FICTION - Underworld by Max Hillebrand pt. 2

23:43 - untethered alert.

Invitation to join Level 2 CP mixnet.

Confirmation Key: M0ntann4Sc0ttySn00ps2031

Fabian lay back in his single bed. He followed the personalized invite link Scott had generated. It must have been strange, he thought, when space was not at a premium, when people went for a walk to escape, rather than lie on their bunk and plug themselves into a metaverse or L2 world. The Ledger made everything easy, an all-in-one software system for citizens so dialed in to their lifeplans, they didn’t have a second to spare. That’s how it had seized control of the nation.

The forum loaded and he found his welcome message from Scott.

Relay from T1n4Red:

It is never too late to use the powers of surveillance for good, Operative Sixsmith. Underworld 4gives but the ledger does not 4get.

In the darkness of his cabin, his face bathed in blue light, Fabian sat bolt upright. His head broke the plane of the holoscreen and a tinge of current trickled through his temple. She knew who he was; she knew what he had done. A charge pulsed through him, the thrill of true privacy. How had he been duped into thinking a total lack of encryption guaranteed freedom and not a glass cage?

The holoscreen flickered for a second. A multimedia message.

Level 2s were a gray area, not illegal. Messages could be relayed peer to peer along a mixnet to the end user. With personalized links hidden in messages on the public comms ledger, communities could be discerning about who joined.

When Fabian leaned back into a lying position, he was greeted by a 3D render of the woman he’d been chasing for over a year. His eyes drank in the red-lipped smile and blonde hair of the woman he’d forced underground, never to feel the rays of the Montana sun again. She held a piece of paper up to the camera, but Fabian couldn’t tear his eyes from her piercing gaze. 64k cameras could pick up the tiniest imperfection. She looked even more real than if he saw her in the flesh. The piece of paper she held was another invite code — this time to an L3 channel.

Fabian exhaled. Breathe. He ran his finger over the chain of three tiny moles above his right eyebrow as if checking they were still there. There were agents who’d been on the force for decades without penetrating Level 3. All messages were stored on the Ledger — that couldn’t be avoided. But with all the red herrings and strong encryption, it was impossible for even the most powerful computers at DoS to uncover much about the members of Underworld’s inner circle. Fabian’s hand reached for his untethered brick. He entered the address from the 3D render of Tina’s paper, followed by the 24-character code from the paper on the outside of the brick. He was in. His next shift at DoS started in ten hours, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep much before then. Tina, and the Underworld answers he’d been seeking awaited on the L3 forum. Fabian made his way to the bathroom and rooted out an old lighter from the medicine cabinet. Staring back from the mirror was his reflection; perhaps it was an avatar of him bound for the Underworld while he remained in the meatspace with his tiny closet apartment and faltering lifeplan. They both watched the password on the paper note burn.

***

The hubbub of DoS Sector 4A quietened as Fabian walked down the corridor. The hum of hundreds of microcameras was imperceptible to human ears. The one place without them was the toilets — a DoS employee committee had made sure of that — and that is where Fabian’s untethered communicator brick lay. Even if it was found on a bug sweep, they couldn’t trace it to him. And he had ten minutes every two hours to get to the bathroom and check in.

At first she’d been cautious, wanting to know if Fabian would follow her precise instruction. Then, information from Tina had came fast and furious. Names, transactions, locations, protocol, so much information. The tips she’d provided checked out. In fact, they were all just about low-level enough that it was believable that Fabian’s data-driven detective work had unearthed them. She’d even provided a methodology to show which macros and filters he could use to locate L2 peddlers and fixers.

He removed the floor tile behind the toilet bowl. This never got less gross. After relieving himself and pulling the flush chain, he attached the remote charge pack and switched it on. No battery, no trace signal.

11:03 - Message waiting:
6Smith, something important is about to happen. Act surprised.
After confirmation, we must meet in person. It will not be easy to get you here. Instructions will follow.

