FICTION - Underworld by Max Hillebrand

Fabian Sixsmith leaned closer to the screen. A couple of white pixels fizzed through the frame, and the hairs on his arm prickled. It had to be her. The blonde. Underworld’s most wanted — T1n4Red.

It was nearing daybreak in Lewistown, Montana. The end of yet another 14-hour shift at the DoS facility. Pulling fourteens was tough on his body, but it reduced the time it would take for Fabian to gain promotion to agent. Working at the Department of Surveillance came with the serious drawback of being labeled a snoop, but agents could be free — solid pension credits and private property. But today, he would not slink back to his closet-sized studio for buttered noodles and two hours on the velobike. Today would be the day he proved his work was responsible for locating T1n4Red. Her crimes were manifold; her methods were meticulous. Operating encrypted communication networks and thousands of transaction joins to obfuscate Underworld finances. Fabian flipped the plastic cover of the alarm on his console and pressed the button. 

Agent Williams appeared behind him in seconds. The babble of voice commands in the CCTV facility cut to zero. “Situation update, Operative Sixsmith.”

Liquidating the bad guys had been the dream ever since his father lost his college fund to a hacker. Cypherpunks came in all guises, and some could phish credits from careless Boston drunks and cover their tracks with encryption. Fabian opened the dossier on his desk. “Tier 1 target located. DNA confirmation requested from ground team.” He was certain. So many nights following encoded messages he found hidden data in images on the public comms ledger. Many were drop sites for the scumbags who delivered supplies to the Underworld in exchange for bitcoin — the only money the government couldn’t meter out and strip away automatically. That pixel of white had to be her blonde hair vanishing, once again, underground.

“Enhance the facial image,” said Williams.

There was no clear image to enhance. Fabian would have some explaining to do if he was wrong. Except he couldn’t be wrong. Those pixels had been his life for the last ten months. Finally, he had trapped her. Straightening his glasses, he prepared his reply. “I can bring up the drop locations from the LSB ima—”

“Operative. What is the protocol required to initiate a Tier 1 alert?”

Fabian could feel the heat of his boss’s glare. “Agent, there is insufficient facial recognition data, but if you give me a minute…” He had captured dozens of steganographical messages — locations, account numbers, usernames. Hiding messages in plain sight was apparently how cypherpunks avoided detection with such ease.

Williams was already patching through to the ground team on his Neurocomms link. “What’s your ETA on the location?” He furrowed his brow. “Copy that... proceed.” Turning towards Fabian, he snapped his fingers. “My office. Now.”

According to Fabian’s calculations, the ground team would report back with the DNA scan in three to four minutes. When they got a match, she’d be toast. T1n4Red would be underground forever; if she resurfaced, the dronecopters would gun her down in minutes. He just had to stall Williams until the confirmation came through. That might be the only way to avoid his first ever sanction. Having a blemish on record would set his lifeplan back by several months. He thought about requesting a comfort break on the system, but Williams would deny it. Fabian stood up purposefully. He arranged the chair and a few items on the desk, then dragged his feet all the way to the office.

Each agent in the DoS facility had an area of control around the size of a football field. Their 12’ by 12’ office comprised the only enclosed space and was positioned in the middle of rows upon rows of desks. Four walls of two-way mirrored glass formed the raised office cube — a mini panopticon within the greater panopticon of DoS. The agent sat in the swivel chair and swung his feet onto the desk. “You better be right about this, Sixsmith, or you’re done here.”

Fabian’s heart beat like a heavy bass kick. The perfectly calibrated 67-degree air didn’t stop him from wanting to loosen his tie. When he jammed his fingers down the small gap between his neck and collar, they came out slick with sweat. All those nights chasing. The tabulations, the data models, the transcripts from Underworld detainees, the ciphers he’d decoded — they all seemed like a game. A dream. He was the grizzled sheriff finally placing the noose around the neck of the uncatchable outlaw. He knew that in sixty seconds or so, the ground team would confirm a DNA match, and it would be impossible for T1n4Red to resurface without physical liquidation. “I’m sure, sir. This was the only way. We’d never get a facial match on a Tier 1.”

The agent looked at the communicator on his desk. Nothing.

Did T1n4Red eat buttered noodles and work out in her underground living closet? Did she crave for the feel of a paperback novel, or perhaps own a non-cataloged copy? It’s not like she could step foot inside the state knowledge center. “What action will DoS—”

Ground Unit Bravo to Williams. Do you copy?

“This is Williams. Over.”

Bravo commander confirmed the DNA match. It was her. She would now be classified a subverter. The payment instructions she had etched into the self-repair polymer bench had been photographed. Any wallet receiving those coins would be investigated. The fintech arm would already be working on liquidating affiliated Overworld accounts. One wrong turn and they can shut down your life’s wealth.

But T1n4Red was smarter. DoS would always be one step behind the cypherpunks because they were bound by government protocol, unable to infiltrate the Level 3 realm of encrypted private comms. Fabian had to take risks. What use was all his dedication if it just led to being remaining on the outside of a panopticon looking in?

“You can leave.” Williams motioned to the office door. “Your shift was over sixteen minutes ago.”

***

The State Knowledge Center smelled of the past. That’s what Fabian liked about it. He turned the page, savoring the quality feel of thick paper, imagining that when this book ran through enough hands, the inked fibers would run from black to gray to cream-white and the story would be gone. These were some of the only off Ledger items left in the country.

