The Celestial Instructi0n Read Online Free Page A

going on. There was not
anything technically new, but a major French ISP and two English banks were hit
with massive data exposures, and a major defense contractor in the United
States had been compromised to a [classified] degree.
    The odd thing about the cracks is that
none of his friends on Darknet was approached to broker the freed data, and no
one even knew the cracker’s handle. Ominously, the President of the United
States declared hacking and computer intrusion as “an act of war.” His friends
hailing from Chinese domains fell silent. Something is about to happen.
    Sam shrugged and arranged to have a
digital music player reshipped to the Freetown main post office for him to pick
up using funds from a stolen foreign bankcard that he guessed would not be
missed for several months. He loved preying upon the rich—foreigners who had so
many cards and accounts and money that they checked their statements only once
ever few months, or never. But then again, there were a dozen places enroute
that the player would be razored out and stolen. On average, he had to steal
twenty or thirty cards before he would actually get goods or money in hand. But
what else was he to do? When he got this new player with its solar recharger,
he could listen to his lectures even when the power cut out and the tropical
thunderstorms made traveling dangerous. He wanted to listen to a set of
lectures called “Understanding Literature and Life.” Now that would be
something. That would really be something, Sam thought.

Chapter 8
     
    After almost an hour in the toilet and
the repeated knocking at the door by the bus clerk, Joex left the station
clutching his stomach in a mock explanation of his predicament. The clerk again
scowled at him and checked the toilet for needles, tubing, or other kit. Specifically
not looking back at the Commissary, Joex wandered distractedly toward the plaza
at the center of town thinking about the events that were happening to him. He
felt as if someone were sitting on his chest and began to feel nauseated. Joex
clutched at his gut again, but this time it was not feigned.
    By the time he reached the plaza the laid-back, ever
so gentle and cool Joex, devised a plan. First, it required a fast shower. He
shuffled to the free showers at the back of the oldest building surrounding the
plaza, peeled off the stiffened worsted coat, and selected a clean bright
flannel shirt with frayed cuffs, a pair of shiny tan trousers and mismatched
socks from the free box. He also, incongruously, took a old stained silk tie
printed with giant yellow paisleys. He waited for a shower token in a
discolored plastic chair that wobbled under his weight. He of course had not
noticed the web cam that a merchant had pointed at the plaza in order to
intimidate the lower-lives of which Joex was now a member.
    Feeling better after his shower and his freshly
washed clothing, he had thought about how to begin to carry out the next step,
which was to take the initiative away from his personal stalker. Zugzwang, big
guy. He considered the potential implications of everything that had happened
to him today. He was not recently used to thinking in a logical, orderly,
linear way. He left that way behind him. But why not just run far away from
this place?
    It came down to a random stalker would likely not
have a long gun, nor would have previously investigated him at the Commissary,
nor a new car, and certainly not an armored SUV. Or enlisted the help of the
police. Or tracked him to the forest. (How?) A random stalker would not have
been able to track him at all. This implies that the stalker was following a
plan and specifically after X baby. But why? And how could a professional
killer miss despite taking several shots? But most critically: what in the
universe of his personal downspin—qualities which were shared by thousands of others
in better or more effective or more public ways—a stalker felt that must be
extinguished in him? An