Fabian heard the toilet door open. Could DoS be employing physical spies without the use of cameras in the bathrooms?

The sound of a belt buckle. Charcoal-gray trousers descended and appeared on top of brown loafers through the little gap under the cubicle wall. The heavy-set man dumped himself onto the john and exhaled.

After he deleted the message, Fabian switched off the phone and wiped the power back into his remote charger. He scrubbed his prints off the brick and replaced it behind the bowl. Another flush and he was gone. Out the door before charcoal trousers could physically tie him to the brick. If he was snooping, they would know. He’d get questions about using an unsanctioned jailbroken device. Maybe he could claim he was trying to arrange a physical meeting with T1n4Red. Still, the interrogation would be brutal.

Back on the floor, Agent Williams activated a meeting alert on Fabian’s desk. The red light informed him he must report to the cube immediately. It took great restraint for Fabian to avoid any nervous ticks. Especially with the scrutiny of operatives at his level, he couldn’t avoid a single nervous exploration of the moles on his temple or wiping of hands on trousers. The electronic band every citizen had clamped around their right wrist fed streams of bio-data to the DoS servers. Who would be alerted if his heartbeat spiked or breathing patterns changed? As he’d learned on the L2 forums, flying under the radar took a lot more than digital restraint. The surveillance apparatus of the state kept so much biometric data it had become a living cyborg. Could this be about the bathroom break? The guy in the next stall with the charcoal trousers? The brick? Was this the start of a downfall that ended in the same invisible blacklist Scott was on? Maybe that chick in the library had something against him too.

The glass door slid open and Fabian moved through the entry point in one clean step.

“No need to sit, Operative Sixsmith. Let’s stay on our feet here.”

Sixsmith awaited the news. Whatever it was, at least it would be quick.

Williams raised a stainless steel travel mug to his lips and drank. If the coffee was hot, he showed no signs of it. “I must admit, I’ve had my doubts about you.” An ominous start. “Up until this year, your work was adequate.” Williams paced towards the glass wall to watch the goings on of the morning-shift operators. His invisible stare could put someone’s back out. “And that stunt you pulled to get the jump on T1n4Red… some stricter agents might have filed that as a denial-of-protocol infraction.”

Fabian locked his gaze to the coffee cup and let him talk.

“But since then, your results have been quite something. An 89% strike rate on intel and twelve L2 agitators liquidated. That’s as high as I’ve seen.”

“Thank you, sir.” Fabian rearranged his cotton shirt, which, despite the blasting air con, was stuck firmly to his back.

“Good news.” Agent Williams went to his desk drawer and removed a six-inch blade. The silver tip matched the glint of William’s graying hair under the strip light. “You are no longer an operative here at the Department of Surveillance.”

Fabian imagined the angle of attack. A diagonal slashing motion from up high. He wouldn’t have time to avoid the agent’s quick reflexes.

“Congratulations, Agent Sixsmith.”

Fabian took a step back. His right hand found its way to his brow. “What?”

“You’ve been promoted, son. It can’t be that much of a surprise.”

Fabian had spent so long tracking certainties, he had forgotten what surprise felt like. He had his doubts about the system, his L3 secrets, his upcoming liaison with T1n4Red, his friendship with Scott. But things would be better as an agent. His family back in Boston would surely offer some begrudging respect. If he wasn’t six feet under, his old man might feel some kind of peace knowing his boy had won back those credits. Freedom from bio-data collection and freedom to roam. He faced his boss. “But I’m not up for review until—”

“Take the win.” Williams approached, knife in hand. “We need all the capable agents we can get.” He reached for Fabian’s right forearm. His grip was that of a much bigger man. “Effective immediately, you are Agent Sixsmith of the Department of Surveillance.” He slid the knife under Fabian’s communicator wristband and sliced through the strap.

The cool office air touched his now naked wrist. Fabian smoothed the skin as if he had been unshackled.

