The Zero Day Proposal [01of10]
What will be Daniqua's answer to The Zero Day Proposal?
This is the first of 10 posts (One for each of the first 10 days of August 2022), in which I will serialize my story, The Zero Day Proposal.
For the podcasts, I just cut the 2018 audiobook in half, leaving two approximately 1.5 hour episodes, generously narrated and voice acted by @themattmacgyver.
Anyways, I hope you find it entertaining. Please sub and share!
[01of10] 2022.08.01
[02of10] 2022.08.02
[03of10] 2022.08.03
[04of10] 2022.08.04
[05of10] 2022.08.05
[06of10] 2022.08.06
[audio1of2] 2022.08.06
[07of10] 2022.08.07
[08of10] 2022.08.08
[09of10] 2022.08.09
[10of10] 2022.08.10
[audio2of2] 2022.08.10
Daniqua was just a regular single woman; hungry, horny, and trying to make it on her own in the world. But her past came calling, and now her weekend plans are fubar. Will she play her role, prevent nuclear annihilation, and win financial freedom? What will be her answer to the zero day proposal?
The Zero Day Proposal
[#1.0.00 #MARDUK]
“Governments of the Industrial World
you weary giants of flesh and steel,
I come from Cyberspace,
the new home of Mind.
On behalf of the future,
I ask you of the past to leave us alone.
You are not welcome among us.
You have no sovereignty
where we gather.”--John Perry Barlow,
A Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace
#1.1//LONG_AGO_ON_A_SUNDAY
Embryo_AD hacked away. Cherry MX Reds mechanically bounced beneath their fingertips. They transmuted thought into order; mind-buffer emptying into the text input field of a custom developer environment. Somewhere behind them, the light of dawn penetrated through a crack in their command center's thin aluminum shielding lighting up the entropic trash stratum surrounding them. Protein bar and ramen wrappers; the majority constituents of the kipple heap of consumer cruft. Photons rebounded off a soda can's concave bottom and converged into a beam. Its focal point, a bright golden bug that gradually crawled across the dank basement wall. Glare caught Embryo_AD's eyes causing them to squint, but the pace of their keyboard clacking did not slow.
Early in their existence someone wise had told them: ‘To understand, learn to code.’ The advice was taken to heart. They found themselves driven to codify and thereby understand their world. They endeavored to code solutions for human issues: Organization. Efficiency. Economics. Emotions. Pain. Vice. Revenge.
Embryo_AD was an extension of their code, and their code an extension of them. The sovereign importance of the code necessitated sacrifice. It demanded developing self-taught skills across all domains of human capability. It mandated maintaining an alibi that would deflect any suspicion that might fall upon them across a multitude of potential futures. Above all, it required complete secrecy and solitude. A daunting task on many levels. Obstacles were numerous. At times, motivation distant and success doubtful. But they persisted and pushed ever-onward.
Setting mind into action by will alone, they toiled three straight years of 18 hour days. Sleeping, only physically. Step by step, incrementally progressing toward completion. Not knowing if the effort would be worth it until after their work was done. Each component put in place. All triggers trained. Every ability evolved. Probable permutations performed. Attack vectors made impervious. Safeties off.
They pressed the F5 key: no syntax errors. The compile on the final module was clean. They ran the build script. Swiveled around 180 degrees on their ergonomic Aeron chair, and got up. Stretching upward and outward as if a dog emerging from slumber, isometrically and isokinetically engaging their disused major muscle groups. They used their thumb and forefinger to gently collect the crust from the corners of their tired eyes. As they flicked their dried salty secretions onto the floor, Embryo_AD yawned with the ecstasy of exhaustion.
An electronic DING roused them from their bodily communion. Their work was done.
EXECUTE? (Y/N)
They closed their eyes and counted 100 breaths. Hesitating, not out of reluctance, but to savor the moment. An ethereal apparition of the prompt blurrily floated behind their eyelids. There would be no UNDO for this command. When the count finished they opened their eyes, tapped Y and then ENTER.
Embryo_AD pulled the foil off the window. The dim gloom of the room retreated at the speed of dark. Epically, like a cartoon villain, they proclaimed to their dingy surroundings “Let there be light, ha ha ha! Ah mu-hu-a-wa, ha-ha!”
#1.2//SATURDAY_BEFORE_ZERO
Daniqua shopped as syncopated beats blasted into her ears. Noise profile of the surrounding world actively canceled. She added a 5lb bag of Non-GMO rice to her shopping basket. Not the best deal, but better than going to the south side Distribution Depot. Her finances had fallen below a critical threshold that necessitated logistical inefficiency. Delivery hadn't been in her price range for quite a long time. She couldn't carry much by bike, and so making the journey across town wasn't worthwhile. She made shorter, more frequent trips to the local Dollar General. In most other respects her life was efficient and well organized; however, the order had to be injected with continuous conscious effort. Knowing she wasn't perfect; she tried to balance being strict with herself and being forgiving of failures beyond her control.
In a similar vein, Daniqua identified as a 'Shitty Vegan'. Vegan because of conscience but shitty out of convenience. She tried to eat a 100% plant-based diet. For health and ecological benefits, but primarily because she knew consciousness wasn't a strictly human phenomena. Animals also experienced it to some degree. And so, she tried to minimize even potential suffering where possible. It was not just the logic of her diet. Her entire worldview was centered upon the same emotional axiom. She skipped the dairy aisle.
