Free System Seven by Michael Parks

After
two unnerving tries, he found one.
    A body on the lawn lay
unmoving – a deputy. Another officer was also down but pointing and talking to
Agent Morris. Two agents covered him and his dad with guns drawn. Burning
debris littered the yard.
    In the silence,
accompanied by the pain and the warm night air, it seemed like a dream. Soon
more police appeared, followed by fire trucks and then ambulance after
ambulance. The helicopter kept the neighborhood lit and created a surreal stage
where the nightmare played out. Was this
all about the file? The answer seemed to rise from the flames licking the
night sky. They’d destroyed his shop, his computers, and presumably any copies
of the hacker’s files.
    The laptop. He
suppressed the thought, fearful of the agents nearby. They had arranged for all
of this in less than a day.
    What I have sent you could threaten your life.
For that I am sorry.
    Sudden nausea set the
world spinning. If he’d just done his job and secured the network he wouldn’t
have drawn the hacker’s attention.
    Instead, there was
this.
    He nearly threw up at
the thought.
    • • •
    The sleepy village of
Oostendorp was a welcome sight in the early morning hours. The dark house
yawned light from its garage as it opened. He pulled inside the space, just
behind a ‘72 Triumph Spitfire. The garage door lowered and isolation bloomed in
the silence. Eyes closed, he breathed deep, thankful for the safe journey.
    The house was typical
of the block. Narrow and tall with three stories. First floor garage, entry,
half bath, and storage. Second floor living area, kitchen, and bath. Master and
guest room on the third floor. He walked around the kitchen and plugged things
in before storing the food he’d bought. With a bottle of warm ale in hand, he
tuned the television to a news channel and collapsed on the couch. It didn’t take long to see his face and his
aliases.
    “ Shit! ” A photo of Mrs. Shulz surrounded by her grandkids filled the
screen. “You murdering bastards. ” He
launched from the couch to pace the room. To see it confirmed on the news, to
see the familiar light in her eyes–
    What had Mrs. Shulz died for? The laptop
rested on the kitchen counter. Fifteen pieces of Crosstalk’s file waited, parts
of the answer. He took a deep draught of ale and stabbed the remote, killing
the images. Thunder cracked and rolled in the distance as if to echo and extend
his guilt miles into the night.
    Karma . Great forces were at work. Mind readers. If... if real, then it was bigger than him, bigger than Crosstalk or the
UG. It was larger than the life he knew or could imagine: the control they
would have, by all rights, would be complete. The implications left him feeling
small and vulnerable, easily trapped.
    Checking himself hard,
he drained the bottle and went for another.
    “No. Until there is
proof – no fear. No fear.”
    Crosstalk could have
overreacted or been under the influence of a drug or just mentally unstable
when he sent the email. The file might only be conventional data, though worthy
of the murder and frame job. Governments had such secrets. There was only one
way to find out.
    Getting to the file
fast was key. They had detected his first grab which meant Alcazar was in their
sights. The next grab had to be from a roundabout way, fast and furiously. A
perfect job for the Asshole Array, his most populated and diverse botnet.
    He grabbed the laptop
and went to work.

Chapter 4
    The world owes all its onward impulses to men ill at
ease. The happy man inevitably confines
himself within ancient limits.
    - Nathaniel Hawthorne
     
    Austin woke with a
bone dry mouth and crusty eyes. Sunlight reflected from the white floor and
walls. A nurse set breakfast on a tray table. Confusion lingered until he saw
beyond her to the uniformed officer holding the door open. The prior night’s
madness fell into place.
    “My dad. Where’s my
dad?”
    “That’s a question for
the police, I imagine,” the