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The agents kicked open the door and rushed into the room, guns ready. The target, Chad Starn, sat at his computer, hands raised above his head. Agent Simon Adamson strode up to him and cuffed him. “Game over, kid.”
“It’s not a game,” Chad said, looking up at Simon—not defiantly, but with a certain insistence.
“Sir.” Agent Diane Quarter was studying the computer screen. “We have a problem.”
“It’s already in motion,” Chad said quietly. “It is finished.”
The lights went out. All of them. Computer, lamp, fish tank. Another agent managed to open the curtains, but there was no light outside either. Only the faintest glimmer of starlight reached them.
“What have you done?” Agent Adamson demanded.
“I thought many times how I would answer. It is much more dramatic in my imaginings.” Chad spoke from the darkness, a shadow with a voice. “But let me ask you: what do you know? From what I understand, you are thorough.”
“We don’t have time for these games, kid.”
“It isn’t a game. I told you that.”
Agent Adamson growled, then spoke rapidly. “Your name is Chad Starn, 18. Known as kantbelieve on chat sites. You are a genius, quiet, aloof. No social media presence. No criminal record. Hacks into Russian intelligence eventually traced to this computer, this room. Messages sent to federal agencies today saying, ‘Open your eyes.’”
Chad said nothing.
“Adamson,” Agent Quarter said. ”Service is out, too. Can’t get ahold of anyone.”
“EMP? Is that what this is?” Adamson demanded.
“We’ve connected everything. Cars, watches, alarm systems, power grids, refrigerators, phones. The cult of the microchip, the religion of machine learning. A web suffocating civilization. I ripped it apart.”
“Take him to the car,” Adamson ordered. “I’ll get the computer.”
Agent Quarter shuffled him cautiously through the dark hallway to the front door. Halfway across the lawn, Chad planted his feet and looked up.
“Get moving,” Agent Quarter said.
“Look,” Chad said. “Just look.”
Above, the moon was dark, but the sky was full of stars, more stars than she had ever seen.
“‘Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing admiration and awe, the more often and steadily we reflect upon them: the starry heavens above me and the moral law within me.’” Chad said. “There are only a handful of places in the civilized world where there is no light at night—no headlights, no electric signs, no TVs or phones or street lamps. We cannot see the sky for all the light pollution.” Chad laughed softly. “Soul pollution.”
“You’ve crippled us,” Agent Quarter said, pulling her gaze from the sky.
“You’ll fix it. In a week, you’ll have everything back to normal, or close enough. It’s too important to keep the machine running. But maybe some will remember when they looked into the sky and saw the stars again.”
Agent Quarter pushed him into the backseat of the car.
“It won’t run, you know,” Chad said. “We’ll have to walk.”
Agent Quarter slammed the door and leaned against it, furious. But when Agent Adamson returned, he found her staring into the heavens.
“Get in,” he told her.
“He said it won’t work.”
He tried; it didn’t. Agent Adamson swore and paced the car. “This is some night, Diane.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s quite a night.”