Nanopunk

By Nathan McGrath

In a world recovering from climate devastation, Alister, infected with nanoparticles, can hack any network. When his sister, the creator of the particles and the Soft-Machine outfit, is kidnapped by Lycus, a corrupt military corporation, he sets off to rescue her. It's not long before MI6, Lycus, and mercenaries start to hunt him down, turning his search into a deadly race across a devastated Europe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nathan McGrath
• Release date: Feb 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9780956826930

Nathan McGrath

About me: I live with my partner in North London. Oh and our dog.H and a few other friends said I should go to college so I did. Came out with a degree and Science Masters. Spent the rest of the time working with kids, mostly teenagers.When I’m not writing I’m reading modern and classic sci-fi. walking the dog, cooking, baking, on the PS5, or watching thrillers and sci-fi.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Shadows stretched along the cold, empty platform, yawning into deep, snow-scraped darkness. Amidst the gloom, a curved perspex waiting room glowed like an abandoned fish tank, giving off a pale yellow light, barely holding back the grey and black stains of dark. Thin lines of condensation running across the plastic glass followed the graffiti scratches and washed-out gang tags to feed tiny scattered islands of mould in various shades of green. Above the waiting room, a hook held an ancient circular clock. With a well-oiled and gentle ‘clunk’, the longer of the two hands leaning on 5:09 slid down onto the number 10, concealing the ‘S’ in Glasgow Central Station on the cracked enamel clock face.

Behind the perspex, Alister sat at the end of a long row of faded orange plastic seats, legs stretched out in front of the heater. Thin threads of vapour swirled up from the snow-soaked end of his grey jeans and skate shoes. It had been a long walk to the station.

Overhead, a large grey rat on one of the thick, black steel beams running across the platform and rails to the other side of the station raised its head and sniffed the air, then sped along the girder to the wall at the far end. The rat grabbed the edge of a crack between the beam and wall, hauled itself up and disappeared.

Alister shivered and thrust his hand deep into the inside pocket of his coat.

The announcement board buzzed and flashed on.

Tues ay 4 Jan ary 05:28 A.

Nex Train: Lo don - Eusto .

Due: 05:40. On ime.

Beyond the platform, the rails disappeared into the swirling snow.

The hands of the old clock clunked to 5:30, and the network came online. A shiver ran through Alister when the nanoparticles deep in his brain and hidden in his nervous system swarmed in response to the frisson of data flowing through the station.

On either side of him and across the other platform, advert screens crackled into life and were immediately hacked to display what looked like a wanted poster from an old cowboy film. An image of a shaven-headed, square-jawed face under which was written. 'Gerard Chevalier. Wanted for bribing politicians and bankrolling mercenaries.'

The screens blinked and shut down, leaving the platforms under a gloomy glow.

The Voice in his head said, Alister, I see you have run away and are concerned about being discovered. You have had insufficient sleep again. I have detected abnormalities in your Circadian rhythms.

Alister leaned his head back against the wall and stared into distant space; the warmth and comfort of the train seat couldn’t come soon enough. He sighed and briefly closed his eyes as the Voice spoke again. You have broken the rules of your-.

Alister cut in, speaking only inside his head. Oh, gimme a break, please, K. The voice faded, and he relaxed into the murmuring stream of his thoughts. He didn’t like that he’d become edgy and impulsive since he began hearing it at the end of November, when Kyros, the world’s most powerful supercomputer, accessed UK networks and found him. He touched, then glanced down at the watch his dad had given him for his seventh birthday. Now, since connecting to Kyros, he still couldn't get used to everything the watch could do through Kyros. Maybe he should take it off and get some privacy. Kyros connecting to his nervous system probably was the reason the hurt happened when he did the hacking stuff through it.

***

He sat up with a start. He must have drifted off. A young woman wearing a long, rust-coloured coat was hauling a suitcase with a sticky wheel along the platform. Behind her, the train clacked its slow course along the curve of the tracks through a vortex of snow.

Alister yawned, wiped a hand across his face, hooked his arm through the strap of his egg-shaped backpack, swung it over his shoulder, and went onto the cold platform. A faint smell of diesel and ozone hung in the air. Tucking his chin into his grey canvas jacket, he watched the train stretch past him through a cloud of his own breath. The carriage lights flashed on, illuminating the platform.

The young woman, almost as tall as he was, around five-eight or nine, shot a glance at him. A scattering of tiny dark red streaks broke the black of her shoulder-length hair. If she wore make-up, it didn’t show, not around her brown eyes anyway.

