Infoquake by David Louis Edelman

once, during his requisite
tour of the Melbourne governmental facilities. He remembered seeing
the entire city laid out before him during the descent of the arriving
hoverbird craft. If he had the power to see through the dozens of
hanging pennants to the west and the stretched stone wall beneath
them, he could have seen the Prime Committee complex and the Congress of L-PRACGs. To the east lay the headquarters of the Creeds
Coalition and the chief lobbying arms of TubeCo, GravCo, and TeleCo.
    Jara pinged the Council's multi information node. "A hundred and
twelve million," she said, gazing around at the assembled crowd of
multi projections.
    Horvil whistled. This black code attack had shaken people up. It
looked like only twenty thousand, of course; in situations like this, the
network conveniently abandoned the illusion that multi projections
inhabited Cartesian space. "Any sign of Merri? Or Vigal?" he said.
    "Public directory says Merri's here somewhere," replied Jara. "But
no word on Serr Vigal. He wouldn't come out here for something like
this."
    "And Natch?"
    Jara looked at Horvil and shook her head with a frown.
    At precisely three o'clock (London time), there was a decrescendo in the background chatter of the crowd. Lights that had been glaring
at full intensity dimmed to candle strength. Horvil held his breath and
watched the stage below for the towering form of High Executive Len
Borda.

    But the man who materialized on center stage wasn't him. A
white-robed and yellow-starred figure approached the podium. The
man, a pureblooded Asian, was little more than half Borda's height,
and had only a third of his girth. He stood patiently for a moment, dispensing that arrogant Council stare.
    Borda's underling did not give his name or rank. He simply
opened his mouth and began to speak in a dead monotone. "My word
is the will of the Defense and Wellness Council," the man said, "which
was established by the Prime Committee two hundred and fifty-two
years ago to ensure the security of all persons throughout the system.
The word of the Council is the word of the people."
    Horvil shuddered involuntarily. Out of the corner of his eye, he
saw Jara doing the same. They had heard this opening dictum thousands of times in dramas, news reports and speeches, and yet it still had
the power to send ripples up and down the spine. Horvil was convinced the effect was bio/logically enhanced.
    "Today, rumors have circulated on the Data Sea that the Vault was
under black code attack by Pharisees," continued the Council officer
coolly, as if system-wide panic was an expected hazard; the total at the
bottom of a spreadsheet column, the predictable outcome of a wellweathered formula. "Many irresponsible words have been written
about the so-called vulnerabilities of the financial system and the supposed failings of the Defense and Wellness Council.
    "High Executive Borda wishes it to be known that these rumors
are completely without foundation. There was no black code attack
this morning."
    Even through the sound-deadening programs of the Council auditorium, Horvil could hear the murmur of a million raised voices. He remembered his pathetic sniveling at Jara's apartment, his panicked
dash across London, and felt an embarrassed flush cover his face. The
engineer risked a peek at Jara. Her nostrils were flaring.

    The anonymous Council spokesman pressed on, either oblivious to
or unconcerned by the crowd's reaction. "The attack this morning was
not a product of bio/logic engineering, or of black coding skill. It
required nothing more than the ability to make clever forgeries and the
will to deceive.
    "These forgeries of Vault security messages were designed to fool
the public into believing their financial holdings were under attack.
What the perpetrators hoped to accomplish with this ruse is unknown.
High Executive Borda believes the forgers' goal was to sow panic in the
marketplace. Suffice it to say these