22 December 2016
Misdirection
Lieutenant San’s remote Christmas.
by Neil Tidmarsh
Christmas Eve. The dark sky was full of stars – and drones. Hundreds of thousands of drones – big ones and small ones, fast ones and slow ones – all delivering a deluge of last-minute Christmas gifts. The night air rang with their humming and whirring, their clicking and clacking; but also with their smashing and crashing. For something was going horribly wrong. Many of the drones were crashing into the side of buildings, or colliding with each other, or plunging down to smash into the ground or splash into rivers.
The drones were out of control. Someone was interfering with their systems; someone was hacking into their programs to hi-jack and destroy them. Yes, they were the targets of the biggest cyber-attack ever launched against the free West.
Many thousands of miles away, in the Peoples’ Republic of East Earock, Lieutenant San Ter Zelf crouched over her computer screen, her fingers flashing over the keyboard. A very recent graduate of the republic’s Military Academy For Cyber-Warfare, she was eager to prove herself hard-working, loyal and trustworthy. Hundreds of other uniformed figures sat in row upon row all around her, all of them focused on their computer screens, heads down and fingers tapping, just like her. Lieutenant San nodded enthusiastically at the encouraging words of Captain Scu Roo Jer, who paced up and down between the rows, exhorting them to even greater efforts.
“Good fighting, comrades! This hits our Great Leader’s enemies where it hurts them the most! This strikes at the very heart of their decadent world!” Captain Scu laughed fiercely. Her sharp little teeth glittered like polished bayonet-blades. “Every one of your key-strokes is a shot fired into Materialism and Superstition, the twin giants holding up the whole edifice of their weak and corrupt universe! Christmas is their most important festival! Destroy Christmas and we destroy them!”
Lieutenant San knew that the machines they were destroying were carrying ‘presents’. But she didn’t really understand what that meant. “What exactly are ‘Christmas Presents’, Captain San, sir, if I may ask?”
“They are gifts. Things they give each other as tokens of affection and gratitude.”
Lieutenant San gasped. She was shocked and puzzled. “But doesn’t everything belong to the Great Leader?” She looked up at the big portrait of the Great Leader beaming down at them from the far wall. “How can they give something to each other without stealing it from the Great Leader first? And don’t they realise that only the Great Leader is worthy of affection and gratitude? Surely it’s illegal for them to feel gratitude and affection for anyone else?”
“That is why they are the enemies of the Great Leader! That is why they must be destroyed!”
“But, Captain Scu, sir – “
“Be quiet!” Captain Scu barked. Her eyes narrowed threateningly. “Back to work! You are wasting time!”
Lieutenant San turned back to her screen, quickly, feeling a hot flush of guilt and fear. Captain Scu was right. They couldn’t afford to lose even a second while they were fighting this battle. She caught the eye of Lieutenant Ro Bi Nherd, the soldier sitting opposite her, who looked up from his screen for half a second – and winked at her, sympathetically. She frowned and concentrated on the figures gliding across her screen. Something about Lieutenant Ro – his appearance, and what she felt when she looked at him – also made her feel guilty and afraid. She didn’t know why. It was something she didn’t dare to think about.
She thought about the machines and the ‘presents’ she was destroying. Gifts which had been sent but which would never be received, if she and her fellow cyber-warriors did their job properly. What did it feel like to give a present? What did it feel like to receive one? The present she was targeting right now, for instance. A box-set of DVDs, being sent from somewhere called Basingstoke in a country called Britain to an address somewhere in a city called Leicester. She was about to press a key which would have cut the delivery drone’s power and sent it spiralling to the ground a mile short, but she paused, overwhelmed by an irresistible curiosity, and instead guided the machine safely to its destination. She pressed another key, and images from one of The Republic’s global surveillance satellites showed her the very house to which the delivery was being made. A door opened, spilling a warm, bright light out into the cold darkness. Someone – a smiling mother – took the package from the drone and released the machine which sped off back into the night. Voices and laughter spilled out into the darkness, too, the sounds of joy and excitement, as the mother called back into the house, waving the gaily-wrapped package.
