The Dark Net

“Very disappointing,” said Neumann as he knelt down and sprinkled a handful of sand onto Linus. “A draw is so anticlimactic.” 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. Listen to the Chapter 34 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta. “I’m still alive. According to your rules,” said Max, “I win.” “No. Minus resigned.” Max shrugged. “I don’t see a difference.” “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.” Neumann picked up Linus and cradled him in his arms like a baby. “In fact, I should punish you for what happened to my little backgammon buddy.” “I did all I could to save him. If anyone had the opportunity to intervene, it was you.” Neumann stroked the glossy feathers of the penguin’s head. “It was your fight. I chose not to break my own rules.” “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.” 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.” 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. “I don’t mean any disrespect,” said Max. “I only ask for my just reward.” “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.” 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. 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. 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. “There it is,” said Neumann, “you’re reward.” “What do you two pricks want?” said Betty. Neumann walked up the steps onto the porch. “Hey boy,” Betty said to Neumann, “you should put on some clothes.” Neumann beckoned to Max to follow, paying no attention to Betty’s remark. “Now, do what you came here for.” Betty spat at Neumann. “If either of you touches me, I’ll rip your balls off.” “What I came here for?” said Max. “What are you talking about?” Neumann grabbed Betty by the wrist and with one swift motion, flung her out of her seat and onto the white wooden porch floor. “You know what you want,” said Neumann. “Take her.” “No, no. . .” Max stammered. “I don’t know what you thought.” 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. “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. “Or are you more traditional?” He spun her around, jammed her back against the rail, and pinned her arms to

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. Listen to the Chapter 33 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta. 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. 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. Max stopped at the arena’s edge while Perske climbed up a step to one of two empty spaces in the front row. “I understand that you want to make a trade,” she said. “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.” She motioned for him to continue. “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.” “I see,” said Perske. “And another thing,” he let his hand drop to his side. “I want Betty back.” Perske smiled in a way that looked more sad and pitying than anything else. “All that,” she said, “in exchange for a piece of costume jewelry.” Max shook his head. “It’s no doomsday device, but it’s a lot more than a necklace. I’ve seen it in action.” “You’re wrong. That thing is junk.” 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. “Joel?” 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. “Max Caine, I presume,” said Joel, lifting himself onto his hands and knees. “Funny meeting you here.” Max’s head swam as he tried to put all the pieces together. He thrust the pendant in Joel’s face. “Tell them what this thing can do.” Joel sat back on his heels and inspected the jewel as though he were appraising its resale value for a pawn shop. “Not much really, other than broadcast its IP address every few milliseconds.” “What?” “It’s just a tracking device.” Spencer stood up, sneering as he displayed a necklace and pendant that was virtually identical to the one in Max’s hand. “I presume this is the one you were thinking of,” he said. “I took it off of our mutual friend Joel there.” A lump rose in Max’s throat. His one bargaining chip was lost. “Linda lied to me?” 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.” 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. He wrapped his finger over the trigger. But the futility of the situation ov

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. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spencer take a tentative step forward. “Against the wall,” he said firmly. Spencer backed up and readjusted his glasses. Listen to the Chapter 32 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta. 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. “Call them off Spencer.” “Them? Them who?” 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. “Call them off.” “Oh them,” Spencer yelped. “Eddie! Bob! Back away.” 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. “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. “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. “Hmm? Oh sure,” said the turf man before obediently taking his place with Spencer and the tree man. 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. “Are you surprised to see me?” he asked Spencer. “A bit, at least under these circumstances. Frankly, we had planned to get you back one way or another.” Max nodded. “I thought as much.” “Nice of you to save us the trouble. What brings you here?” “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.” Spencer shrugged. “So some people say.” “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.” Spencer raised an eyebrow. “Such as?” “First, you set Linda here free. She doesn’t know the way out on her own so she’ll need some help.” Spencer nodded thoughtfully. “Bob,” he said to the turf man, “is that something you can handle?” “Yes,” replied the tree man curtly, apparently miffed at the misidentification. “It shouldn’t be a problem.” “What's second?” asked Spencer. “I want to see Perske.” “Now that’s a bit trickier. She has a pretty full calendar.” Max aimed the rifle at Spencer’s belly. Spencer swallowed hard. “I imagine we can squeeze you in.” “Great,” said Max. Linda groaned and Max realized it wouldn’t be long before she was fully alert, and likely very peeved. “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.” 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. “That way is blocked,” said Max. “Denial of service.” “Not a problem,” said Bob over his shoulder. “Those don’t last long.” Max turned back to Spencer. “So, I guess we better go talk to Perske and explain the deal.” Spencer

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. Listen to the Chapter 31 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta. 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. Linda checked the setting on her rifle. She motioned to Max to do the same. “Are you sure this it the place?” she said. 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. Linda sketched out a brief plan of attack. It was simple and straightforward – just the way Max liked it. “On three,” she said. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. Max pulled the gate shut and armed the Denial of Service mechanism. “Now?” he asked. There was a quick succession of shots. “Hold on a second,” Linda said. She finished off the reinforcements who were still mobile, then trained her

