The Colonel nodded, poker-faced. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t forget storm cellars and culverts. Any hiding place.” The Colonel nodded solemnly.

“As for tactics, the irregular forces will prevent civilians from escaping, while your forces move through town destroying everything in their path. Psyops units will be filming as needed. It’s important that they get some footage that resembles an operation to dislodge an insurgent occupation. I expect the residents will oblige us by resisting with force, but if not, your men should facilitate that imagery.”

“That’s a formal objective?”

“It is. One other thing, Colonel.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m sending a special unit into one of the target areas. It’s a detachment out of Weyburn Labs. No one may inspect their equipment. Their mission is classified and reports directly to me. It takes priority over any other objective. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal clear, sir. I’ll make sure the men understand. What target is your team being sent to?”

“Greeley, Iowa.”

Chapter 30: // Quarantine

Pete Sebeck stood in a fabrication shop in Greeley, Iowa, watching a selective laser sintering machine print a tractor part out of metal powder. The car-sized machine used laser-generated heat to fuse the powder into a metal solid based on a digital 3-D model. The proprietor of the shop, a thirteenth-level Fabricator named Hedly, monitored the process through a tinted window.

Sebeck stood behind him listening to Diving Bruce, an “Ozzie” eleventh-level Entrepreneur, who’d come all the way from Melbourne to see what was going on in towns like Greeley. Sebeck found himself in more and more of these demonstrations as he and Price scoured the town for some idea of why the Thread brought them here.

The Australian talked with passionate intensity. “When the Daemon infected our networks, I saw it for what it was, yes? A bloody opportunity.”

Sebeck raised his eyebrows. “Even though it was stealing from you?”

“Stealing? Yes, but it was a wake-up call, too. It changed the game for everyone, didn’t it? Not just me. I realized I couldn’t have long supply chains. It would punish me—and my competitors—for doing that. That’s a level playing field. The Destroy function it installed in our network is like a hand grenade pin that anyone can pull—a ticking clock forcing us to migrate to a more sustainable, less complex system. And besides . . .” He gestured to the machines around them. “This is the future. It makes no bloody sense to transport parts thousands of miles. Creating them to-order like this from raw materials—metal powders or Arboform granules—that’s the market, mate. There are other machines that can produce circuitry from printed, flexible material. It’s a bloody third Industrial Revolution, isn’t it?”

Sebeck saw Jon Ross approaching from the shop’s open-bay entrance. Ross passed a D-Space object to Sebeck and nearby Laney Price. It appeared as an aerial photo floating next to them.

Bruce was still talking, apparently unable to see their private layer. “I’m no bloody tree-hugger. I have no intention of living in an effing yurt and milking cows each morning. Just look up at that colossal energy whore in the sky and tell me there’s an energy shortage. The sun uses up more energy in a second than mankind has used in all its history. We just need to get at it.” He ticked off items on his hands. “Solar carpet—replacing expensive platinum catalysts with metal oxides—gallium solar paint—copper indium gallium selenide—”

“Sergeant . . .” Price frowned as he examined the aerial photo.

“Excuse us, Bruce. I think something’s come up.”

Bruce extended his hand and shook Sebeck’s and Price’s enthusiastically. “Brilliant! Best of luck on your quest, and don’t forget if any darknet reporter asks you, we’re going to be replicating this shop in Queensland come December. Cheers, mate!”

Price pulled Sebeck away and they joined up with Ross near the doorway.

Sebeck shrugged. “What’s going on?”

Ross jabbed at the photo that was following them around in D-Space. “Just look. They’re encircling us.”

“Who is?”

“Serious people.”

Sebeck studied the image. “Where did you get this?”

We have two security drones orbiting this county, and we’ve come under aerial surveillance ourselves.”

“What am I looking at?”

“Let’s find a more private place to talk.” Ross motioned for them to follow. They exited the micro-fabrication shop and moved along the crowded sidewalk. Everyone looked busy on some private errand, but even as they walked, they could see news was traveling quickly through the townspeople. Photos, videos, and messages were flying through the darknet.

Ross stopped in mid-sidewalk. “News travels fast.”

Sebeck could see the feed alert appear in his HUD display: Greeley Blockaded by Security Forces. It was a highest priority alert, quickly getting upvoted. He knew that soon the system would automatically put someone in charge of dealing with it. “We’ve been surrounded?” He more closely examined the virtual photo floating in D-Space.

Ross pointed at creeks, rivers, and roads at the edge of the county. “Three-mile radius. They’re setting up checkpoints on all roads, and they’ve got unmanned surveillance drones watching the terrain. They’re cutting power lines, communications—all connection to the outside world. And we’re not the only ones. . . .”

Ross presented a digital map of the Midwestern U.S. “There are news feeds reporting similar blockades of towns in Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, Ohio, Indiana. . . . It’s a carefully orchestrated campaign to isolate darknet communities.”

Sebeck studied the map. “And we’re at the center of it.”

Ross tilted his head. “So we are.” He looked up. “Does that mean the Daemon had advance notice of this?”

“You mean because the Thread was keeping me here?”

Price shook his head sadly. “Dude, why the hell wouldn’t it just warn us? Now we’re trapped here—surrounded by . . . ?” He looked to Ross.

“Corporate military would be my guess.”

Sebeck was at a loss. “But they can’t just—”

“Check your history, Pete. This wouldn’t be the first time corporate combinations attacked people in the United States. Based on the brain scans of that so-called insurgent you brought in, and the scans of others captured elsewhere, it looks like we’re facing a who’s who of mercenary companies that have supported repressive regimes around the world.” Ross was clicking on D-Space, examining feeds and quickly reading. “Here’s a high-rep journo with pictures of armored cars coming in by train, at night under tarpaulins. Light attack helicopters . . .”

Sebeck leaned in to look. “How can they get away with this? Where the hell is the U.S. military? Where is the government?”

Price leaned in as well. “Check out the media blitz they’ve been putting on nonstop. ‘Anarchy in rural America’—the economy spiraling downward. They’re making people desperate for security.”

Sebeck pondered their situation. “We need the National Guard.”

Ross shook his head. “I don’t think we can count on government intervention to help us, Pete. Something’s going on behind the scenes. Something we can’t see.”

Price threw up his hands. “So what does that mean? Internment camps? Worse?”

Sebeck sat down on a nearby public bench and put his head in his hands. “So they cut the power, but we still have electricity because we’ve been using local sources.”

“Right.”

“And we still have communications with one another and the outside world because we’re using a wireless mesh network.”

“Yes—although, I imagine they’ll have electronic warfare people trying to locate and destroy all the nodes on our perimeter as soon as possible.”

Price interjected. “But the factions outside the quarantine will keep throwing down more to keep us connected. And infrastructure defense factions will get involved in this at some point.”