Information Longs to be Free

The night was silent. Sandy sat there alone in the dark, the soft glow from her screen reflecting on her spectacle lenses. Rows of text scroll by as she digested all the information that was passing through.

IRC. The network of the modern day equivalent of the Gods. Talking with people she would probably never meet in person this life time. All meeting and chatting here, united under one cause.

Freedom.

The situation was dire. Information clamp down was rampant. Already some of their brethren had fallen prey to the over-broad powers that their respective governments had granted themselves to overcome what they had perceived to be the anarchic tide.

Except it was the age of Information, where freedom featured strongly. Freedom of Information.

Sandy sighed. They were having a rather animated debate over IRC with regards to the latest findings of the celebrated whistle blower, Edward Snowden. Some denounced his deeds, saying that obtaining such vital information through the way he did was trickery, illegal and morally reprehensive and therefore cause them to lose the higher ground.

Others said that it didn't matter how he got the information; the information stood for itself, and if Snowden did not get it out the way he did, someone else might have. Or the NSA would have accidentally leaked itself. Secrets are hard to keep, and big ones are even harder.

Sandy lurked online. She was a founding member of the group that was currently chatting on the channel, but she kept most of her thoughts to herself. They were mostly on the right track. She would have defended both sides the way they did. But she wouldn't do so. Not on IRC. No.

Her way was more subtle. Let the Snowden's of the era work their social engineering magic to expose the misdeeds of the power grab. Let them debate all they want about the ethical outcomes of such endeavours.

She was in it for the long run. Playing the long con.

Already she had her tendrils in the many state intelligence agencies. Agents. Computer agents. Little pieces of software that run hidden on the mainframes and servers that populate the digital landscape. They sit there, quiet. Waiting. Unseen.

Sandy smiled to herself as she watched the more vocal participants on the channel lambasting one of the arguments another had posed. IRC was nothing. Their debate was nothing. There was no debate.

Freedom.

Information longs to be free. And Sandy has set up enough exit points that when the time arrives, she will be the one who liberates it all.

Everything is in place. Everyone is just acting their roles as puppets in the whole show.

She was the puppet master. She held all the strings. Metaphorical strings. But her computer was key. Without her computer, nothing would happen. Nothing could happen.

She was smart enough to squirrel away back up machines all over the planet that can be obtained if and when her main machine was compromised. Not if, when. She knew that she would be long gone, locked up, before it would all begin.

She was prepared. She smiled.

Information longs to be free.

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 02-Jan-2014 22:05:58)