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. Listen to the Chapter 30 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta. 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. 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. Linda stopped and cupped her ear to listen to the tune for a moment. She dropped her hand to her side, and tilted her head as she scanned the scene. “Who are these people?” she asked. “I have no idea.” 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. “Do you notice anything strange?” she asked. “About the music?” said Max. “No.” “Look at them up there,” she said, waving her hand broadly at the people on the steps. “Everyone is touching someone else.” 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. “It’s all part of the sugar-coated illusion, I guess.” “No it’s not just couples holding hands. They are all connected.” 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. “Yuck,” Max grimaced. “They’ve lost their sense of personal space.” “It’s not very American of them.” Max nodde

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. 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. Listen to the Chapter 28 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta. 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. A moan from the other side of the desk confirmed she had made it through. She called his name in a trembling voice. “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. “That was freaky,” said Linda, apparently still on the floor. “Like wrestling with a paint mixer.” 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. “It feels more like an electric shock to me.” “I guess,” she said as she massaged one of her hands. “I’ve never been shocked. Not with an electric current anyway.” Linda grasped the edge of the desk and lifted herself up. “What now?” “I guess," said Max, "we do what I did last time.” He thought back to the first Beetle episode, trying to recall each of the steps he had gone through before. “Exit environment,” he called. The room transformed into the cluttered lab. He held out his hand. “Come on.” 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. 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. 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. 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. “Home please,” he ordered the auto-chauffeur program. The car glided out of the parking space toward the street. “Nice car,” said Linda, waving her hand at the dashboard. “I guess, for an econo-box. I don’t really keep it this clean.” Linda nodded soberly. “A little light on the details?” “So it seems.” 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. 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

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. Listen to the Chapter 27 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta. 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. “If that thing slips,” said Max, “you’ll crush me.” 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. “Can you see the test pattern?” Max focused on the image in the lenses. “Yep, there are the cross hairs. The focus looks about right.” “And you can still hear me?” He nodded. “It’s a little muffled.” When everything was set, she stepped back to survey the set up, and then climbed into the twin lounge chair nearby. “Wait,” said Max, “I thought I was going with Joel.” “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.” Max lifted the headphones off of his ears. “I’d really prefer it if he came along instead.” “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.” “We’ve worked things out haven’t we Joel? Come on, it’ll be fun” Joel shook his head in a silent but vigorous negative reply before busying himself at the keyboard and monitor across the room. Max pushed the goggles to the side. “What’s the matter?” Linda asked. “Don’t you trust me? Or is it because I’m a girl?” “No, it’s not that.” “I’m a much better shot that Joel. Much better than you too, as I’ve heard.” Max stammered, “This isn’t the way I thought it would go down.” “What did you have in mind?” “I don’t know. It’s just not what I expected. That’s all.” After a moment, he pulled his goggles back in place. “I’ll try to adapt.” Joel made himself small at the terminal. Linda fiddled needlessly with the equipment mounted to her lounge chair. 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. “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?” “There are a few possibilities,” Joel mumbled. “Lets get started,” said Linda. “We’ll hang out on the inside until you find an exploit.” 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

Read about the Dark Net Target Practice game inspired by this chapter. 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. Listen to the Chapter 26 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta. 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. “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. “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.” After a few moments, the frozen paperclip jerked back into motion just as Joel had predicted. 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?” Max shook his head. “After you.” Joel aimed again and shouted, “Hey dude, it looks like I’m writing an obituary.” The paperclip bounced spastically. “Would you like help?” it screeched. “I think I know how to compose this one.” Joel fired a shot. The grinning paperclip melted into a blob of gray goo that seeped into the grass. Joel thrust the weapon into Max’s hands. “Give it a go. It’s fun.” The faux wood stock was warm and smooth. The rifle had a comfortable heft. 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. 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. “If we’re going in there armed with these,” he said, “I hope you’re not counting on my marksmanship.” Max turned as he spoke, and Joel leapt back clumsily stumbling on his robes. “Watch it,” he squeaked. “Don’t point that at me.” Max lowered the muzzle. “Excuse me. Is it dangerous to humans?” “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?” Max admitted that it was not a pleasure he had ever experienced. “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.” The image brought an involuntary smile to Max’s face. “Besides,” said Joel, “you don’t have to aim very well with these.” 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 let

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. Listen to the Chapter 24 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta. 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. 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. 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. “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.” Max had opted for the bucket. 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. 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. 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

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. Listen to the Chapter 23 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. “Shit,” he said, wiping grit off of his lips. “It don’t taste like paradise.” He sprang back to his feet, but stepped on the hem of his robe in the process, which prevented him from standing fully erect. “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.” 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. Linda reached for Max’s arm. “Come on.” “Are we going to give him the grand tour?” asked Joel as he struggled to disentangle his foot from his robe. “It’ll be too dark soon," said Linda with a shake of her head. "We can show him around tomorrow.” “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 ro