or whatever they might be now, a military junta made up of air vice marshals and army generals, various civil militia's and the usual rag tag of violent Intransigents; Earth's Fist, Cultural Nemesis, Fifth Rider and the like.”

“That's beside the point,” Manson broke in. “Suffice to say that we have, for the moment, lost all contact with the Sub-Con Peninsula and more importantly, with my Stadium.”

This was indeed news. She muscle read her employers face and found only a general lack of concern. Did he want this to happen, then? Or worse, was it all going to plan, his plan? Catrin made her play.

"You are focusing only on external, physical events; I think its very doubtful that there is any state, organisation, group or individual who is up to this level of technological capability."

She let it hang. Lorenzo glanced briefly at his employer and then spoke carefully.

"You are considering whether the rumours might be true." He stopped.

Catherine read both excitement and fear in the rapid pattern of muscles contractions across his face. The excitement won out but it was Manson who spoke.

“You're suggesting,” he drawled, “that an AI has appeared in the Net.”

His smile was slightly mocking.

“The Contikka virus had a good chance to spread through the global network before it was even spotted but it seems to have targetted specifically the Sub-Con-Pen networks and server farms.”

“But it doesn't do anything!” Lorenz was insistent.

“It doesn't appear to do anything particularly destructive,” Catherine continued, patiently, “It simply creates multiple local web servers, each with the possibility of generating sixteen million simultaneous connections.”

“Yes,” said Lorenz, “but all that would do would be to impact on system speed, nothing else, no data theft or loss.”

“But what if,” said Catherine, “the payload is for all infected machines to establish multiple connections with each other in such a way as to create the largest neural network ever?”

Lorenz was going to interrupt but Catherine raised a hand.

“And someone then loads something into that neural network? Like an embryonic AI?”

She had to control the urge to laugh. That's put the willies up them, she thought; even Manson had raised a painted eyebrow.

“So what do you suggest, Mizz Oldman?”

“Send in an operant, your INCO, to snoop the system. With the appropriate support of course. The old country are planning an intervention."

Lorenzo let out a low whistle but it was Manson who spoke.

"You mean the bloody freak-show," he grated.

"They're good cover, plenty of colour and noise for little effect. They'll have legal status as an NGO. The operant can then make his move with just a small team. You can chuck in your elite unit of heavies to hold the surrounding area and keep an eye on things, if you want."

"And where exactly would you suggest going in?"

“Your stadium's the obvious place; the internal Media Centre's got the connectivity. Start there.”

Manson sat back in his chair, elbows on the rests, steepling his fingers, a sense of calm, confidence returning to his body, tinged with a subtle, smug arrogance. He nodded.

"Agreed,” he said. “We send in the INCO but not with the freak-show. He goes in with my heavies.”

A warm welcome to new subscribers. To those of you who have signed up recently and wish to follow the Meta-Pata-Fiction Konsk, you need to select the fiction tab on my home page and trawl back for episode one. Alternatively you can click here for the prologue. I am always willing and grateful for any feedback on Konsk as it is in a state of continuous flux and you have the opportunity to help shape the work.

Only one picture this time I regret, largely because my forest net connection has reduced to a measly 0.24 Megabytes a second, making uploading anything, even just text, rather sloooow- an internet super-footpath, as my friend and colleague Misrule used to remark. Hopefully by next time the Phone Coop will have sorted the problem, which rather unusually for our isolated location, seems to originate in the exchange, for a change, rather than being the result of some raven inspecting a junction box hanging off a conifer bough.

More on fire is on the way and also rain which, at the moment at least, has the upper hand here... Thanks again for reading. Till next time, hwyl! Chris