Wild Country Outlaws was Fabian’s sanctuary from the pressures of his job. All fiction was based on the kind of truth that needed to survive. Back to the times when eyes touched words without being digitally tracked, when citizens could own things. He read a paragraph and closed his eyes to imagine how life was back then. The cavernous knowledge center, with its hard seats and CCTV lenses transformed into lush plains and steep hills. Fabian felt the warm breeze on his face and the muscles of the horse beneath him. The two rifles slung on his back would shoot those boys dead. No one would take his property. His wife, children, his lame brother, hell, the whole damned village of Lewistown depended on his cattle to provide.

Of course, land could only be leased now. Livestock too. Those rustlers would have a hard time taking anything without public subscription fees and pre-taxed profits coming out. And if they wanted, the Department of Property could rescind custody of any item and confiscate it. Fabian’s smart-band vibrated, indicating he had just ten minutes of reading time left. The thing buzzed too hard. It pinched, but like all sanctioned hardware, it was government hard-coded.

He hadn’t been able to focus this time. Not really. Was T1n4Red an outlaw or a rancher? Either way, she was fighting the system that had stripped Americans of their right to call their house a home. According to the Department of Education, pre-ledger days were violent wealth-disparity wars, but the novels Fabian read painted a different picture — a fantasy freedom where ordinary citizens could build wealth.

Fabian rose to go. He handed the book to the desk girl and watched her scan it into the system. His smart-band buzzed again with a compliance point. To think his friends chased these stupid tokens for avatar upgrades and paid-time-off options. But, without them, he might end up with his ID frozen like his high school buddy, Scott, cut off from all legal avenues to earn a living and watched like a hawk by DoS. Did he have a secret stash of satoshis that kept him clear of the state debtors’ facility?

The lady at the desk smiled. Her brown bob remained undisturbed by the air cooling system. “We hope you enjoyed your trip into our analog archives, Fabian.”

“Sure. See you next time, Miranda.” He breezed out. They had history, but it wasn’t something he was interested in repeating. Imagine the conversations about cataloging systems and the internal squabbles of the Knowledge Center board. Fabian was already in a committed relationship with the powers of his imagination. Explicit videos were far too risky for a DoS worker to use, but the image of T1n4Red’s full lips and blond hair invaded his dreams. They could run a ranch together, or maybe they’d be cattle rustlers on the run. He wasn’t sure why, but every night, Fabian masturbated to the one rendered CGI model of T1n4Red they had on file. On the outside, his life was the ultimate mundanity, but the thrill of T1n4Red, the taste of the air on the great ranches outside the city, the sheer danger of even thinking all this, was the only way he could sleep.

***

They watched the pollination drone flit between the hibiscus flowers in the thick air of the botanical biodome. Fabian had been lucky to receive two of the limited daily visitor passes. It was even luckier for Scott, who now had the chance to get out of his mom’s dingy basement for a few hours.

“You know why they made them bigger than bees, right?” Scott spoke out of the side of his mouth. When Fabian shrugged, he leant in to inspect the device hovering around eye level. He blew a kiss and waved at its pollen-collector end.

“You don’t know that.”

Scott turned and swept his lank hair off his forehead. “You're the one who checks the footage, snoop.”

Micro cameras were yet another panopticon in the armory of the State. You had to assume, even when lying in bed with a lover, even when going to the toilet, that it was possible you were recorded, watched, and analyzed even years later. Secrecy was a virus DoS sought to eradicate.

The biosphere wristband on Fabian’s right arm sounded. Closing time was fast approaching. Fabian put a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “You know, there was a time when access to nature wasn’t so strictly controlled.” He stopped himself from saying more.

They joined the crowds heading to the exit down the palm pathway. “You heard about the latest blacklist?” asked Scott. “The mixnets are awash with it.”

Fabian’s neck muscles tightened. “You shouldn’t be telling me you’re on those forums.” Until he became an agent, even Fabian was prohibited from accessing the decentralized ‘Level 2’ network.

Scott laughed. It was the first time Fabian had heard him laugh that day. “That’s the fun of this little game, homie. Encoding and decrypting ciphers is living. It’s all I got apart from running from debt.” He lowered his voice. “My identity is already in prison, but I ain’t going too.”

Glancing left then right, Fabian made a decision. It was a decision to offer information to a friend, a true friend who had no reason to stick by him when all others cut ties. Sharing a secret in the meatspace was the biggest risk Fabian had taken in years, but he had no way to do it digitally.

“I was behind it.” He expelled a sigh.

Scott turned his head. They carried on walking towards the exit in the throng of people. A few seconds passed.

Fabian scratched at the mole above his eye. “Spent months unraveling stego messages. I feel like I know her. Like really know her.” Was he saying this out of pride or trepidation? Even if they ended in constrained mediocrity, lifeplans were so beautifully simple. Tina, Williams, the ranch, avenging his father’s bankruptcy, the forums, the caution, it all seemed so jumbled. “Maybe I’m in love.” What was Fabian saying? However long T1n4Red lasted underground, she’d never be able to surface again.

Scott bumped Fabian by stepping across his path. “Not in the meatspace. Keep checking the images. There’s a lot more hiding in plain sight than you know.” 

They walked in silence through the automated exit gate into the gray city air. As they departed, Scott turned back and called out, “Right pocket.”

Sure enough, Fabian felt the weight of a ‘brick’. He had held one of the untethered devices once in DoS training. Without even putting his hand into his pocket he knew that it was there and what it meant. Decentralized forum instructions would be written on an attached note. The code would be something only he and Scott knew. T14nRed and the entire underworld were now at his fingertips.

***

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.

***

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.

This story first appeared in Financial Fallout.