Operators 152 and 315 were more detached than the others.
‘We’re all the same, aren’t we?’ Was 152’s only reply, after which he just stared blankly at Vera.
‘I don’t understand what you want to know.’ 315 just turned around and left.
Games had annulled both memory and soul, which had become hazy through dedication to the virtual world. The soul was virtualised, mirroring the games. It reinvented itself with each version to overcome human limitations. In the games it seemed to achieve and gain it all. It would relate to other souls in nonexistent spheres. To burst like a bubble once offline. The simplicity of the moment was the greatest achievement.
Before going up to the flat Vera went into the self-service-meals zone on the west side of the car park with giant screens dominating each side of the vast square. The car park in the middle. Under the advertising displays, 3D screens ran whatever entertainment was on offer. Machines dispensed games, food, magazines, clothes. The streets were deserted at night. During the day, transport routes linked shopping centres. There was no window-shopping. The shops of the past had disappeared. Online ordering had gradually given way to the new business expansion. The self-service model. For food, clothes, medicines, daily essentials, vast self-service warehouses or a few stores had drive-through windows. Hundreds of products in dispensers were sorted by category.
Going for a walk on the streets was a thing of the precataclysmic past; one went for a walk with the avatars in games. Only there did anyone make the effort to hike, run, climb mountains, swim in rivers, travel to new continents, new worlds, other galaxies, and fly. The freedom of the avatars was absolute. Thanks to technology, the pleasure of freedom knew no bounds. Avatars could be reinvented whenever and however people wanted. There was no need for them to be who they really were. Nobody controlled their most private desires, nor their most daring actions. Everything was possible. There was just one thing: in the depths of the hundreds of hours of their multiple different beings, despite the face and body chosen, in hundreds of miles covered, in repeated, new or invented experiences, in thousands of cybernetic stings, manoeuvres, crimes, heroic acts, each fantasy was registered under a real person’s name with all the weight of identity for the sake of security.
She was assailed by bright lights, the uniform white tiles, like those of the morgue where she had touched Galo’s cold body before letting the flames take over. Colossal refrigerated dispensers. Rows of heated cabinets. Thousands of cans of drinks and boxes of food neatly stacked behind thick glass. Cameras and sensors saw, detected, recorded everything. The unwelcoming feeling had prevented Vera and Galo from scanning their magnetic cards there on the way home, like everybody else, whether it was to buy daily hot meals, or frozen meals for the week. Instead, Vera and Galo would prepare meals from fresh produce they ordered online. Now she had stopped ordering it. Vera had more than one good reason to follow the general trend. She did not even read the labels of the Gourmet Meals. What Vera needed was a stack of boxes ready for quick suppers. Like everyone else. To minimise time spent away from the screen. Except that her purpose was different. She filled the empty freezer. She did not dwell on the strange taste. She needed all the time in the world. If only Galo could have seen her. After supper she would throw away the empty box, just like hundreds of thousands of operators who came home at the end of a day’s work. Vera was becoming a member of the population.
She took Galo’s membrane out of the cupboard. She had thought she would never use it again. At the bottom of the cupboard she found the laptop the nuns had given her for her graduation. At the time, state of the art.
Vera still remembered the Mother Superior’s prolonged embrace. They both knew it would be the last time she showed her any affection. It had almost been the first. There had been no more celebrations, cakes, or songs. She could not recall seeing the Order gathered together ever again. It was probably one of the last times she had seen Benedita. She couldn’t remember that either. What was now fresh in her mind like a thorn were the hours she had spent with Galo at the laptop. They had relied on it when creating innovative programs for their master’s degrees. Twenty years later it could be found among the pieces on display at the Museum of Technology. Next to Galo’s membrane the laptop seemed to belong to a different century. With a flick of the wrist she spread the membrane out. She gently touched the screen. It was the first time Vera had used Galo’s PIN since his cremation. She had almost forgotten the welcome recording.
