When Totems Fall (28 page)

"A simulation, sir. Nothing to worry about. If the system is to be all we have envisioned for China, it will need to be superior to anything the world can produce, correct?"

He continued, following a pre-rehearsed script prepared solely for this occasion.

"... and the military communications and control structure of the United States is one of the most developed systems to be found anywhere. The challenge provides a benchmark for our progress, does it not, unlike any other? Relax, Mr. Zang. To excel, we must size ourselves up against the best. Nothing more than an exercise, observing where we are succeeding and where improvements can be made."

Two realizations struck Junjie. First, things beyond the horizon of his personal influence were taking place in his company. Secondly, these unauthorized actions were most likely happening, as was true presently, at 2:30 in the morning. Warning bells fired off in Junjie's head. A direct confrontation would do him no good at this moment, the owner surmised, so he backed off.

"I see. Well, I stayed late last evening; couldn't sleep. Thought I might take a walk around the building, catch what the overnight shift is up to these days."

His congenial posturing produced little effect on the stone-faced man.

Nothing to see here. Move on.

Junjie's heart sunk another level downward as he retreated from the clean room, dropping the space-suit into the "used" bin and proceeding through the lushly appointed but vacant hallways and workspaces.

The memory of the late night encounter
and the feelings accompanying it were ample reminder for Junjie of how he had gotten here—on the run in an overcrowded, dilapidated bus a few minutes from his boyhood home. It also served as another ruthless accusation: that night, not so long ago, had been his last, real chance to foil the outrageous misapplication of their technology; an opportunity to stop everything in its tracks. Actions that he had considered, agonized over, and ultimately passed by.

Front tires met pothole.
The depression sent the twenty-five-foot-long vehicle into a wave-like motion, surging backward under seats and floorboards. Young children screamed. Chickens, loose again, scrambled out into the aisle.
Junjie couldn't wait for this part of the journey to end.

Soon enough, it had.

Zang gathered his things, descending the front exit stairs like everyone else. And like everyone else he wandered, meandering from covered parking bay to transit station, trying to meld into the flow of faces and bodies, all moving as a solid mass toward the lobby entrances. For the second time in a few weeks Junjie spied a cabbie at the curb. But not just any cabbie. This specific driver, like his contact in Qingdao, did his best to appear a random choice to anyone else who might be watching at the time.

"Southwest, forty-five minutes, Highway G316," Junjie said.

Once more his directions were partially truthful, owing to the possibility of audio surveillance in the transport.

"Certainly, sir," came the straightforward, knowing reply.

They pulled away from the building and Junjie caught a worn face looking up in the rear view mirror, wearing a small, almost imperceptible smile, crow's feet at the corners of eyes.

Junjie returned the expression subtly.

The next three-quarters of an hour he spent reviewing the general approach to an insane plan with an equally audacious goal: keep his government from doing any more damage in their power grab across the Pacific. Junjie had studied hard before leaving Qingdao but every second counted now. His best would be required at exactly the right moment in order to make any difference at all. The ways this operation might fail were too numerous to count, too disconcerting to consider for long. So he simply locked onto the next phases in front of him. And he prayed.

He prayed a lot.

Gansu.

The dust-laden, narrow road into town hadn't changed much since last seen by him. That was only three years ago at his father's funeral and burial. The scene in the village was one of mourning but also great remembrance, immense respect and honor for a man who'd given so much of himself for others. The look in the crowd's eyes as they focused on Junjie said it all:

Such a good man, may you live a life of equal significance.

While this could've been received as measurement against an impossible standard, it caused the young businessman instead to straighten his spine in admiration and thankfulness. Honoring his father's legacy with his own life would not be easy. Still, there was something inspiring about it all. It made him want to be better—especially now—to do the right thing, to stop the injustice and brutality unfolding thousands of miles away.

I have the chance to do something good.

Something important. Something right
.

These convictions buoyed Junjie's soul as he returned home.

THIRTY NINE

The sun cast its setting rays through the collection of older buildings along the main street of Junjie's village.

Stepping out of the cab
and feeling the semi-paved surface under his feet, the strange mix of asphalt and bare earth pronounced that this place had pretty much stayed frozen in time over the last half-century.

Junjie looked around. Across the street, local watering holes still remained, as were the aging, idle few frequenting them. Most people were at home already. Even those habitually stopping for a libation or two before supper had left for the evening meal. That was a good thing. The lack of foot traffic provided Junjie cover to sneak into the village relatively unnoticed.

"Junjie." The soft voice came from the driver's seat window.

"Go. You must go now. Move on to the meeting place. You know the way."

He nodded, and without speaking, picked up his things and started down the roadway. After two blocks of dusty travel he turned left, picking up the pace. Around the corner and then crossing the street, the young man hopped up onto the covered porch of a run-down house with broken windows across its front. Paint peeled away in sheets. Shingles hung off the roof at odd angles. He opened the door only as much as was needed and stepped inside. Then he stood there, still and listening, tasting dust in the air.

Nothing. A few more seconds, wanting to be sure. Still, nothing.

Junjie put down his cases and removed the shoulder bag from around his neck.

The voice was so quiet, he strained to catch it.

"So, the favored son returns."