He gave her a quick smile, then watched the train come to a stop, the hydraulics whistling.

Hi, this is the London train, isn’t it? She asked.

He nodded. First one of the day. Looks like you just made it.

The doors hissed open, and with hardly any effort, she swung her case onto the train and stepped on. A pair of gloves fell from her pocket, and Alister stopped to pick them up. They were good quality leather; thin, strong, army issue.

You dropped your gloves.

Oh, she took the gloves. Thanks, she said, stuffing them deep into her pocket.

He followed her along the warm, empty carriage; their reserved seats were opposite each other, allocated in sequence by the computer.

She dropped her coat on the seat beside her. Seems we’re the only two people getting this train.

From her half-zip sweater worn over a khaki t-shirt, Alister guessed that she was either army family or was into the ‘London Look’ of military gear handouts. The gloves, though, were not fashionable. Army family, then.

He shifted into the seat facing her. Who’d be up this early, he said, first day after the New Year weekend? The rest of the country is probably still sleeping off hangovers.

She smiled. I’m Claire, by the way.

Alister rummaged in his backpack, extracting his Smart-map and phone, which he placed on the table between them. Hi, he said, glancing at her, Alister.

The lights dimmed, and the train moved out of the station.

5:40. He had a good head start. The first person to discover he’d gone would be his psychotherapist at 16:00 hours. The longer, the better. Of course, she’d call. He scooped out his phone, added her number to the ‘Reject Calls’ list, and disabled the ‘locate-me’ function from his social networking sites. Then he scrolled through his contacts, adding almost every number to the ‘Reject’ list, hesitating briefly at his foster parents’ numbers.

Sorry, Harold, sorry, Anna, he thought as they were added to the list. He imagined them calling his supported living flat and finding he hadn’t moved in. He’d had enough of therapists, social workers and community psychiatrists, endless meetings and reviews.

Harold and Anna had looked after him ever since his dad had died. Maybe he should have told them he wouldn’t move into that flat. They might have understood. He gazed at their images on the screen. They’d really helped him through the worst, but not everything. Some things, some of the hurt, were just too personal to share, like the call from his sister.

***

It had come six weeks ago, after eleven years. He recognised it immediately. Ally, she had said, like when Jules and Dad went into the ward after the accident that took their mother. But this time, there was no explanation, just the click and long mocking beep of the disconnection.

The crisp, clear sound of her quirky, frightened voice sliced into him and tore open an old wound that bled out emotions he thought time had drained away. A confused mess of anger, guilt and grief snarled up in his head. Jules was out there, alive, scared.

Things had been tough enough, and now this. What could he do? What should he do? He thought she was gone forever, like Mum and Dad. And from out of nowhere, with no number, nothing, just one word, his world falls apart – again. Why? Why now? Was it ever going to settle down, be normal? He was about to get his own place, start his own life. Joy, anger and anxiety fought like demons in a doorway to dominate his thoughts.

For hours he'd paced around in his room or sat stabbing a pen into the old table he used as a desk, scraping along the grain in the wood, breathing in irregular bursts, stomach knotted, not answering the texts and call from Paul, his best friend.

He'd checked his watch – the only thing left of his past. Shit, two in the morning, there was no one. It wasn't just the dread in the way she'd said his name; there was something else behind her voice, or in the call itself, in the space around what she said; a strong feeling it would be too dangerous to tell anyone about her call. What the hell did that call do to him?

All these years, he thought he was the last of his family. That was who he was, and now it was all wrong. What should he do? He'd sworn his anger and confusion through gritted teeth, thrown the pen across the room, crept downstairs, and stolen two big slugs of whiskey from the bottle in the kitchen before crashing out to bed.

Something in that call had been shoved into his unconscious and messed with his head. It wasn't just the fear in her voice. There was more; other, dark stuff. Night after night, it gnawed at his mind while he slept, clawing to get through to him. Some nights he’d wake up in a cold sweat, lost in a thick fog of hissing and a hubbub of voices. The call distracted and haunted him for days until he wondered if he hadn’t imagined it.

Then, one awful, restless night, the anger and confusion exhausted itself, dissolving away a tangled knot of armour in his chest, and he woke up just missing her, plain and simple. He knew what he had to do, where to start, go to St Pancras, the last place Jules had been seen.

He'd slept soundly after that. Sure, he'd be chucking it all in: his own place, college, friends, no idea what would happen; but anything would be better than letting the confusion and worry swill around day and night. Jules was alive, in a bad place and needed him.