For a moment, Lieutenant San was there on that bright doorstep, standing right in front of that cheerful woman. She felt her happiness. It was just as if the light and warmth flowing from that house was travelling thousands of miles through the dark, cold night to flow into her, too. And there was music coming from the bright house; a recording of children singing, and bells ringing, and a piano. A sweet song, gentle and comforting. So that’s what it felt like, giving a present. Wonderful.
But only for a moment. Then she was back at her desk in that huge, drafty converted aircraft-hangar in the middle of the vast military complex in the middle of The Republic’s capital city. And she felt pure horror. An overpowering fear and guilt. What had she done? She was supposed to be stopping the deliveries, and she had just helped to make one. She had betrayed The Republic. She had betrayed the Great Leader. She deserved to be punished, most severely. She was close to panic. She would be found out. She would be stripped of her rank. She would be expelled from the cyber-warfare unit. She looked up from her screen. What could she do?
It was cold and dark and quiet in there. The only light and heat, and the only sounds – the whirring of machines and the tapping of keyboards – came from the ranks of computers. She shivered.
Lieutenant Ro looked up from his screen, too, and caught her eye. There was something in his expression, in the glance he gave her, which suggested… what? Understanding? An offer of help, even? If anyone could help her, it was Lieutenant Ro. He could erase all trace of her misdemeanour with one or two key-strokes, she was sure. He was the most gifted hacker in the building. He should have been a Captain or a Major even. But everyone knew that there was a shadow, a question mark, hanging over him. His brother had Gone. He had Disappeared, two years ago. No one said anything, but everyone knew that his brother had run away to the west. To Western Earock. It was disgusting, shocking. No wonder no one spoke to Ro. No wonder he was stuck at the rank of Lieutenant. He was lucky that he hadn’t been thrown out of the army altogether. He would have been, too, if he wasn’t so brilliant at his job.
Nevertheless, there was something about him which made her feel… what? For the first time, she dared to think about it. She liked looking at him. He looked nice, even if he was even thinner and paler than everyone else. Everyone knew why he looked tired and hungry all the time. His whole family were on half-rations because of his brother. They were being punished for his brother’s shameful betrayal of The Republic and the Great Leader. And San guessed that Ro was surviving on even less than half-rations, so that his little sister and his mother would have more to eat (his father had died some years ago, fighting in the Patriotic War against West Earock).
San knew that Ro was kind and brave. In the last few weeks, since she’d started working there, she’d noticed that when one of them made a mistake, and Captain Scu yelled and screamed at them, and sometimes even beat them with her swagger stick, then for days afterwards everyone else refused to talk to the disgraced individual, and turned their backs on him or her and treating them with disdain, eager to show Scu that they shared her disgust and anger. Everyone, that is, except Lieutenant Ro; he alone would talk to them and help them, quietly showing them where they’d gone wrong and how to do it correctly. He alone wasn’t afraid of Captain Scu.
He was her only hope. She had no choice. She took a deep breath and logged onto their internal messaging network. “Problem with job 5151swa. Please erase?” she typed, and then sent it to his mailbox, as fast as she could, so she wouldn’t have time to think about what she was doing.
A reply came back a few seconds later. “What job 5151swa? There is no job 5151swa.”
Relief flooded through her. She felt faint with it. She glanced up at Lieutenant Ro, and he glanced up at her. He smiled, and winked, and then turned back to his screen.
“Thank you” she typed. She knew she wouldn’t have to remind him to erase their exchange of messages, and sure enough, half a second later, all trace of it had disappeared.