Junjie breathed again. The long-loved and recognized sound meant he had made it, the first step of this improbable journey was now complete.

"I am here," he responded, his voice trembling with gratefulness.

"And so you are, young one. We received word only yesterday you were coming. Be assured, this news has been guarded. Few others have been alerted; only as many as need be. What you are trying to do is noble. It is also difficult, is it not?"

"Indeed, my friend, it is. But to do nothing would be worse than what I have allowed already to take place."

"Ah," the voice replied. "Redemption is what you seek, then."

"Something like that."

The voice came forward, out from the shadows, motioning his hand across the room.

"Well then, it seems we've picked the appropriate place for you to attempt such a reversal of circumstance."

Junjie had stood here before,
many times in fact. The faint yet familiar quietly lingered in his senses. These triggers flooded his mind with good memories—fond images and emotions.

The Australian man and his wife with flaming red hair.

This was their home. At least at one time, long ago, it had been. The door behind him? One he had barged through hundreds of times. The kitchen? Always holding another small morsel, offered freely to a hungry Chinese boy. The rooms, all filled with a tangible, experiential hope, even in the direst of seasons.

It looked so different now. Rundown—as structurally failing as possible without being formally condemned. Yet even in this worn state he felt something—no, someone—a power and presence not contained in bricks and mortar.

Yes, this place would be perfect.

"You have confirmed the situation?" Junjie asked the man.

"Yes, everything you need. As bad as it looks, it will not fall down on top of you," he smiled. "... and the electricity is on. The back room is the best place to set up, I believe, away from the view of the street. Though no one will suspect a thing. The house has been empty for over twenty years now."

"I heard a while back someone tried to renovate it?" Junjie asked.

"Yes," the man answered. "Some interest. You know how these things go. Big dreams and little money to make them happen. An attempt to recapture better days from the past, I am sure."

He sighed wistfully. "It was not to be."

"It seems quite fit for my needs. Thank you."

"We are with you, Junjie. We will watch. We will pray."

"I could not ask for anything more, my brother. Bless you… and now I must get to work, my friend."

Sunlight faded
.

Junjie moved his cases into the back room and began setting up. It didn't take long. Remarkable really, considering what would be attempted from here.

The laptop he unpacked? It seemed no different than those in your average business offices across the world. All was not so straightforward a few layers deeper. Beneath ordinary casing lie components that would cause even the most jaded tech junkie to drool with envy. Dual hard drives spun at 10,000rpm, cooled by the latest in variable heat-sink technology. Its logic board sported quad full 128bit data paths. The working memory, RAM, was so fast and efficient it could handle the majority of system needs on the space shuttle. Yeah, this box would do just fine, but she was hungry. For power, lots of clean power. That's where the magic converter came into play, the unit Quan Dho had given to Junjie. A mystery in a small black case, the time had come now for it to meet expectations.

Junjie took the power cable from the computer and plugged it into the female receptacle on the device. Next, he inserted the end coming out of the converter into a burn-stained plastic wall plug, a little to the left of the small table now commandeered as his mission HQ. It was that simple.

He held his breath for a moment. No sparks. No acrid smell of burnt electrical cabling or internal components.

That a boy, Quan.

Junjie opened the lid, hitting the laptop's power cycle button. A cascading flow of boot sequence digits danced across the screen, top to bottom. No floating Windows or Mac OS startup images to wait on here. This operating environment had been designed from the ground up to handle one thing and one thing only: high-level comm and coding duties. The system, hardware and software together, was truly one of a kind. Junjie had been forced into some serious cramming to gain even basic proficiency with it. After putting the work in he was confident he could captain the interface and get it to perform.

On first boot everything worked fine. Now for the tricky part. At the heart of the mission was the need to access the hyper-sensitive code Dawn Star had produced and handed over. Conquering its extensive firewalls and logic traps would be Junjie's first, primary hurdle. From there the battle would be in rerouting its power for other purposes. The whole gig, in a nutshell: climb the wall, take control. Step one in this series of daunting tasks? Lock onto a stable connection from whence the proposed disruptions could emanate.

High-speed internet service was not available in Gansu, at least not in this remote part of the province. A few larger cities had reasonable options. Here there were no options at all. Nothing that is, besides a connection in the sky.

Satellite uplink.

Junjie pulled out the third piece of nondescript gear in his possession; another humble, small device. One more of Quan's miracles. Its sleek, silver exterior hosted no data cables at all. One small LED, flashing green, orange, or red was the only obvious indication it was an electronic device. No power connections. Not even a visible screw for the cover.

Honestly, Junjie thought, this young technician's designs were as elegant as any major computer manufacturer's. Quan was a singularly talented guy and a blessing to have on their team.

Junjie double-clicked the startup icon on the quick launch bar and within seconds an options dialogue emerged.

Two buttons:

Save the world from nuclear destruction,
or

The very best of cat videos on the internet.

Junjie almost laughed out loud. Knowing better, he carried the emotion of the moment on his face and eyes instead of with his voice. A few joy-filled tears proceeded down his cheeks, falling onto his shirt in a profound release of tension. He was so thankful his friend had a sense of humor.

"Well, 'Save the world' it will have to be," Junjie said to no one in particular. "I really don't have time for cat videos right now."