**

He rested his head back on the seat as a small convoy of Lycus Security vehicles, their headlights slashing around in the darkness, weaved through the rubble and wreckage of houses towards the lights of an illegal campsite. Security for all: yeah, right. Government pays a Private Military Company to maintain public order and then does nothing when Chevalier's goons behave as if the homeless are a dangerous threat.

Across from him, Claire had produced a laptop and was busying herself with it. Every so often, a look of annoyance crossed her face, and she tutted.

Alister flipped the smart-map open and linked it to his phone. One more check to map his route on whatever transport systems were running in London, and then he’d get some sleep. He scrolled through the map. Images of viaducts, plastic steel tunnels and bridges rolled across the screen. Tapping the map, he zoomed in on London, news about the Portakabin communities, and the flooded areas around the river; he scrolled over the images and found the house in Crouch End, next to the Rainbow Coffee Shop. Good, buses were running. He mapped a route from Euston to the house.

Claire sighed, shook her head in irritation and shut the lid of her laptop with a sharp click.

So, where are you off to, Alister?

All the way to London.

She wanted a conversation. He fidgeted with his phone. What about you? Where are you headed?

London, Middlesex Uni. I’m starting the ‘Europe after the Freeze’ course.

Cool, Alister said, glancing up. But she didn’t get it.

What are you going to do in London? she asked.

Get a job. I’m pretty good with computers.

A lot of people are.

No, he gave the faintest nod, I’m terrific.

Claire tapped the lid of her laptop.

In that case, she said, maybe you can help me with this problem I’m having. She inched the laptop towards him. If you can, I’ll buy you a drink and a sandwich from the buffet. How about that?

Train line food, yum.

Claire smiled, Come on.

Alister shifted in his seat. At least this would help pass the time. Okay. He folded his smart-map, leaned it under the window and spun her laptop to face him. He lifted the lid, and a soft stream of data sizzled up his arm, triggering the wifi and backlight on his watch as it passed. This should be easy enough.

A flash of deja-vu as light from the screen lit the keyboard.

It’s very slow, Claire was saying. The password is enter1701.

Mm, he’d absorbed that already, looks like a hardware conflict.

Icons appeared one by one on the desktop. Did you upgrade the memory?

Her eyes widened, and she raised her eyebrows, evidently impressed. My ex-boyfriend did, she said.

Well, Alister retrieved a Swiss army knife from his backpack and eased out a black screwdriver with his fingernail. The second memory chip he put in isn’t fully compatible with the motherboard.

She gazed at him blankly.

That other chip he put in is running at a slower speed than the one already in there, said Alister as the computer shut down. Bit of a data traffic jam.

Oh, she said. Okay, just do whatever you need to. She paused. You’ve a smart-map. Can I have a look?

He glanced at it. Yeah, sure.

Thanks. She snapped open the map into a firm sheet, her phone pinging when it linked to the map. Lots of new stuff, she said, I must get one of these.

A burst of light flooded the carriage, and the train slowed through a bright, snow-swept building site.

Alister gave a nod towards the illuminated half-built structures and machinery. So that’s what the army is protecting behind the no-go area.

The Grey Zone. It’s where my parents are this week, Claire said. 2nd Company, Queen’s regiment. Sandwiched between a site full of building materials, tools, machinery and miles of cables on one side and organised, armed gangs on the other. It was the covered farms before then.

Country’s gone crazy.

I know, Claire looked up from the smart-map. Those gangs hijacking the food trucks just outside Fort William last week; that’s just wrong.

Private Eye says it wasn’t gangs but Peoples Infantry veterans re-routing the quality food that was headed for the Edinburgh Green Zone, those big houses and hotels where the rich people are staying.

Really?

P.I did the right thing, Alister said with a nod. Took it all to the homeless camps out on the ruins, tons of stuff. He smiled. Serves those toffs right. All this talk about one nation, one people, it's just rubbish.

Claire nodded. It does look like that in some places.

Snow exploded from the darkness on either side of the track and shredded across the floodlit skeletons of buildings crisscrossed with scaffolding. Giant cranes, crowned with lights, stood motionless over concrete structures. Illuminated by floodlights, A large billboard declared, ‘Apartments of all sizes and Stunning New Shopping Mall – Your new future starts here!’ On either side of the Billboard, on long wide banners around thirty feet tall, Chevalier, dressed in a white suit, stood in front of gleaming apartment blocks. Across the bright blue sky was written, 'Lycus, your security guaranteed.'

Multicoloured rope lights stretched between buildings, and a large hand-painted ‘Merry Xmas’ banner flapped in the wind over a dark, hollow, empty diner. Then, the train sped through the darkness again, leaving Alister and Claire to stare at their reflections.

