By Chris Ford
The heavy Buenos Aires rain fell onto the fresh corpses of the two guards outside the regional data exchange. Terrorists had tried and failed to blow the place up only last year, but thankfully the endless bureaucracy of government meant they still hadn’t gotten around to updating the security.
Nothing but meat and antiques guarding the place, almost to easy. The old finger print scanner didn’t bother to check that the finger I placed on it was still connected to it’s owner, who lay dead back in my apartment. The big secure looking metal doors just slid aside and I walked right in. A dozen security cameras watched my every move, but I just ignored them. I was going to get caught, I had known from the moment the orders reached me.
The place was quiet, hardly anyone about. The guard and technician I met walking about the place were both dead before I noticed them – My prosthetic arm set to auto kill had lifted my silenced gun and shot them both in the tiniest fraction of a second.
I reached the prize, a interplanetary network hub, it’s digital firewall made it the most impregnable of all targets for hackers. Here though, in person, it was wide open. I loaded the program then sat down and waited to be caught.
The job was done… The seed planted… Soon the network will go down… No communications to all the starships travelling about the solar system… But not before some of those big automated cargo haulers have been told to change course.
Earth may think that we have no way of striking back. That we have no ships to stop them as they crack open our dome habitats from orbit. They are right of course, we have no starships… which is why we are going to borrow theirs. A few heavy cargo haulers ramming into the Earth and they’ll soon understand the suffering they’ve caused us.
The suffering they’ve caused me.