This story is an attempt to merge the facts as they are with the possibilities. The delineation between fact and fiction is clouded because the fiction of yesterday is the fact, the news, of today. I expect that distinction to become hazier over the next few years.
It is that incongruity that spawns a conjectured extrapolation indistinguishable from reality.
The construction of the model that gave birth to this tale was the culmination of many years of work, with a fictional narrative being the last thing in my mind. That was an accident necessi- tated by a need to reach the largest possible audience.
In fact, a lot of things have surprised me since "Terminal Com- promise" was first published. It seemed that we were able to predict a number of things including Polymorphics, Clipper Chips, non-lethal warfare . . . and you'll recognize a few other prog- nostications we didn't expect to come to pass quite yet.
The reader will soon know why.
There were many people who have been invaluable in the prepara- tion of this document, but I'll only mention a few. If the reader doesn't want to hear about my friends, please move on to the next chapter.
Mary C. Bell. Hi, Mom. Thanks for the flashlight.
Lazarus Cuttman. The greatest editor a writer has ever had. He kept me honest.
Miles Roban. That's an alias. He's the one who told me about the real NSA. I hope he doesn't get in trouble for what he said. I owe him a pound of M&Ms. 2 lbs. of them. (NOTE: For over two years, according to 'high-up' sources, the NSA has been and still is looking for 'Miles'. They haven't found him yet, despite an intensive internal NSA search. We need more people like 'Miles' who are willing to break down the conventional barriers of secu- rity on issues that affect us all.)
Dad. God rest.