She felt that wave of warmth and light return. It was as if she was inside that house in Leicester again, her voice raised with joy and excitement among all the others, her ears full of the voices of those children singing that sweet song. So this is what it’s like to receive a present… She looked up at Ro again. He was concentrating on his work, his eyes fixed to his screen, unaware that she was looking at him. The feeling of warmth and light increased. Affection and gratitude swept through her. He was so lovely, and so brave, and so kind. Then she felt confused. But… but… we aren’t supposed to feel affection and gratitude for each other, only for the Great Leader. We aren’t supposed to give each other presents. We’re supposed to give everything we have to the Great Leader alone. Our whole lives must be one glorious gift to the Great Leader…
She heard screams and shouts from the other end of the hangar, and the noises brought her back to herself with a jolt. Someone had made a mistake and Captain Scu was yelling at them and beating them over the head with her cane. Her words of insult and humiliation echoed around the hangar like the screams of some great merciless bird of prey. In a second the light and warmth had gone. For the first time, San admitted to herself that she hated Captain Scu – hated the harsh way she spoke, hated the rigid and over-precise way she wore her uniform, hated the way she prowled between the rows of desks, hated her easy resort to anger and violence, hated everything about her – and had hated her from the moment she’d welcomed her to the unit with a harshly-barked order and a sneer of contempt for yet another wet-behind-the-ears graduate dumped on her by the Academy.
She turned back to her work. But now she was too aware of the coldness and darkness around her to concentrate. She forced herself to focus. This delivery, for instance – a bottle of champagne to an address in Canterbury. She checked the order. A present from an uncle in Edinburgh to his niece. Curiosity overwhelmed her again. What sort of girl is the niece, she wondered? Is she the same age as me? What sort of life does she lead? She examined the girl’s data records (they had access to the full details of almost every individual in the West – everything from tweets and Facebook pages to credit-card bills and e-mails and what books they borrowed from the local library). And the first thing she noticed was that the girl was t-total. What? Why then was her uncle sending her champagne? There must be a mistake somewhere… She quickly checked the order details. No, that was all correct… The mistake must be the uncle’s. He simply doesn’t know that his niece doesn’t drink alcohol. How stupid. And what a waste. Then she grinned. Well, why not send it to someone who would appreciate it, then? Someone like… She skimmed quickly through the records once again. She found what she was looking for almost immediately. Round the corner from that address in Canterbury was a house full of students. It looked like they spent all their time partying. They’d know what to do with that bottle of champagne… A few clicks and the champagne was no longer on its way to the t-total niece but to the partying student-house instead. Good. She felt the glow of warmth and light return.
Then she froze. Wait! What have I just done? I’m supposed to be attacking these enemies in the West, not helping them. She felt a new stab of fear (but not, strangely, of guilt). If I’m found out, I’ll be punished. Then she thought about it. What was there to find out? She hadn’t technically done anything wrong. Their orders were to destroy or misdirect the drone deliveries. And a Misdirect was regarded as twice as effective as a Destroy. It doubled the chaos. And that’s what she’d done – a Misdirect. That was why she wasn’t feeling guilty. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Had she? Well… She grinned again. Yes, she had. She knew she had. She wouldn’t be feeling that warmth and light if she hadn’t. But she didn’t care. She felt glad. That’s why she wasn’t feeling guilty. She looked up at Captain Scu patrolling the building like a pitiless wolf looking for the way into a sheep-fold, and felt a very satisfying burst of anger and defiance. There was nothing to fear. Nobody would know. Nobody would find her out.
She chose another order. A toy robot from a grandmother in Birmingham to a grandson in Brighton.
But hang on – the boy is fifteen years old. Much too old for a toy robot. Why not misdirect it to… an orphanage? Is there one in Brighton? Yes, there it is… A couple of clicks on the key-board and the robot was on its way to children who would appreciate it. Next order… As it happened, the next order was a computer game from a granddaughter to a grandfather. A quick check of the records showed her that the grandfather didn’t even have a computer. So she misdirected the game to the fifteen-year old in Brighton who would have been disappointed and disgusted with the kid’s toy robot.
