Chapter 22



He woke as his car entered the darkness under an overpass. At first he wasn't sure he'd slept at all. The dream had removed his sense of urgency. His mind sometimes played back sounds when he fell asleep, conversation fragments and strange whistling. He remembered music, and wondered if it had been real.
  Automatic cars had 4-point seat belts to keep their riders upright. Not as comfortable as a convertible micro-van, where the main cabin could turn into different rooms as needed. Some inspectors lived in them.
  More traffic moved into his lane, reducing the separation distance to ten meters. A few years ago this voyage would have been the stuff of dreams. The day loomed ahead like an endless runway. Rick felt empty, saving his neurotransmitters. Knowing he would soon feel better didn't help.
  The years had come full-circle. Finding Anonymous would justify all his rulebook violations. Surely it couldn't make matters worse. He considered stopping at a one-hour motel for a shower.
  His phone buzzed. "Hello Rick," a woman's voice purred.
  "Who is this?" he asked.
  "You know who this is."
  For five years, he'd had a scarily persistent stalker whom he couldn't recall meeting. "How did you get this number?" he demanded.
  "I talked to your boss in my sexy voice."
  It was too much. For three days he had been under a lot of stress, and finally he snapped. "You stupid bitch," he screamed, "why don't you die!" He added insults he wouldn't remember.
  He heard sirens, drums, monkeys and tropical birds. "You've been Jammed!" a professional speaking voice echoed. He recognized a personality from The Traffic Jam, a twenty-four hour entertainment channel, aimed at a different timezone each hour. This was eastern China's turn. A translator babbled in the background.
  "Don't waste my time!" Rick shouted, words that became part of the show's intro.
  He hung up. Almost immediately, the phone double-bleeped again. It was Tina. "You sound hoarse," she said.
  "I must have dozed off."
  "No time for that now. Anonymous's experiments affected a larger area than we initially thought. You're already in the outer ring. The Back Room found a statistical cutoff in the frequency of the most severe political protests. For some reason, she may have helped the government keep order. Donitz says to gather data, but don't pursue any leads by yourself. You'll spend the day reviewing and sealing sites of interest, stickers and forms. Watch your back. He may use you as bait." He had already leaked his schedule.

  Two hours later, he sat in a high-speed commuter train flying through fog-shrouded fields, a type of pollution. The sun disk glared through the haze, the apotheosis of all dawns. All his senses were attuned. He could smell the dye in the carpet. The passengers were subdued, as if they knew this morning would be different. Most of them were already at work. The train kept changing, as modular cars separated and joined at local stations.
  Looking at weather reports, he saw parallel clouds fleeing the sun, ripples and density waves. Donitz was studying local suicide patterns. Russian State Security was still scouring the Zondyne code.
  His phone flashed the Millipol seal, something a biker gang would use. There was no video, only a background hum.
  "Is there time to talk?" asked a woman with a sophisticated Indian accent.
  "I hope so," Rick said.
  "I'm Demillia Peltari with Millipol Bombay, Census Division JJ-1. I can't reveal my function at this time." She had an aristocratic voice. "I have relevant information."
  "I desperately need it."
  "Three years ago, a medium-size town experienced a drug epidemic, the easiest form of suicide. Four people died after injecting 'brain mites', recombinant bacteria used to amplify emotions." They were said to come from the gills of giant squids.
  Demillia talked faster than Tina, and he missed a sentence: ". . . activated inert spores through forced conjugation. The chain of transmission affected hundreds of users in three generations. Reality became incredibly intense. Users saw every detail around them, turning ordinary actions into a fantastic adventure. After a while, many became absurdly cautious. Some users stopped moving altogether." Rick again thought of Roger Xyrghyz.
  "The behavior itself was contagious, causing permanent social changes," Demillia continued. "Increased telecommuting and home schooling caused local insurance rates to drop. Our agents found empty streets, neglected or eradicated gardens, and hundreds of new fences. There were only twenty hardcore users. Some of them are still asleep."
  "Another Method test?"
  "No, but we believe her presence made it happen. Two of your rehabilitated convicts lived nearby; one victim was also in Eureka. The users described . . . strange dreams." Demillia knew things Rick couldn't dream of. "The town council used rumor control to suppress the story. Anywhere else it would have drawn more attention. Since the crisis has been resolved, the location of these events is no longer relevant." Rick knew it was Heimat, Brazil. "There's another town, similar in many ways, called Qiyuan. It has the highest transparency index and lowest civil disturbance rate in China. It is the second safest place on the coastal plains; except for the fact that Anonymous lives there."
  Both facts would soon change. "They have advanced beyond communism:" she continued, "an interactive democracy. The local government calls it emergent unanimity. No crime or poverty, except what they choose to tolerate."
  "Did you tell your boss?" Rick asked.
  "Within ten seconds of my initial verification."
  For a moment he didn't know what to do. Inertia carried him forward. "Whoever destroyed my motel room does not work for Anonymous," he said. "She avoids risks, and wouldn't clear a highway for an ambulance."
  "Perhaps your attacker is also hunting her," Demillia agreed. "He can't access your investigation, but thinks you're working for Anonymous, perhaps because you're manipulating Chen."
  Somehow, he had created another blowup. "You seem well informed."
  Demillia went on. "The murder of a UN inspector would get the world's attention, and draw helpful resources to the case. I reluctantly conclude your attacker is a Millipol agent, on an authorized illegal mission."
  "So are you. I need a favor."

  A few minutes past noon, he reached the man who had erased his motel room. Demillia arranged the one-way link. Rick's attacker never spoke, but he seemed only a few meters away, not quite in the same space. Rick told him not to attempt any cover-ups, and sent the final data from Tina and Chen. Expecting to be indicted long before his attacker ever was, he wanted to avoid civilian casualties.
  He checked the map in the cabin's virtual silence. There was no vibration as the landscape passed like a storm. He was in hostile territory.
  When the call had ended, Rick remembered an earlier background roar. He realized Demillia was in the air, also headed for Qiyuan. The information would get there first.

  News of Anonymous's survival reached the Chinese premier, who returned from Hainan to a command center under the Forbidden City. Federal Police would perform the arrest, but the Army wanted to test its new Air Mobile brigade, an hour's flying time from Qiyuan. Advance elements deployed to fields around the town. If necessary, the Army Air Force could contribute additional firepower at a minute's notice. The premier wondered why armies still existed.
  Rick tried to call the Police Ministry. A recorded voice suggested he keep away. He was an hour out by public transport. Any flight he boarded would not take off. His car would have kept making wrong turns.
  Tina looked up the codes for Qiyuan's community net. Traffic was light, the town's bus network operating with the regularity of a dripping faucet.
  Then hundreds of people were talking at once. Had they heard the news? One minute before 1 PM, chaos returned to the world. Through the scattered voices rose a single scream.