Once Williams returned the knife to its drawer, he offered his hand to shake. “Congratulations, Agent. Full briefing tomorrow at 0930.”

“Yes sir. Thank you for your trust.” He turned to go.

“Stop,” a sharp voice called. Williams held a small piece of metal between thumb and forefinger. “Don’t forget this.”

Agent Fabian Sixsmith accepted the gift — an American flag pin. He nodded and stepped through the doorway in the same way he entered.
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Fabian zipped his thick hoodie and stepped out into the night. The reflectors in the fabric would dazzle the night vision of the cameras, and the Federal Government hadn’t passed any laws telling people how to dress… yet. He opened the door and set out to meet his handler.

He started his run towards the city outskirts, the hood shrouding his adrenaline-shot eyes. The back of his skull throbbed. It had been bothering him all afternoon. Throwing in a few boxing moves for good measure, Fabian pounded out the miles. One, two, past the city limits and onto the shoulder of the 87, the sixteen-wheeler auto rigs ripping past. The drones would be following — of that he was sure.

His handler was there. Just like Tina said. Half a mile after the first junction, under the bridge, Scott straddled his solarbike. This must be how he earned his sats — acting as a go between for Underworld agents who had gone to ground.

No words, just the exchange. Fabian unzipped the hoodie and draped it over his friend’s shoulders. Scott removed a 3D image scanner from his pocket and ran it over Fabian’s face. Two seconds and the ID confirmation would be relayed on the Ledger, probably embedded with a stego message. A quick clap of the hands, and he drove into the night. Forty, fifty, sixty, and gone, west towards Great Falls. Fabian took a breath. Is this what he had done all those reps in the closet for? He scrambled up the bank and jumped for the bridge railing. Hauling his body up and over in one swift motion. Then, crouching low behind the advertising hoarding, he duck-walked over the bridge and down the bank. How would he disable the micro cameras? Even without tracking data, the DoS apparatus wouldn’t be far behind — especially after they scrambled a drone to intercept Scott. Thirty seconds tops.

This place, just a few miles away from Lewistown, was the setting for one of those books he loved — cowboys, sheriffs, and theft. Of course, the subterfuge of Level 3 protocol and 256-bit encryption was a little more complicated now. The idea of coding messages is as old as civilization, only the attack vectors changed over time.

Left. Right. Feet smacking dirt. Fabian had to trust the track was level. He could barely see three feet in front of him — only the dim Montana moonlight for company. The whirr of a camcopter approached overhead. If it locked his thermal image, he was toast. Just a few more strides surely. His lungs burned after all those miles.

DoS wasn’t just going to let a newly-minted agent go for a mysterious wilderness night run.

His foot jammed against a root. He stumbled on, narrowly avoiding a painful fall.

“IDENTIFY ORDER.” The camcopter had locked the human gait recognition. “FAILURE TO COMPLY EVOKES FEDERAL CREDIT ELIMINATION.”

Fabian almost laughed. These fucking things threatening to zero-out people’s hard-earned savings. How the hell had Americans let things go this far? He spotted the manhole cover under the tree. His lungs sucked in the night air, and his heart tore at his ribs.

Wham. Down to the ground. The force of a truck pinned Fabian and pushed his face into the dirt. “No,” he cried. “Let me explain.” Searing pain pulsed through his skull from the back to the front. In the seconds that followed, it was as if his brain was rebooting. Who was this? What were they doing?

“Neural tracer deactivated,” said the voice of the brute on top of him.

Fabian managed to turn his head. He caught a glimpse of the man, but it was too dark to see his face. The pressure on Fabian’s back slowly released. He shook the cobwebs out of his head.

As Fabian stood, he saw the guard moving away, pointing his EMP caster at the sky, sweeping left then right.

Crash. One dronecopter downed. A crash to the right, another drone gone. These things would be disposed of in some pit or quarry. The figure collected the drones and moved into the night.

