Daemon

employee. I need secrecy.’
    ‘You don’t want the Daemon to know what you’re doing.’
    ‘Look, you’re an IT professional. You know how dangerous this situation is. We don’t know what the Daemon’s up to, and we don’t know how big it is.’
    The Major stood up. ‘Dr Philips.’
    She turned and stabbed a finger in his direction. ‘If you’re going to censor my conversations this entire damned trip, Major, then I’m heading back to Maryland. I, of all people, am acutelyaware of the national security implications of this discussion, and I am having it because it is
necessary
. Do you read me?’
    ‘I have my orders, Doctor.’
    ‘Well, then we have a situation – because my orders are to stop the Daemon, and apparently your orders are to stop me.’
    The Major stood impassively. She eyed him a bit longer, then turned back to Ross. ‘I need to derive the Daemon’s topology in order to assess the threat.’
    It took Ross a moment to recover from her sudden outburst toward The Major. ‘You need its master plan.’
    ‘Yes. I’m developing a timeline of its creation so that we can correlate it with Sobol’s real-world financial and travel activities. If I can reconstruct the development timeline, I might be able to infer its topology.’
    Sebeck interjected. ‘Topology?’
    They both looked at him.
    Philips sighed. ‘The physical or logical layout of a networked system.’
    Philips then looked back at Ross and continued. ‘But there are bigger worries.’ She cast an eye toward The Major, then pulled Ross aside, conferring with him privately. This close, Agent Philips had a slight flowery scent that was surprisingly feminine. Ross saw the sharp intellect in her eyes, the intensity. A slight hot flash spread over his skin as he relished this intimacy.
    Philips was oblivious. ‘Huge amounts of money flowed from Sobol’s bank accounts immediately after his death. ACH wire transfers totaling tens of millions of dollars went offshore. He also took out large lines of credit in the months before his death. This money, too, went overseas the day he died. The Feds are still tracing it. Picture the combination of a widely distributed, compartmentalized application with high failover tolerance – perhaps thousands of copies of each component, able to reconstitute itself if any x-percentage of its components are destroyed.’
    Ross was nodding as she talked. God, this woman was razor sharp. He found his normal resistance to all thoughts not his own falling away.
    She continued, ‘Now combine an application like that – a widely distributed entity that never dies – with tens of millions of dollars and the ability to purchase goods and services. It’s answerable to no one and has no fear of punishment.’
    ‘My God. It’s a corporation.’
    ‘Bingo.’
    Sebeck’s cell phone twittered. He welcomed the intrusion. He was just holding hats in this conversation. ‘Excuse me.’ Sebeck turned and walked away as he pulled his phone out. He glanced at the number on the LCD panel. The caller was unknown. He answered it. ‘Sebeck.’
    A familiar, rasping voice came to his ear.
‘Forgive my appearance, Sergeant.’
    Sebeck sucked in a breath and gazed at Sobol’s corpse lying in state six feet away. He glanced at the FBI and NSA agents standing around the chapel. Ross and Agent Philips were still locked in an animated technobabble conversation nearby.
    Sebeck moved right up to the coffin and stared down at Sobol’s corpse. ‘Is hell a toll call for you, Sobol?’
    Sebeck stood waiting. There was a moment’s delay.
    The voice returned, weak and wavering.
‘Detective Sebeck. It’s too late.’
The sound of labored breathing and wheezing came over the line.
‘There is no stopping my Daemon now.’
    Sebeck looked again toward Philips and Ross, but Sobol was already talking.
    ‘I’m sorry, but I must destroy you. They will require a sacrifice, Sergeant.’
Sobol wheezed
. ‘It’s necessary. Maybe before it’s over, you’ll understand. I don’t know if I’m right. I don’t know anymore.’
    Sebeck looked down at Sobol’s tortured remains. The insane eye matched the voice of madness.
    Sobol’s voice hissed urgently.
‘Before you die … invoke the Daemon. Do it in the months before your death. Say this … exactly
this: “I, Peter Sebeck, accept the Daemon.”’
Sobol gasped for air.
‘Either way … you must die.’
    The line went dead.
    Sebeck folded his phone and stared hard at Sobol’s