She skimmed through the list of hundreds of orders on her screen. At least a third of them were unsuitable gifts going to unsuitable recipients. Toys going to children who were too old for them, novels going to children who were too young for them. Cookery books going to people who didn’t like cooking. Sporting biographies going to people who didn’t like sport. Show-biz biographies going to people who didn’t watch television or go to the cinema. Daring clothes going to boring girls, boring clothes going to daring girls. Why was that? Were people just too busy to find the right present? Were they just too desperate when they went shopping, and ended up panic-buying? Did everyone have just too many presents to buy? Well, whatever the reason, she, Lieutenant San, was going to put it right for everybody…
She worked hard through the night. She misdirected the boring clothes to the boring girls, the daring clothes to daring girls, the sporting biographies to people who liked sport, the show-biz biographies to people who liked show-biz, cookery books to people who like to cook, novels to people who were old enough to appreciate them, toys to children who were young enough to enjoy them. Her eyes didn’t leave her screen. Her fingers were a blur as they flew over her keyboard. She forgot where she was. The big, dark, cold hangar disappeared. A glow of warmth and light engulfed her, sustaining her in her labours. Her shift ended, but she didn’t notice. She carried on working. Other shifts came and went, but she worked on. And on. Through into Christmas Day itself.
The morning break surprised her. The siren rang out, dragging her up from her work as if from a deep sleep. She realised everyone around her was getting to their feet, standing to attention, ready to sing the Republic’s victory song in praise of the Great Leader, as they did every morning in the break. She was still in a daze as they sang. She could hardly get the words out. She couldn’t help thinking about the sweet and comforting songs those children’s’ voices were singing last night, so unlike the strident and challenging tune which was crashing around them now. The song ended, and Captain Scu clapped her hands. She had something to say. Everyone was to remain standing to attention.
Of course, the week’s figures. The best performers praised and rewarded, the worst performers harangued and punished.
Lieutenant San could hardly stand upright. She felt very tired. She let Captain Scu’s sharp words flow over her without really listening to them. And then she suddenly heard her own name, and she jerked to attention.
“Lieutenant San Ter Zelf! A special prize! This dedicated and selfless officer followed the path of duty with such zeal that she worked all night, refusing to come off duty for four whole shifts! And she achieved a record number of Misdirects, more than all her unit put together for the last week! So this week’s tokens – the gift from our Great Leader, given with gratitude and affection as a reward to his most loyal followers in the great battle against our heartless and selfish enemies in the West, from whose evil attacks he will protect us for all eternity – are awarded to Lieutenant San Ter Zelf! Indefatigable warrior! Undefeated foe of the West! Destroyer of Christmas!”
Lieutenant San’s face was an expressionless mask as she bowed to Captain Scu and received the envelope of tokens from her. The applause of the other cyber-soldiers boomed around the big cold hangar. As she straightened up again, she exchanged glances with Lieutenant Ro. He winked at her, and nodded, and for a second a secret grin – knowing and amused – shone out at her.
The tokens were for the Senior Officers’ Store – a shop where all kinds of delicacies were available to soldiers of the rank of major and higher (and occasionally to junior officers if they were lucky enough to be awarded tokens for exceptional service). White bread, and coffee, and cakes, and fresh meat, and fresh fruit, and… So San had heard. She’d never actually been there herself. Neither had Lieutenant Ro. Everybody knew that Lieutenant Ro would win the tokens every week if everything was fair. But he was never given them, because of the disgrace of his brother’s defection.
When their shift ended, and everyone was filing out of the hangar, San made sure she was right behind Ro. When she was certain no one would see them, she pressed the tokens into his hand. “Merry Christmas” she whispered, and hurried on out into the wind-swept parade ground before he could object.
The sky was full of dark clouds, and there were patches of black ice all across the bleak courtyard. Flakes of dirty snow were falling through the heavily-polluted air of the capital city. It was very cold. But Lieutenant San didn’t care.
She was glowing with warmth and light.
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