Futura: Parallel Universes. Book 1

by Valerio Malvezzi

  “Six.”

  220 days earlier

  The Avenue des Champs-Élysées will be full of tourists on that April afternoon when the sun peeps out of the clouds and its rays cross the branches of the blooming trees. The man dressed in sports clothes, with brown hair and a light mustache, wearing a pair of sunglasses, will walk calmly with his travel bag in his hand, enjoying the view. Arriving on Avenue Montaigne, after five minutes of quiet walking, he will stop to observe the recently renovated period palace with the colors from the turn of the century, the white walls, the red awnings, and the riot of flowers of the same color. He will cross the entrance, with white tablecloths and green chairs, separated from the sidewalk by a hedge and a low gate, entering the lobby of the Hôtel Plaza Athénée. Among the white vaults supported by gilded columns and gorgeous crystal candelabras, hotel porters in elegant black uniforms come and go carrying customers’ luggage. The man will walk on the soft carpets, arriving at the reservation counter.

  “I have a suite reserved in my name. Robert Holden.”

  The suite will have a large bed with mauve-colored sheets, a seating area, a library area with space for a holographic communicator of about three meters, and a desk. The man who registered as Robert Holden, a Euro-American resident of Brooklyn, will undress as he enters a bathroom covered in mirrors and Greek marble inlaid with ivory, with a large shower, a small sauna, and a central round tub with a whirlpool setting. The man, speaking to the communicator, will order the lights to be turned on and place his belongings in a mahogany wall cabinet. He will connect his personal display to the desk and open the window, going out onto the balcony. He will sit on an armchair at the coffee table covered with a white tablecloth under the red awning on the balcony covered in red geraniums, ordering the vending machine to pour a drink into a glass. He’ll put on his sunglasses, and looking to his right, past the wrought-iron railing that separates his room from the neighboring one, gaze with satisfaction at the Eiffel Tower.

  “Six, in two directions, excluding the one he took. Another eleven possibilities remain. We sent the teams on all those lines, at all stops; let’s check them all out,” the white-haired man will propose.

  “With all due respect, Mr. Goedhart,” the muscular man will say, “even if I want to, I don’t think we have enough teams available without advance notice.”

  The white-haired man’s eyes will bore into him. “In any case, it is the only plan we have, and we can’t overlook any possibility. Start checking all six subway lines immediately. Ask the other sections for backup. We have one of our men on the run,” the director will order.

  “A run that we caused, didn’t we?” the thin woman will ask.

  “The point now is not who got it wrong, Meredith. Daft’s coming back, and I’m going to ask him to account for his operations. But now, I must find that man. If you’re right, and he’s just scared, he could be even more dangerous for the agency. We don’t know what he can do, who he can talk to. What if he turns to the media?” the director will ask.

  The thin woman will push her blonde hair behind her ear, looking at the director through a holographic cube displaying a part of the subway.

  “In that case, director,” she will begin calmly, “the point is not to see who made a mistake, but not to make mistakes anymore. And you’re actually right to say that we can’t overlook any possibility.”

  “And what do you mean by that?” the white-haired man will ask, putting his hands in his vest pockets.

  The thin woman will turn to him with her arms folded. “Have you considered that he might have not taken any train?”

  The airborne bus stop at Brookfield Zoo, Brookfield, in the suburbs of Chicago, in the northeast part of the State of Illinois, will be packed with visitors. The park will be open daily year-round. Whiley will descend along with a few dozen people, heading to the north entrance, where he will buy a ticket, paying cash.

  A message will arrive on the display and will be transmitted on the small viewer at the table.

  I hope you had a good trip. I booked a table in my name at restaurant four at 9:00 p.m. Kane.

  The man will sip the drink, admiring the tower in the distance, and will spend a few hours of relaxing reading, enjoying the warm rays of the afternoon sun.

  Restaurant number four will be arranged in large modern rooms illuminated by lights projected by bright squares on the ceilings, square tables placed between marble columns and resting on soft red carpets, and mirrors all around the walls. The two men will be at a reserved table in the back of the restaurant, comfortably seated in armchairs covered in yellow velvet of various shades, chatting amiably.

  “So you found someone who could do it for me,” Holden will say, bringing a bite of juicy steak covered in a pink sauce to his mouth.

  “We’ll meet him tonight. He attends my course this semester.” Professor Kane will put down the glass of excellent white wine, bringing the napkin to his lips. “... Really very gifted. I’ve never met him, but we’ve talked several times on the lines of something... not fully legal. Of course, he found out my identity afterward, and only then did he reveal to me that he was a student.”

  “But he has skills that go beyond the educational program, from what I guess.”

  “Absolutely,” Kane will comment. “Frankly, I don’t know what I can teach him. Absolutely one of the best I’ve seen. He knows how to design remote interface software with virtually any physical device. He knows how to open doors, break in, and acquire information for industrial espionage. He’s very... very well known in our circle.”

  “What circle?”

  “Of those who have a double life.”