He turned back to the slim laptop, easing out the slower memory chip. He clipped the keyboard into place and powered it up. Right, he said, watching shortcuts bubble onto the desktop, let’s see what’s going on with your software and apps.

He typed on the keyboard in confident, fast bursts. So what’s this ‘Europe after the Freeze’ course all about then?

We analyse how everything changed, Claire said.

What? Alister glanced up at her while his fingers danced across the keyboard. Like the Portakabin communities and PMCs?

A bit, Claire said. More like work, relationships, the way parents bring up kids, the difference made with the help from the Chinese Winter Revolution workers and machinery. We study life in the Bricolage Communes in Paris, too. It’s not just the political stuff like the gangs, People's Infantry and Private Military Companies.

PMC. Pirates, mercenaries and crooks like Lycus.

She smiled. We also look at the different ways the internet, news and TV pick out and put together what’s going on, how things like fashion, art, and music have changed. Of course, we get to watch movies and TV shows, too.

That’s a lot of stuff, Alister replied.

Claire had a clear-cut way of talking. Like she’d rehearsed it. She was nothing like the kids he'd grown up with.

You really like doing this, don’t you? she said, watching him closely.

He shrugged. My mate Paul says I like it like he enjoys playing keyboard and writing tunes. He produced a small bottle of ginger beer from his backpack, finished it off and flipped it into the recycler on the end of the table.

I can see what he means, Claire said. Why don’t you use the touchpad?

Keyboard shortcuts are faster, Alister murmured, oblivious to the faint background tingle of particles transferring data from the laptop into his system.

Ten minutes later, he turned the screen round to her with a small triumphant flourish of the hand, then he settled back in his seat and adjusted his baseball cap.

She tapped in a few instructions.

That’s really fast, thanks! How did you do that?

I cleaned out some rubbish in different places. And I found some strange keyboard logging programme your ex-boyfriend must have installed.

You found a what? Her gaze shot up from the screen, eyes widened in concern.

It’s okay. I’ve fixed it, he said. It was recording your keystrokes to a text file before emailing it to him.

I know what a key-logger is, but Jake? She shook her head. Really?

The train sped alongside a broad curve of motorway lights and shot past a large illuminated intersection crowded with trucks, diggers and builders’ huts.

He moved the screen so they could both see. Then he opened the text file with a list of Claire’s accounts, usernames and passwords.

I’ve changed all your passwords to Claire223304 with a capital C and shut down all Jake’s email and online accounts. They don’t exist anymore. You should reset your passwords.

Definitely. Thanks. She relaxed and sat back. You can do that to someone’s online accounts?

He nodded. And I’ve maxed out your security settings; nothing will get into your laptop now. Best not to let her know he had also traced Jake’s MAC address, the unique number of his network card, and crippled the card.

A smile spread across her face as she tapped into the laptop.

It’s like a new machine. Where did you learn all this?

He yawned. Been picking things up since I was a kid. Hand on his wrist, he rested his head on the window and gazed at the heavy snowfall. His voice trailed off into a faint whisper. Since I was seven.

Chapter 2

Wearing his new jeans and Wolverine T-shirt, Alister stood at the large glass wall on the 14th floor of the Lycus Research Labs. Beyond the window, snow fell across the Thames and swirled around buildings on the other side of the river. The weather had forced all the schools to shut - and on his birthday, too. He was enjoying his seventh birthday. He breathed on the glass and wrote ‘7 ma I’ for the world to see.

The nanoparticles on the glass swarmed into and absorbed the impurities in the vapour, leaving nothing but pure water. Alister wandered back to the sofa and flopped beside his father, who was sleeping in the corner. Dad used to wear a suit when he worked here. Now he wore cowboy boots, jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. It didn’t seem right seeing his dad’s name, ‘Dr David L. Cloud,’ on a visitor’s badge. If only it were on a cool Lycus badge. His dad always joked that aliens ran Lycus. Sometimes he worried that his dad believed it.

Raising his left wrist, he marvelled at the watch his dad had given him. Dad said it could do anything. The tiny sensors on the back and strap could measure all kinds of things about him and how he was feeling. It could even check if he was eating too much or too little of something or if he was nervous, tired, or excited. It was an actual, proper scientist watch. It even had wifi and could link with computers to upload stuff. The best thing about it was how he could listen to his streaming music or radio through the tiny graphene audio-skin. His dad had peeled the audi-skin off a little rainbow card and put it just inside his ear. It was the most awesome present ever.

