System Overload

Part 3: We Are The Botnet

"Did I say something stupid?"

I'm now following him in the corridor, a little pissed off. Our voices and steps muffled by the self-cleaning lichen carpet. He stares at me over his shoulder, his glasses still covered with lines and charts.

"The hypothesis of a software vulnerability hasn't been communicated yet. No more than the actual problem we face, for that matter."

My anger explodes and I reach out and grab his arm, harshly. He stops and eyes me, astonished.

"And how in the hell was I supposed to know that? It seems that no one found it appropriate to keep me updated on that! As the director of customer service, maybe I could use some more information, right?"

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do, sir. (And this 'sir' sounds so cold, at this moment.)" The IT department is expecting us for a debrief of their latest findings.

We keep going now. He looks surly now, I feel a little bad. I sigh.

"I'm sorry, Ronand. We're all quite....on edge."

"It's nothing, Mr. William."

It didn't seem to soften him. Never mind, I tried at least.

Two more hallways, then the elevator. The silence is tense. An email notification blinks in the corner of my aug-sight. Focus only on the one word: Open. The window appears, half transparent, the dark brushed metal of the elevator behind, and Ronand's grumpy face. I sift through the subject lines as highlighted titles stream by. Alerts about unusual symptoms observed in Assistance & Maintenance branches in other cities, other countries, all around the world. Approximate attempts at diagnostics, scarce analysis shared with the global A&M network... Overconsumption of energy caused by the CPU activity... Patients weakening as the weeks go by....followed by inevitable deactivation of the implants, in the end...

And everybody is waiting, computing data, trying to understand. The first cases were found one week ago, the implants were reset, and dietary supplements were prescribed. And then the problem returned, the same signs, symptoms, issues. Some implants were considered faulty entirely and replaced as part of the A&M insurance.

And cries for help from the public, waiting for confirmation of a general product recall, of special investigations, of clear information from the top.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I sigh:

"This thing seems to have spread everywhere even before we detected it."

Ronand nods, absent-minded.

"It did, and began long before the case we saw here. Two other patients taken to ER, at least. But until now, we didn't get that the symptoms could be caused by a malware infection. Now, our IT teams worldwide are working together to analyze the vulnerability and identify the programs behind the symptoms. The more people we have on this, the faster we'll find how to clean up the systems. And patch the flaw."

"All right, yes. I understand. That's IT's job, and your department as well, of course. As long as I'm kept informed of the progression, I'm good with whatever you have to do."

My tone is understanding. Ronand nods again. He seems vaguely relieved.

The elevator rings at the IT floor.

Bursts of voices, curses, conversations shouted in phones, hurried steps. Even the super high-tech floor can't muffle this huge chaos.

We turn right. The programmer's open space. That's where most of the mess comes from. The desks are overpopulated, at least two more people per station, laptops opened everywhere... Ronand slips through the crowd, I follow him closely. We're jostled a bit, some employee rushing around, only pausing for a brief apology, then back into their phone call or running toward another desk.

At the back of the open space, this small room with glass walls, aquarium style. Roller blind down. The chief engineer's office, Andrea Phelps. I'm a little curious, wonder if her workspace will match what I imagine of this gal?

Ronand knocks and enters immediately. I follow him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. William."

She's on the only seat, hunched over, surrounded by softly whirring servers. Still kind of skin and bones, and still... faceless. This sempiternal helmet covered in cables, only a side of blond hair in sight, where the trans-neural wire is plugged.

I nod to her. She probably can see me, one way or another, I guess.

Ronand leans on a tall series of racks, sighs, the tablet back in hand. He seems very tired under this light. His voice a bit hoarse.

"What's our situation now, Andrea?"

She raises her head, as to look at us, but she's probably seeing huge streams of incoming data and results, 3D cyberspace style. For some seconds she observes her virtual space, without a word. Then, with a calm, steady voice, she says :

"Mining."

I blink, expecting her to elaborate. But nothing comes. Ronand seems flabbergasted.

"Cryptocurrency mining? Seriously?"

He shakes his head, takes off his glasses to massage his eyebrows. I stare at each of them, raise my hands.

"Wait, wait, wait. You're losing me already. What is that about?"

Ronand puts his glasses back on.

"Do you get cryptocurrency, first, sir? Decentralized monetary system, totally cut from stock market, actual national banks...

"Yes, this... blockchain thing, and all that, this far, I get that."

"Mining, is how these currencies are... created. This is the distributed side, all right?"

A sudden flash. Something in the early 2020, the big years of smart automation devices. Internet connected things compromised for months without anybody noticing: security cameras, fridges, toasters and whatnot changed into bots for earning virtually anonymous money. Thousands of devices. Tens of thousands. Of fridges and goddamn toasters.

Shit.

Sudden dizziness. I need to lean on something too, put my hand on a huge whirring unit, blinking DEL lights all around. It's too hot in there. A smell of burnt electronics.

"All this fuss with the internet of things, ten years ago or something, we're not here yet again, are we?"

Ronand hesitates, lips pursed.

"It might be a bit early for such a statement, however..."

Phelps finishes for him, ice cold :

"Implants are the new IoT. And this is a new 2020, Mr. William. Only this time, we are carrying the infection, and the processors are using our own energy. We are the botnet."

Consternation. A cold wave moving along my back. I look at Ronand, hoping he'll say something to... to smoothen things, to... I don't know.

But he avoids my glance. Which is even worse.