Fabian dusted himself off and walked towards his destination of the irrigation pipe system. As Agent Sixsmith hauled the steel grate to the side, he took a breath. This was it. Too late to deny involvement. Too far down the rabbit hole. He’d have to give up everything he worked for — respect at Thanksgiving and a pension large enough to retire to a ranch and ride a horse over the land. In exchange, he’d get a one-time Underworld trip, where he would learn the methods and tactics the punks used to stay off grid.

Now it was quiet, bar the low hum of the highway and the sound of his rasping breath. He’d never been this alive. It sure beat the meticulous protocol of DoS. Before he could stop himself, Fabian was inside, his hands replacing the grate, gripping the ladder, his feet on the rungs, stepping down, down into the dark. Whatever she had to tell him, he needed to hear it. Meeting T1n4Red in the meatspace trumped any handshake from Agent Williams, any pension plan, and any begrudging respect from his nagging mother and fucked-up family. He descended to the Underworld.

At the end of the dank tunnel, Fabian saw the purple glow of UV light. He approached slowly. The sound of soft footsteps approached from behind. He didn’t dare turn. Then, a few paces from the curve where the light grew stronger, a flat plastic object jammed the base of his skull forward. Click. Probably a 3D-printed gun.

“Arms out. Legs astride.”

Fabian complied. The EM scan wouldn’t find anything. He was stripped of all tech — one of the many firsts he’d experienced that day. It was safer for all parties if he didn’t turn around.

The voice barked, “Clear,” and a rough hand pushed him forward. The footsteps descended back towards the tunnel opening.

Peering into the mirror positioned at the tunnel corner, Fabian caught a glimpse of the woman he came to see. The channel between well-defined back muscles drew his eye south. How long had it been since he felt the touch of a woman? How did she stay in such good shape down here? The weak UV light faded to a soft yellow glow in the chamber.

“Agent Sixsmith. We’ve been expecting you.” Tina pulled a t-shirt over her bra and cinched her blonde hair into a top bun. She laughed. “Take a seat.”

“How do you know I’m an agent?” Fabian sat on the plastic chair closest to him. The room had been widened from its original layout. It was now around fifteen feet square with a camp bed, a desk with double monitors, and a treadmill. His eyes settled on the black desktop compu-box.

She touched his arm, her hand surprisingly warm. “I bet you’d love to open that up and take a look.”

Fabian had never seen a homemade device connected up. Getting the parts must have taken years, but nobody could detect unregistered tech through lead linings and all the perimeter protocal. She truly owned something, even if it was just a little black box.

“You didn’t think agents are unsurveilled, did you? Poor boy.”

Fabian’s mind switched to rational mode. Was he burned? Would he ever be able to surface without getting financially or physically liquidated?

“Relax. I know what you’re thinking. This is your first trip here, but it won’t be your last. We fried your tracer chip and they can’t admit they implanted ‘cause it ain’t legal.” She swiveled the computer chair and sat on it back to front. The high chair back almost came up to her chin. “You get one question. Shoot.”

In their digital conversation, Tina had always been careful to give instructions only, never responding to Fabian’s questions. He might have a lot to learn, but at least he wasn’t living in the dark like her, a trapped soldier unable to look above the parapet. Was he walking into a trap? Was he already in one? If things got tough in the interrogation he was sure to receive from Williams, he could always offer some Underworld secret. Fabian turned to face the shadow of a woman he had chased for nearly a year. “Where are the Level 3 relay servers kept?”

“Ooh amor, you’ve gotta think bigger than that.” Tina Red was more than just a celebrity crush. Her blue eyes burned with the intensity of a neutron star. Her slender legs wrapped around the chair like a boa constrictor drawing in its prey. She drew closer, and he could smell the sweat. “There are no dedicated L3 relay servers. We’ve been using a hacked DoS server for months. Keeps you searching for that mythical Underworld data center, right?”

There were so many units in the DoS server cities that it would take years to isolate the hack. Smart. “What’s the end goal to all of this?” he asked.

Instead of replying, Tina shook her head.