  “What do you mean, double life?”

  “Real and virtual.”

  He will go into the paths of the zoo, trying to mingle with a group of tourists. He will walk around the gardens for about half an hour, taking care above all to identify possible cameras, trying to camouflage himself in the crowd.

  Richard told me about a book.

  He will walk along a wide white road of marble tiles, passing in front of the goat area.

  But what book?

  He will head to the meeting place, walking along the wide stone path, trying to locate his friend. The perfectly cultivated green lawns will be bordered by a row of trees with broad yellow leaves, many of them now on the ground, damp with rain.

  Where are you?

  In the center of the green clearing, in the beautiful natural setting, will stand a white fountain. From the concentric mouths of a series of small water jets surrounding a series of larger central jets, it will project water dozens of meters high.

  Roosevelt Fountain.

  Finally, he will see him. A tall man, with a black jacket over a decidedly chubby belly d is clearly visible on the white edge of the fountain. Whiley will approach with his heart racing. “Richard!”

  The man with black curls to his shoulders will turn to show his round face, covered with a thin goatee. A nice face. A friendly face. “But where have you been?” His friend will embrace him fondly. “Will you tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m lucky to be here. Now I’ll tell you.”

  The sound of the fountain will make a pleasant, relaxing background.

  The elegant man, locked in his office in the room downstairs from the meeting room, will approach the window, looking at the skyscrapers of the city.

  The two will stop talking, letting a waiter pass by to serve a middle-aged couple sitting at the table next to them, behind the first column of marble.

  “You know, there are more and more people living a double life,” Kane will resume. “New technologies create a new kind of society, and many people find their virtual lives far more interesting, more fulfilling, I would say... Yes... more exciting.”

  Holden will pour wine for his guest.

  “Not to mention that sometimes,” Kane will add, taking the glass in his hand, “it is also very p
rofitable.”

  Holden will nod, bringing another bite of meat to his mouth.

  “This is exquisite,” he will comment, wiping his face with the napkin. “But do you know this student of yours? Do you trust him?”

  The tall, white-haired man will put the glass on the table and cut the fish laid on a vegetable puree.

  “Let’s put it this way,” he will reply. “I have never met him in real life. He attends my classes in holographic mode, like all my students. A bearded guy, he usually sits in the last row. I’ve never seen him befriend anyone; he’s mostly on the sidelines. I don’t even remember his name, but I’ll tell you, I doubt it’s the real one. In any case, I’ll introduce you not to my pupil, but to his virtual identity, the one with which he is a legend in our circle, as I told you. A real myth.”

  “And does he at least have a name, this myth?”

  The old man will smile affably, swallowing a bite of fish, then drink a sip of white wine.

  “Oh, yes. Literally mythological. He’s known as Janus,” the elderly professor will whisper mysteriously.

  “Janus.”

  “Precisely.”

  “And this” Holden will ask, taking the wine from the ice basket and pouring his companion a drink, “should tell me something?”

  “Well, my dear boy, it should, if you knew the history of the Roman, Latin, and Italic religions, in general. But perhaps the term Janus Two-face will tell you something; he’s the two-headed god. You know, every communications hacker in the world has his own alias.”

  The sun will already be starting to come down on a nice late autumn afternoon. He will order the device on the wall to lower the curtains, and gradually the darkened exterior glass will descend to reduce the brightness, preventing any outside eyes from looking into the room. He will approach the sofa in the center of the richly furnished room, and sitting next to a lush green plant, will open the communicator.

  “I arrived too late,” the Vietnamese woman will answer without a greeting. “He wasn’t at home.”

  “I know,” the man will say speaking in a low voice. “That’s why I decided to help you. I have an old friend in the police who owes me a couple of favors on things from his past. I asked him to trace the license plate of our hound’s flying car.”

  The man will order the liquor cabinet to pour him a shot of scotch.

  “Forty-five minutes ago, a surveillance camera spotted the license plate heading northeast at Brookfield’s third exit, the fourth junction of the first level.”

  “Where does that exit lead?”

  The man will ask to add two ice cubes.

  “To the zoo.”

  The two men will be seated on a bench near the fountain.

  “But why did you want to see me here?” the overweight man will ask, sitting next to Whiley on the seat, his face dark.

  The path in the clearing will be crossed by a few small groups of tourists. A couple will look at the fountain, while the afternoon sun slowly descends, coloring the yellow leaves of the trees in the gardens.

  “Because it’s an outdoor place, few cameras. And I knew you’d remember where it was.”

  “How could I forget when Helen fell asleep in the sun right on that bench?” the overweight man will smile. “When was that? Six or seven years ago? It seems like a century. They weren’t married back then, and Rick...”

  He will stop talking, looking at his friend’s bitter smile.

  “Yes, and Rick wasn’t a corpse yet.”

  “An alias?”

  “Yes, but many are cheap, commercial nostalgia, comic book stuff. However, I believe that our friend chose this name for its symbolic meaning.”

  “What could it be?”