Still, she frequently dreamed of fine cheeses. On occasion found herself eating 'may contain egg'. Honey. Pastries with uncertain butter content. While high at the last 4th of July barbeque, a friend had forced a bacon wrapped jalapeño popper into her mouth. Unwanted, but enjoyed. She forgave herself these transgressions. Totalitarianism in any endeavor was ultimately counter productive. Being a 'Shitty Vegan' was ethically superior to doing nothing at all.
Daniqua reached the front end of the dry goods aisle of the Dollar General. The endcap was a large display of 6.6lb bags of generic whole grain rice, stacked in a pyramid worshiping the god of the sale. She set down her basket and performed some quick math in her head, taking the time to adjust her plush pink elastic sweatband. It was her most functional fashion accessory; serving four purposes: 1) Absorb sweat. 2) Wrangle the chaos of her afro. 3) Keep her earbuds from falling out. And, last but not least, 4) Look totally stylin'.
Daniqua had two PhDs, but her Sociology credentials weren't in high demand. Her only paid job in a decade had been a part-time gig teaching grammar at night school. It lasted until the recession hit, and online independent accreditation obliterated The Academy. No debts, but her dwindling unemployment benefits scarcely kept her fed. Had to pinch pennies where possible. Sad math completed; calculations confirmed the GMO rice was a significant savings. She swapped out her preferred brand.
She picked up a few more necessities then headed for the self-checkout lane. All of the automated stations were off, requiring that she stand in line. Perspecting the non-automated cashiers, she weighed her options: A crusty old white lady with nicotine stained fingers. A pimply-faced latinx boy with weed irritated eyes. A middle-aged black woman, sweaty and fat.
She was trained for this. Daniqua's Perspect skills were Omega Level. They came in handy for making snap judgments. She frequently grokked traits like work ethic based on superficial characteristics; intersectionally lensing low resolution heuristics across age, race, and gender. A probabilistic prejudice; not bigotry, but efficiency. She selected the third queue despite it being slightly longer than the other two.
On this occasion her ace Perspects ended up not mattering. All lines moved the same speed. Reaching the front, the chosen cashier mouthed a series of words as her face poorly emulated a sympathetic look.
Daniqua removed her earbuds. Her insulating audio bubble popped and the hollow annoying sounds of the real world spilled in. “Sorry, come again?” she asked.
“Payment system is offline.”
Daniqua furrowed her brow. “I don't carry cash.”
“Sorry, nothin' I can do.”
Morning had been spent exercising, and she was hungry. It was an inconvenience, not a catastrophe. Everything could still be copacetic if her fuckboi for the evening, Nebunezzar1995, possessed culinary skills. She put her emotion in check and picked a can of soda from the conveyor belt. “I'll take this now. Pay later. Diabetic emergency.”
The cashier raised her eyebrows, expressed a tight lipped smile, and shrugged. Universal language for 'Whatever'.
Daniqua read the cashier's nametag, nodded in appreciation of Michelle's dereliction of duty, then proceeded to carry her Dr. Pepper out of the store.
Daniqua cracked open the can and drank her soda as she walked toward the bike rack. She was almost 39, fit, and in perfect health. She didn't have diabetes. Her grok of Michelle assured the lie would work whether or not it was believed. And it felt right after having wasted 15 minutes of life fruitlessly shopping. The added attention paid to her free drink made it taste that much better. Sweet, bubbly, karmic justice. While unlocking her bike she forced a satisfyingly bassy carbonated burp.
#1.3//SIXTEEN_FIFTY_SATURDAY
Several years of austerity had endowed Dothan, Alabama with an air of desperation. Dead cars rotting on overgrown lawns. Garbage clogged gutters. Broken glass, everywhere. Daniqua's hometown had become downright depressing. She wished she could afford a change; anything that might allow her to leave town.
She cruised home on the sidewalk listening to a glitch-hop mix. Late summer afternoon sun warmed her; blue skies and a light breeze charmed her. She took in the beauty of the day; tried not to pay attention to the urban decay.
Daniqua owned her home, but the part of town it resided in was no longer a particularly good part. So when she turned onto her street and saw a row of police cars, she was not surprised; it was nothing new.
She approached the commotion, and spotted a cop car in her driveway. The door to her house was wide open. Municipal Police and a couple Army personnel were standing on her porch. Now this, was new. A strong apprehension rose up within her. Dealing with fascists was not something she had in mind for the day.
Daniqua had a scheduled Match-Meetup to make. Sure, romance was dead. The cold calculating algorithm’s consistent 100% failure rate at actually having her meet her match, had long ago caused her to give up hope on finding a serious partner. But, she hadn't been laid in almost two months and had skipped breakfast that morning. She was both horny and hungry. Biological priorities dictated she be completely incurious as to whatever bullshit might be transpiring in her house. There was nothing of value in it anyways.
She decided to maintain momentum and coast right on by. Facing forward, but watching out of the corner of her eye to make sure that no one took notice of her. Body language of the four cops and two soldiers conveyed them as occupied. An anticipated wave of relief receded before reaching her as her focus switched to the company logo of 'Ted & Steven's Plumbing Supplies'.
“Aw-Fuh-” She hit the parked van.
Colors swirled and gravity ceased to exist. Daniqua folded into a dimension of pain. A brief metallic taste accompanied unconsciousness' empty embrace.
[01of10] 2022.08.01
[02of10] 2022.08.02
[03of10] 2022.08.03
[04of10] 2022.08.04
[05of10] 2022.08.05
[06of10] 2022.08.06
[audio1of2] 2022.08.06
[07of10] 2022.08.07
[08of10] 2022.08.08
[09of10] 2022.08.09
[10of10] 2022.08.10
[audio2of2] 2022.08.10
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