think."
> Looks like an EMP took out Hong Kong and maybe Paris — realtime sat footage shows them completely dark, and all netblocks there aren't routing
> You're in Toronto?
It was an unfamiliar handle.
> Yes — on Front Street
> my sisters at UofT and i cnt reach her — can you call her?
> No phone service
Felix typed, staring at NETWORK PROBLEMS.
"I have a soft phone on Mayor McCheese," Van said, launching his voice-over-IP app. "I just remembered."
Felix took the laptop from him and punched in his home number. It rang once, then there was a flat, blatting sound like an ambulance siren in an Italian movie.
> No phone service
Felix typed again.
He looked up at Van, and saw that his skinny shoulders were shaking. Van said, "Holy motherfucking shit. The world is ending."
----
Felix pried himself off of IRC an hour later. Atlanta had burned. Manhattan was hot — radioactive enough to screw up the webcams looking out over Lincoln Plaza. Everyone blamed Islam until it became clear that Mecca was a smoking pit and the Saudi Royals had been hanged before their palaces.
His hands were shaking, and Van was quietly weeping in the far corner of the cage. He tried calling home again, and then the police. It didn't work any better than it had the last 20 times.
He sshed into his box downstairs and grabbed his mail. Spam, spam, spam. More spam. Automated messages. There — an urgent message from the intrusion detection system in the Ardent cage.
He opened it and read quickly. Someone was crudely, repeatedly probing his routers. It didn't match a worm's signature, either. He followed the traceroute and discovered that the attack had originated in the same building as him, a system in a cage one floor below.
He had procedures for this. He portscanned his attacker and found that port 1337 was open — 1337 was "leet" or "elite" in hacker number/letter substitution code. That was the kind of port that a worm left open to slither in and out of. He googled known sploits that left a listener on port 1337, narrowed this down based on the fingerprinted operating system of the compromised server, and then he had it.
It was an ancient worm, one that every box should have been patched against years before. No mind. He had the client for it, and he used it to create a root account for himself on the box, which he then logged into, and took a look around.
There was one other user logged in, "scaredy," and he checked the proccess monitor and saw that scaredy had spawned all the hundreds of processes that were probing him and plenty of other boxen.
He opened a chat:
> Stop probing my server
He expected bluster, guilt, denial. He was surprised.
> Are you in the Front Street data-center?
> Yes
> Christ I thought I was the last one alive. I'm on the fourth floor. I think there's a bioweapon attack outside. I don't want to leave the clean room.
Felix whooshed out a breath.
> You were probing me to get me to trace back to you?
> Yeah
> That was smart
Clever bastard.
> I'm on the sixth floor, I've got one more with me.
> What do you know?
Felix pasted in the IRC log and waited while the other guy digested it. Van stood up and paced. His eyes were glazed over.
"Van? Pal?"
"I have to pee," he said.
"No opening the door," Felix said. "I saw an empty Mountain Dew bottle in the trash there."
"Right," Van said. He walked like a zombie to the trash can and pulled out the empty magnum. He turned his back.
> I'm Felix
> Will
Felix's stomach did a slow somersault as he thought about 2.0.
"Felix, I think I need to go outside," Van said. He was moving toward the airlock door. Felix dropped his keyboard and struggled to his feet and ran headlong to Van, tackling him before he reached the door.
"Van," he said, looking into his friend's glazed, unfocused eyes. "Look at me, Van."
"I need to go," Van said. "I need to get home and feed the cats."
"There's something out there, something fast-acting and lethal. Maybe it will blow
> Looks like an EMP took out Hong Kong and maybe Paris — realtime sat footage shows them completely dark, and all netblocks there aren't routing
> You're in Toronto?
It was an unfamiliar handle.
> Yes — on Front Street
> my sisters at UofT and i cnt reach her — can you call her?
> No phone service
Felix typed, staring at NETWORK PROBLEMS.
"I have a soft phone on Mayor McCheese," Van said, launching his voice-over-IP app. "I just remembered."
Felix took the laptop from him and punched in his home number. It rang once, then there was a flat, blatting sound like an ambulance siren in an Italian movie.
> No phone service
Felix typed again.
He looked up at Van, and saw that his skinny shoulders were shaking. Van said, "Holy motherfucking shit. The world is ending."
----
Felix pried himself off of IRC an hour later. Atlanta had burned. Manhattan was hot — radioactive enough to screw up the webcams looking out over Lincoln Plaza. Everyone blamed Islam until it became clear that Mecca was a smoking pit and the Saudi Royals had been hanged before their palaces.
His hands were shaking, and Van was quietly weeping in the far corner of the cage. He tried calling home again, and then the police. It didn't work any better than it had the last 20 times.
He sshed into his box downstairs and grabbed his mail. Spam, spam, spam. More spam. Automated messages. There — an urgent message from the intrusion detection system in the Ardent cage.
He opened it and read quickly. Someone was crudely, repeatedly probing his routers. It didn't match a worm's signature, either. He followed the traceroute and discovered that the attack had originated in the same building as him, a system in a cage one floor below.
He had procedures for this. He portscanned his attacker and found that port 1337 was open — 1337 was "leet" or "elite" in hacker number/letter substitution code. That was the kind of port that a worm left open to slither in and out of. He googled known sploits that left a listener on port 1337, narrowed this down based on the fingerprinted operating system of the compromised server, and then he had it.
It was an ancient worm, one that every box should have been patched against years before. No mind. He had the client for it, and he used it to create a root account for himself on the box, which he then logged into, and took a look around.
There was one other user logged in, "scaredy," and he checked the proccess monitor and saw that scaredy had spawned all the hundreds of processes that were probing him and plenty of other boxen.
He opened a chat:
> Stop probing my server
He expected bluster, guilt, denial. He was surprised.
> Are you in the Front Street data-center?
> Yes
> Christ I thought I was the last one alive. I'm on the fourth floor. I think there's a bioweapon attack outside. I don't want to leave the clean room.
Felix whooshed out a breath.
> You were probing me to get me to trace back to you?
> Yeah
> That was smart
Clever bastard.
> I'm on the sixth floor, I've got one more with me.
> What do you know?
Felix pasted in the IRC log and waited while the other guy digested it. Van stood up and paced. His eyes were glazed over.
"Van? Pal?"
"I have to pee," he said.
"No opening the door," Felix said. "I saw an empty Mountain Dew bottle in the trash there."
"Right," Van said. He walked like a zombie to the trash can and pulled out the empty magnum. He turned his back.
> I'm Felix
> Will
Felix's stomach did a slow somersault as he thought about 2.0.
"Felix, I think I need to go outside," Van said. He was moving toward the airlock door. Felix dropped his keyboard and struggled to his feet and ran headlong to Van, tackling him before he reached the door.
"Van," he said, looking into his friend's glazed, unfocused eyes. "Look at me, Van."
"I need to go," Van said. "I need to get home and feed the cats."
"There's something out there, something fast-acting and lethal. Maybe it will blow
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