  “The god of beginnings, material and immaterial.” The elderly professor will cut a potato with the silver knife, spearing it with the fork and bringing it up to the face of his host. “Material and immaterial. Reality and virtual reality. Is this potato real or imaginary?”

  “Taste it and you’ll know.”

  The professor will laugh, swallowing the mouthful.

  “Exquisite, you should taste one,” he will say, indicating his own dish. “But that’s not the point.”

  “And what would be the point?”

  “It would be his extraordinary ability to show real things where reality doesn’t exist. The sublimation of deceit. The double face, the truth and the mystery, the lie. In this, that man is truly a genius. He could show you things that don’t exist as if they’re real.”

  “I need something very real. Bullet-directing software for a shot at a very long distance.”

  “Oh, Robert,” the professor will snort, “you are so pedantic. I know, I know, it’s a figure of speech. And then, don’t think it’s that easy to run a program like that around the world, with all the controls that are there. That’s why I chose someone who wouldn’t get caught by the police’s telemetric controllers.” He will swallow a mouthful of his steamed fish, pouring a spoonful of sauce from a glass container next to the plate, as another waiter passes by. “Our friend is the only one I know,” he will say, “who invented an alarm program system combined with holographic connections. Selling illegal software with remote connections via holography is a risky business, very risky. But not so much, if you’ve invented alarm bells. And the bastard doesn’t sell them, of course; they’re his property, his, sort of... life insurance policy. You know what Janus did, according to mythology, Robert?”

  Whiley will look down to the ground. “Tonight he would be out in just over an hour for a party; his son turns a year old today. Can you imagine what Helen is going through?”

  The two men will be silent for a while, sitting on the park bench watching passers-by.

  “But why did you run away? You have to come back, John, or you’ll make your situation worse.”

  “How am I going to make it worse?” Whiley will stand up. “They don’t believe me. They didn’t believe me from the first moment. Maybe they think I know something, or that maybe it was me.”

  “You?”

  “I don’t know, I’m the only survivor, aren’t I?” The man will put his hands in his pockets, watching a couple walking by the fountain. “Look, let’s take a walk. We need to keep a low profile, and we’ve been sitting for almost an hour talking.”

  The two men will walk down the avenue, continuing to talk.

  “So you think it has something to do with today’s meeting?” the overweight man will ask, walking with his hands in his pockets and a twisted gait.

  “Think about it. You were the only one outside the section invited to the meeting. By the way, did you get a copy of the book you asked me for?”

  “Yes, of course, but I haven’t had time to read it yet.”

  “Why did it take you so long to get it?”

  The two men will walk in the park, continuing to talk as the afternoon sun slowly begins to descend, remaining on the left of the pachyderm area.

  “... So Ricky had found an essay that was censored. That is, the report was published but was eliminated from the holographic network after a few hours. The paper proposed a study on the linear correlation between the exploitation of agricultural fields and the aging of the population.”

  The two will slow down, observing a large rhino approaching the safety net.

  “I don’t see how this can be of interest to a sociologist,” Whiley will state.

  It will begin to get chilly in the park.

  The man who calls himself Holden won’t have the faintest idea.

  “Refresh my memory, please.”

  The professor will smile. “He controlled the doors, Robert. The passages, the bridges. In Latin, iani. Do you understand our young son of a bitch’s allegory? Holographic passages, connecting bridges, nodes, all are guarded, as we know, by Interpol special agents. And what does our bastard hacker invent?”

  “What you are inventing,” suggests the young man with blond sideburns, condescendingly.

  “Ian
itores, the gatekeepers.”

  “Ianitores, the gatekeepers.”

  “Robert, you don’t need to parrot everything I say. In Latin it means janitor or doorman.”

  “And they would...?”

  “And they would be,” the elderly teacher will say sighing and bending forward, speaking so that his voice is covered by the soft music, “pirate programs that guard the entry and exit of information from the world nodes.”

  “Alarm programs.”

  “Yes. Put it this way,” the professor will form a basket of breadsticks into intersections on the white tablecloth. “It just happens that you’re a fucking Interpol computer agent that fits into this section because you had a nice satellite that alerted you to a word, a term, a figure, whatever you think, and you’re on the hunt for that information. You then travel this signal, in virtual life, while your colleagues, in the real one, will have already extracted their pulse shotguns, ready to break into the room where your target is walking in his holographic space. But at that moment...”

  The young man will stop eating and look with a questioning expression at the dramatic speaker, stretching his neck and raising his eyebrows.

  “.. At that moment one of his gatekeepers will have already directed you somewhere else!”

  “What does that mean?”

  The days will be getting shorter, and to the few visitors that afternoon, winter will seem to be just around the corner. The two men will speak animatedly, passing the Australian zone on their left.

  “... So, if this was right, the use of agricultural fields, through renewable energy, could have greatly increased food production capacity in recent decades, you know? Much more than has been done. Now, this really has to do with social structure. The world’s population growth is the problem of this century, right?”