His dad didn't tell him what else it could do. Dad acted funny when Alister asked if it could make him remote-control computers. Dad went uh and um, then went off and talked about getting ready to go to the lab. Maybe it could; that would be so cool.

The conference room door swung open at the end of the hall, and Phil, Jules' top lab technician, dashed out towards the office. Even Phil was wearing a suit today because of the presentation. Phil was tall, six foot four. If Alister was that tall, nothing would scare him.

Hello, Phil, Alister said.

Hi, Alister, cool T-shirt, Phil replied. Forgot to give you this. A small, glossy, silver envelope magically appeared in his hands, and he presented it to Alister. Busy, busy! Phil punched in the code for the office door, jabbed the ‘delay’ button to keep it open and rushed through the office to disappear into the laboratory at the far end.

Inside the envelope was a badge that said, ‘7 and Infamous’. He smiled, put the badge on the strap of his little backpack and strolled into the clean, tidy office. Four desks stretched along the room, each with a computer and three screens. A big screen on the far wall was permanently tuned to the Science Research channel. Two dry wipe boards along the left wall were covered in rows and rows of formulae. He recognised some of Jules' writing. He could hear Phil moving things around on one of the metal shelves through the door to the lab at the far end of the office.

Alister wandered over to the bare table against the wall on Jules' side of the office. He always played here while his sister worked. He crawled under it to his box of ‘lab-stuff’ Jules had made for him, slid the top off and began rummaging.

Alright! His hand emerged with half a bar of chocolate, and he sat beside the box to finish it. Licking his fingers clean, his brow furrowed at the chocolate stains on his new Infamous style jeans and, Aww, no!

He crawled out from under the table. The door to the lab was slightly open. There was a wash basin in there. He’d ask Phil to help him wash off the stain. He walked up to the door, hesitated, and softly pushed it. The electronic hinge swung the door open with a quiet hiss.

Phil? Alister stepped from the carpeted office into the tiled lab and called again. Phil?

Shiny black computers filled the space with a whisper of humming tones. To his left stretched the long workbench with the washbasin. A few small pools of light illuminated some of the workstations covered with microscopes, testing instruments, and electronic tools. His face dropped; Mum and Dad used to work here together until the accident. They were all so happy when Jules joined the team.

Phil had disappeared. He must have gone into the equipment storage room and then into the conference hall where Jules' was.

Goosebumps rippled up his arms. The most hi-tech lab in Europe, they said so on TV. And he was in there, alone. Jules said he should never come here alone, but that was silly. He knew all about the lab. He’d been in here with her loads of times,

Jules' voice came to him: When you come to the laboratory, Alister, you mustn’t touch anything. You could hurt yourself. Another pang of sadness. Mum used to say the same thing.

Dad said to be strong,' he murmured to himself, and shoving his hands safely into his pockets, Alister turned and peered back through the door and the glass walls beyond that to his father. Then, satisfied dad was fast asleep, he began to explore with a mixture of sad memories and anticipation at what he'd come across next. Soon he was relishing every step. He would work here one day too. Mum would like that.

Motion-sensitive proximity lights bloomed into life, and Alister walked through the glowing pools of soft yellow light, passing deeper into the lab.

Reviews for Nanopunk

[richard.sutton · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A Wild Chase Across the Globe and Through the NetworkNathan McGrath's novel Nanopunk carries a lot of clout. It's an astonishing story of a teenager from a foster home searching for his missing sister. With all the confusion and torn decision-making that would imply, he's also chased by shady government security and intelligence forces pushing him into an incredible, unexpected journey. But, in McGrath's tale, this is no typical teenage boy. To say he is well-equipped is an understatement.The seed of driven scientific research, laboratory carelessness and close family ties, Alistair may not know it yet, but he's ready for whatever the near-future's dystopian corporate culture can throw against him. Fighting his way through remarkably cinematic scenes set in a bleak, post-apocalyptic world, he finds his own young carelessness and his long lost family have given him weapons, connections and information the most skilled hacker would die for. In addition to a gathered group of rebel freedom-fighters, he has best ally cybernetics could provide: a private, full-time, organic connection with the world's largest scale server.How he balances his humanity with his uncanny abilities, despite betrayals and near-fatal accidents kept me turning pages. Through the crossed paths of his search, his battles and his finding real friendships, he matures far beyond the nano-technology that keeps him alive. If you enjoy fast-paced, action thrillers with a decidedly scientific bent, Nanopunk is for you. I'll be looking for Alistair's next chapter.