Cyberpunk

culture of camaraderie in the face of full-out attack. The new group was alt.novembers-disaster.recovery, with .recovery.goverance, .recovery.finance, .recovery.logistics and .recovery.defense hanging off of it. Bless the wooly alt. hierarchy and all those who sail in her.
    The sysadmins came out of the woodwork. The Googleplex was online, with the stalwart Queen Kong bossing a gang of rollerbladed grunts who wheeled through the gigantic data center swapping out dead boxen and hitting reboot switches. The Internet Archive was offline in the Presidio, but the mirror in Amsterdam was live and they’d redirected the DNS SO that you’d hardly know the difference. Amazon was down. PayPal was up. Blogger, TypePad, and Live Journal were all up, and filling with millions of posts from scared survivors huddling together for electronic warmth.
    The Flickr photostreams were horrific. Felix had to unsubscribe from them after he caught a photo of a woman and a baby, dead in a kitchen, twisted into an agonized hieroglyph by the bioagent. They didn’t look like Kelly and 2.0, but they didn’t have to. He started shaking and couldn’t stop.
    Wikipedia was up, but limping under load. The spam poured in as though nothing had changed. Worms roamed the network.
    .recovery.logistics was where most of the action was.
    > We can use the newsgroup voting mechanism to hold regional
    > elections
    Felix knew that this would work. Usenet newsgroup votes had been running for more than twenty years without a substantial hitch.
    > We’ll elect regional representatives and they’ll pick a Prime
    > Minister.
    The Americans insisted on President, which Felix didn’t like. Seemed too partisan. His future wouldn’t be the American future. The American future had gone up with the White House. He was building a bigger tent than that.
    There were French sysadmins online from France Telecom. The EBU’ S data center had been spared in the attacks that hammered Geneva, and it was filled with wry Germans whose English was better than Felix’s. They got on well with the remains of the BBC team in Canary Wharf.
    They spoke polyglot English in .recovery.logistics, and Felix had momentum on his side. Some of the admins were cooling out the inevitable stupid flamewars with the practice of long years. Some were chipping in useful suggestions.
    Surprisingly few thought that Felix was off his rocker.
    > I think we should hold elections as soon as possible. Tomorrow
    > at the latest. We can’t rule justly without the consent of the
    > governed.
    Within seconds the reply landed in his inbox.
    > You can’t be serious. Consent of the governed? Unless I miss my
    > guess, most of the people you’re proposing to govern are puking
    > their guts out, hiding under their desks, or wandering
    > shell-shocked through the city streets. When do THEY get a vote?
    Felix had to admit she had a point. Queen Kong was sharp. Not many women sysadmins, and that was a genuine tragedy. Women like Queen Kong were too good to exclude from the field. He’d have to hack a solution to get women balanced out in his new government. Require each region to elect one woman and one man?
    He happily clattered into argument with her. The elections would be the next day; he’d see to it.
    “Prime Minister of Cyberspace? Why not call yourself the Grand Poobah of the Global Data Network? It’s more dignified, sounds cooler, and it’ll get you just as far.” Will had the sleeping spot next to him, up in the cafeteria, with Van on the other side. The room smelled like a dingleberry: twenty-five sysadmins who hadn’t washed in at least a day all crammed into the same room. For some of them, it had been much, much longer than a day.
    “Shut up, Will,” Van said. “You wanted to try to knock the Internet offline.”
    “Correction: I want to knock the Internet offline. Present tense.”
    Felix cracked one eye. He was so tired, it was like lifting weights.
    “Look, Sario—if you don’t like my platform, put one of your own forward. There are plenty of people who think I’m full of shit and I respect them for that, since they’re all running opposite me or backing someone who is. That’s your choice. What’s not on the menu is nagging and complaining. Bedtime now, or get up and post your platform.”
    Sario sat up slowly, unrolling the jacket he had been using for a pillow and putting it on. “Screw you guys, I’m out of here.”
    “I thought he’d never leave,” Felix said, and