“Why?” she asked. “What difference does it make if I have the option to go downtown and stand in line in some old office building? If I can get the same level of service— no, if I can get better and faster service on-line, with the same level of accountability — then why should that make any difference at all?”
He frowned again. He knew he was right, but he couldn’t find the words to explain it to her.
“It just does,” he said.
She just smiled.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s table that part of the discussion for now. Why don’t you tell me what really bothers you about CyberNation, Alex?”
He sighed. “It just doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Let’s say CyberNation exists right now, and that you’re a citizen there. But you work here, in the real world, in the United States. You spend all your time here, regardless of whether you’re working on-line or off. You’re here, receiving all the benefits of being a citizen, all the protection of our laws, all the freedoms of our land, and yet you’re not a part of it.”
“And I’m not paying for it.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled. “That’s it, isn’t it, the fact that I’m not paying taxes and you are?”
He nodded. “That’s part of it, certainly.”
“But don’t you see, Alex, that happens all the time. If I were a citizen of Saudi Arabia, for example, or France, I could live here and work here — part of the year, at least — and not pay taxes to the U.S. government.”
“That’s different,” he said. “Those are real countries. Our government has reciprocal agreements with them, so our citizens can live and work there under the same arrangements.”
“And that will be true with CyberNation, too,” she said. “We’ll have arrangements with every government on the face of this planet. We’ll have to. It’s the only way our citizens will be able to live and work where they want to.”
“But…” He stopped.
“Yes?”
He shook his head. CyberNation was wrong. The whole idea was ludicrous, and he knew it. He just couldn’t seem to make her understand that.
“And what happens to the real-world countries?” he asked.
“Ah, now that is the best question I’ve heard so far,” she said. “And I believe it’s the real heart of your concern, isn’t it? The fact that people becoming citizens of CyberNation, of not paying taxes to the U.S. anymore, would be bad for this country that you love so much.”
He nodded. He hadn’t really thought of it in those terms before, but she was right. It would be bad for the United States, just as it would be bad for Saudi Arabia, and France, and every other country. It would have to be.
“But maybe, just maybe, that would be a good thing. After all, the United States is supposed to have a government ‘of the people, by the people, and for the people.’ Can you honestly say that the current tax structure works that way? Never mind for the moment that fewer than ten percent of the population pays more than eighty percent of the taxes. Never mind for the moment that for tax purposes the poverty level is set at an unbelievably low level, so that families making far less money than they need to feed and clothe and house their children are nonetheless paying taxes. No, for now, just look at where those taxes go. Tell me that you’re happy with all the pork barreling that goes on, and that you believe the monumental waste you see all around you is ‘of the people, by the people, and for the people.’ ”
She paused and looked at him. “Maybe, Alex, just maybe it isn’t CyberNation that’s bad for America. Maybe America has become bad for itself.”
“No, Ms. Skye,” he said in a flat voice. “We’ve got problems, I’ll admit that. We always have and we always will. But that’s exactly because we are of the people. Any human endeavor will always be flawed. It’s part of our makeup. CyberNation would be no different.”
There was a moment of silence as they both looked at each other. Then she nodded. “Well,” she said, “I won’t take up any more of your time. I appreciate the opportunity to talk with you. If ever I can help you with information regarding CyberNation, or anything else, please give me a call.”
He nodded, rose, and shook her hand.
She paused, still gripping his hand lightly. “Promise me one thing, Alex. Promise me you’ll at least think about what I’ve said.”
“Oh, I think you can count on that, Ms. Skye.”
She left and Alex turned back to work. A virtual country? No taxes? Preposterous.
Wasn’t it?
14
Jay Gridley walked across the huge laboratory’s hard linoleum floor toward the test chamber. A low, dry rustling sound, as if thousands of leaves were being tossed about in a huge lotto machine, echoed through the room. The air was heavy with the smell of ozone. Across the room, two Jacob’s ladders, the epitome of mad-scientist decor, buzzed, sending hump-shaped blue sparks up their V-shaped electrodes. Close at hand, a bank of Tesla coils radiated even more intense sparkings, and Van de Graff electrostatic generators added their cracklings. A large Lava lamp stood off to the side, and on one of the lab benches, a Rube Goldberg forest of beakers, retorts, and Bunsen burners drove multicolored liquids through tubes and distilled them into yet more containers. At the end of another bench, an old oscilloscope displayed a revolving sine wave. The topper was the huge computer lining the entire wall at the end of the room. Huge rolling reels of magnetic tape rolled back and forth, interspersed with banks of flashing lights. The sound of clicking relays was a touch he had added himself.
Jay grinned. This particular scenario wasn’t actually all his, but since he had the final word in most Net Force VR work, his suggestions had carried some weight.
Frankenstein would be proud of this setup. Or at least the moviemakers who did all those science-gone-mad flicks of the thirties, forties, and fifties would be. Jay was proud, too. His people had done their usual great work.
Around him on the other three walls were hundreds of museum-quality display cases, each one lined with cotton and filled with odd-looking insects. On top of the lab benches, in huge wooden boxes, were thousands upon thousands more bugs: Their assorted wings, legs, and pincers were what made the leaf-rustling sound.
This wasn’t Jay’s usual VR scenario. It wasn’t intended to help him break into other net sites. It wasn’t even connected to the net at all. Instead, it was quarantined in a stand-alone Net Force computer, with no links to the outside net at all.
This scenario was a holding cell. It was also a visualizer and a synthesizer. It translated computer viruses, worms, and Trojan horses into distinctive insectoid shapes, complete with whatever features made each particular program unique. When it came time to see how a new attack program worked, Net Force personnel came here, to the test lab, to see what they were up against.
If the virus ate data, for example, it might have oversized mandibles along with a big abdomen and colors to match the data it went after. If it propagated by hiding in other data, or by catching hold of it, it might have a chameleon-like ability to change color, or spinnerets to ensnare its prey. Each mode of operation, combined with the bug’s delivery and goal, would give Net Force’s software enough info to make a distinctive-looking bug.