Play by Underworld rules, Fabian. It didn’t matter — he knew. Reversing the grip of the big-government machine was virtually impossible, but the dream was that the country returned to ‘the land of the free.’ Freedom to secrecy. Freedom to own. Freedom to transact with whomever you wanted.

Fabian watched as T1n4Red stood and crossed the six-foot gap between them. She leant over and moved a hand to the back of his hair, gripping his short black hair in her fist. The same fear pulsed through him as in the meeting he’d had with Agent Williams — the same Williams who was organizing the search and interrogate protocol for him at that very moment. Was her bodyguard waiting around the corner with the 3D-printed gun, primed to deliver its one shot straight into his brain?

“This is our endgame.” Their faces were inches apart. He saw the same freckles and imperfections in her skin as in the high-res digital render. But there was nothing like real life.

And then, a swell of the tide inside him. Euphoria. The kiss was deep. Their lips fused, one person, one dream. Fabian’s hands reached for the shape of the woman he’d dreamed about so many nights. She sat, straddling his legs and they went on. Blood rising like an ocean swell, Fabian dived into bliss. It all melted away — the dronecopters hovering above, the awkward entry to the office tomorrow, the nagging fear that his accounts would be zeroed out in mere hours. But one image remained. The moment transported Fabian to his spiritual home — the wilds of the Montana hills, the wind blowing through the grassland, the mountain range guarding the horizon. The wild country that called him.

When they finally broke the kiss, Tina stood. “Did you feel it?”

Fabian raised his gaze. “I think so. A place. The wild—”

She raised a finger to silence him. “Don’t say it. This is our secret, Agent Sixsmith.”

He thought for a second. Project Wild Country. It was strange, but he had no doubt. The phrase was branded into his mind clearer than the passphrase he had to memorize for his DoS access. How could two beings communicate telepathically?

“It’s called ‘Telepathic Key Exchange’. TKX for short.” Tina approached and whispered into his ear. “From the mentalists of the late 20th Century.” It had been there all along — a method to eliminate the gap where biological beings had to enter a passphrase physically. This was only part of the information chain without a cipher. No more worries about the micro cameras that could capture keystrokes or capture pen and ink comms.

“Our project,” she breathed.

The image swam through Fabian’s mind once more, the color of the sky as vivid as the eyes of the woman in front of him. The hills and plains in front of them. All protests start with the spark of non-compliance. And all revolution hinges on the man who knows how to play both sides. He’d have to learn more about it, understand it better, but TKX could lay the path to a fully anonymous market, unbreakable smart contracts, and a citizens’ private arbitration court. This would be the rewilding of America.

“We only have a few more minutes.” Tina returned to her chair. She explained the comms protocol and that the two of them were the only people on Earth to know the name of this mission. Project Wild Country would bring TKX to the masses.

“How can we teach people?”

“We lead people through the levels, just like I got you here. There are more stego images on the Ledger every day. It’s already started.”

Fabian looked at the wrist his bio-band had once gripped. “What do I say to DoS to explain this time-gap?” How long had he even been down there, fifteen minutes?

“You wouldn’t be much of an agent if you couldn’t think of something. Be the sovereign of yourself, Fabian.” T1n4Red laughed. “Better get running.”

Fabian moved toward the dark tunnel that led to a surface world buzzing with invisible spies. “I’ll be thinking of you,” he said. Fabian thought he detected the hint of a smile on Tina’s lips, and he felt a tiny swell of the euphoria that had filled him moments earlier. Then, he turned to go. Agent Sixsmith rounded the corner and started his journey back to the wild country.

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This story first appeared in Financial Fallout.

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Max Hillebrand is a praxeologist who contributes to several open-source projects, because code is abundant and not scarce. He shares his work freely for others to use and modify.His goal is to help build a parallel economy based on sound money and individual sovereignty, where people can pursue their entrepreneurial ambitions without interference from central authorities.Find out more at towardsliberty.com