1100.12.2.2032
In the cold of the Arctic Circle, McMurray stands frozen. He slowly unclips his rifle from the ‘Greasy Triple’. Both the dogs and the soldiers await his next move. He gives a nod, and they slowly duck in unison. Crawling through sharp white-cast rays, the light catches snowflakes and casts a shadow display alongside the lab. They reach a dip within the snow and rocks. McMurray reaches to the side of his head and presses a button. Blue and green sparkles across his vision. A large CANTECH logo appears. In the corner of his heads-up display, tied to his encrypted tactical chat, a line of text abruptly appears.
Unknown user has joined.
Tapping the side of his helmet, he looks at Nelson. Nelson shrugs, confused.
"Talon 1, check comms protocol, I'm getting a ghost in the network."
Static.
McMurray frowns. He looks at the others. Several silhouettes blend into the trench. It takes a moment for McMurray to find their eyes. He catches one from the distinct clicking of the Colt C19.
He said they would maintain radio contact. I don’t understand.
He motions with two fingers, and his squad goes over the top, rushing toward the lab. The acoustic thud of thin steel loses itself in the wind as the squad stacks up against the insulated door. Red-cheeked McMurray and Nelson, narrowed eyes visible behind his gleaming white balaclava, lock gaze. Three fingers raise. Three. Two. One. Bam! The door swings open. Dogs bark as they sprint inside wildly. “Go go go! Positions six, two, three and—” The men freeze, rifles raised. The sterile white lights flicker. Crouching, Nelson peeks at the floor. A thin flood of glossy red tints the granulated surface. In the center, a ball of fluff and synthetic jacket fabric lies face down. A sharp, spongy ashen beard drips blood over a console where its donor lies inert. Shattered glass and black plastic litter the room. Terminals flash in the dim light.
Thorne stops pacing. He looks out at the students. "And unfortunately… with encryption… it protects the bad guys."
“Uh-uhhhhh-uhh–”
She can hardly breathe. McMurray’s equipment jangles as he darts over to the stainless steel desk in front of him. A woman in a shredded winter jacket is crawling across the floor behind it. She is bleeding profusely, leaving a dark red smear behind her. She looks up at McMurray. Trembling, a bloody finger rises. It points behind her.
He looks up at the heavy bulkhead door standing open. Snowflakes drift through the gap. Covered in black soot, the door is bent and misshapen. Its large metal handle lies close by, on the floor. The windows surrounding it are riddled with bullet-holes.
1120.12.2.2032
"But the important thing about encryption," Thorne continues, his voice echoing lightly in the warm acoustics of the hall, "is that most importantly, it is the answer to complete privacy to everyone involved. Your locations. Your private chats. The pictures of your cats."
A ripple of laughter moves through the students. Thorne smiles softly.
“Encryption is such a vital part society in the age of computers. It is your last line of defense that prevents your information from being abused. Your information is now a part of you. Encryption is a part of evolution. It is the new immune system. Which by the way, happens to be the title of my new book…”
1125.12.2.2032
The younger operative watches the terminal screen as lines of Cyrillic code wash over the interface. He hits a final keystroke. The data stream halts.
"They have the key," One says quietly.
Two crosses his arms. "What did they respond with?"
One squints at the single word sitting in the center of the dark screen.
"Спасибо."
“I can’t read it. What language is that?”
“Let me see that… Holy buckets.”
1126.12.2.2032
The light shines in her eyes.
“Can you see? Follow my finger with your eyes. What about hearing? Any ringing?” Snap. Snap. Alright, now look at me and you’re going to breathe on three, okay? One, two, three!” Rafael, the combat medic hits her with a strong dose of morphine.
Suddenly her lungs open up. Coughing frantically, she rolls over to unload blood and mucus from her lungs.
“Okay get her a warm blanket! Fox, no, get out of here boy!” The warm breath from the dog is a disgusting relief. She can’t help but faintly smile as Fox is directed away.
Rafael places a heated emergency blanket on her. “Here you go, ma’am.” He says politely.
McMurray sits down in front of her. He smooths his hand through his spiky hair, rubs his beard and readjusts himself anxiously. “Okay, you ready? Ready? I got some questions for you.”
“Go ahead.” Her voice rough.
“What’s your name?” He asks.
“Lauren.”
“What do you do here?”
“Scientist. Research.”
“On what? What is this place?”
“None of your business.”
“Don’t.” He flashes handcuffs. “What is this place?”
“None of your business.”
“Take the blanket.”
Rafael approaches her.
“F.E.T. Geographic encryption labs.”
He steps away.
“Why the drills?”
“Petrochemicals.”
“Why?” He squints at her.
“Drilling makes sound.”
“Drilling makes sound?”
“You’re a soldier. Why’s sound bad?”
“Compromises location.”
“Exactly.”
1131.12.2.2032
"When this system is compromised... that privacy... that protection," Thorne wipes his glasses. "Everybody whose data is involved is at risk. And what I know, and believe to be true in my heart, and what I have seen working with the lovely folks at CANTECH and F.E.T., there are more good people in this world than bad. People only ever remember the bad."
The fights. The hospital bills. The bottle. Her and Chelsea were my everything. All I did was pour myself into my work after. I can almost see him, standing in a blue suit, arms crossed like some philosopher. Hairless bastard and his academic critiques. I can hear Liemeck now, hissing at me. What’s he saying?
“Professor. Professor? Aris!” Liemeck quietly shouts from the side of the stage.
“Oh–oh! Where was I?” Feigning a smile, Thorne looks up at the slides.
“Data breaches… Deadly consequences?” The title card reads.
1145.12.2.2032
Thwip.
The sound is no louder than a snapping twig. The soldier to McMurray's right takes it through the throat and drops like a stone. The orange of the cigarette lands brightly in the snow. Before the body hits the floor, the dark outside the lab erupts.
Thwip. Thwip-thwip-thwip.
Another soldier goes down, armor sparking as rounds penetrate the Kevlar. The huskies become hysterical, barking wildly, tearing at their harnesses. McMurray hits the deck, slamming his palm against the quick-release carabiners, setting the dogs loose into the dark.
"Contact!" McMurray roars, but the word is quickly drowned out.
BOOM.
An explosion shatters the side of the hab-unit. A flurry of golden sparks spray outward. A shockwave throws McMurray backward. Smoke chokes the air, mixing with the kicked-up snow creating an impenetrable, blinding fog. Blood stains the pristine powder under his boots. Through the thick smoke, neon green tracers slice through the night, whizzing past his head with deadly accuracy.
BAM. Tick-TICK. BAM. The familiar sound of the Colt rifles as the arctic soldiers begin their rebuttal. McMurray scrambles backward, blindly firing suppressive bursts into the dark. He loses his footing on the blood-slicked ice. Tripping over an exposed drilling cable, he falls backward.
Cra-a-ack. Ti-itch-titch-tich-tich-chick.
He slowly looks up and across the cracking ice.
He plunges into the glacial water. The shock is instantaneous. A million needles drive into his skin, seizing his lungs. Frost instantly forms on his beard as he breaches the surface, gasping, swallowing freezing water. He can hardly breathe. The cold is a vice around his chest.
On his forearm, the location tracker is going absolutely nuts, emitting a rapid, high-pitched PING-PING-PING that cuts through the gunfire.
He starts to slip under. The heavy gear drags him down into the black abyss beneath the ice. The beeping fades. His eyes flutter shut.