‘Hello. While you work… don’t forget the meaning.’ Vera’s voice framed by two beeps. Yes. What was it? Vera again touched the membrane, which switched to standby. Her deep breathing was just audible as she searched within herself. The previous weeks had shown her new ways of living, which she had not been aware of. She had always been wrapped up in her bubble of inner learning in contact with forces that the new order was bent on discounting. What if the world which nourished her were not the world she thought it was? She was alone and although this did not bother her, it had a bearing on a question she could not yet even identify. Perhaps a series of lesser questions would lead her to the big one. What was she looking for? Why didn’t she leave? She had planned to go off with Galo to somewhere where it would be possible to live differently, though they had no idea if such a place existed. Vera was not sure whether those were valid questions. Perhaps she only had one option left to her. To do what she knew best. To let her intuition take her wherever she had to go. Before opening her eyes she stretched out her hands until they touched the membrane. Once again with her eyes still shut she entered Galo’s PIN. She waited until she heard her own voice and at the sound of the last beep, opened her eyes. She could almost see Galo’s face in front of the membrane which he opened and closed like a child to hear Vera’s voice during the long hours of separation.
After a few days Vera had become used to the food box routine. In the morning, sitting in front of the membrane, time fell away with the new ways she had found to fill it. The nights no longer felt so barren. She was no different from millions of others. She also isolated herself in her own territory. A minute spot to engage in. The cosmos of a person’s life shared with a mere handful of people. She thought her rejection of a life which kept everyone happy to have been, at the very least, unfair. She began to understand the reason for the transformation of those souls. Their understandable choice when faced with the vastness of an unfathomable cosmic truth. Life was easy. The possibility of absorbing another reality practically nil.
She spent mornings and nights working. Nibbling at protein-rich biscuits and drinking tea in front of the membrane. With supreme calm Vera filled her resting hours content, as if Galo were there with her.
She knew the names of three avatars. To discover their identity, she first had to crack the password for each one. She would then have access to the online user account and their personal data. The first screen showed only basic details: name, date and place of birth, occupation. To get any further, she would have to crack the second password. The trickiest part would be breaking the quantum cryptography. Accessing all the user’s information in the global database. Once inside, Vera would have to work fast. Cracking the second password would trigger the security systems. Following discovery of the intrusion, it would only be a matter of minutes before they located the terminal or membrane from which it had originated. Even if she got the second password, Vera would see nothing but meaningless symbols, letters and numbers. The information would be encrypted. Having none of the sophisticated blocking programs used by cyber-pirates to hand, Vera would have little time to deactivate the cryptographic security code. If she managed to restore the text to its original form and make it intelligible in time, she would safeguard her identity. Downloading the information would then take only a few seconds.
A month had passed since Galo’s death when Vera managed to decipher the last of the three passwords for each avatar. After that long, tedious process, she was not going to be disheartened by the sigh
t of unintelligible texts. But she started to have doubts once again. It was impossible to know whether she would find anything to justify the mission she had set herself. She was mentally exhausted. For days she had spent more than fourteen hours in front of the screen both at work and in the flat with the membrane. She went to bed knowing that the following morning would require even greater concentration. Although she would be facing the quickest stage, it would also be the most demanding. The difficulty of the task lay in constraint. Time. That morning, her mind refreshed and expecting to be almost at the end of the road, Vera set the chronometer. With an alarm every minute and, in the last minute, one every fifteen seconds. Five minutes was the maximum margin she should keep to in order to be sure of hiding her identity. She opened three windows on the membrane, one for each avatar. The first encrypted document she managed to decipher would enable her to crack the others more quickly. The code for each encryption would be the same for all files. She opened the first page for the first avatar. The chronometer began to run as soon as the second password opened the encrypted data on the membrane. The race against time had begun. At every alarm on the minute, she started to worry that five minutes would not be enough to decipher the code. With each alarm the pressure of time seeped through her skin in tiny droplets which she wiped away with her forearm. Without wanting to lose a second, the other hand continued actively trying, deducing, searching. Perhaps it would not be enough. She had done a few tests during her degree. Problem-solving capacity tests. Crypto-analysis for deciphering had not been a subject she had wanted to delve into. As if she could split the two hemispheres of her brain, Vera tested algorithms, sequences, while she dug into her memory for information that might be useful. Recalling data was not the problem. Rather, the question was whether she would find the solution among the things she had learned. By the time she was into the last minute, Vera had still not found a way in. She would not have another chance. If she exited and entered that user account once more, she risked the detection programs triangulating her location in seconds. Vera’s typing speed was matched only by her skill at pinching and dragging contents on the membrane with her fingers. Closing and opening windows, activating and deactivating options, scrolling up and down lists. The visual delirium on Galo’s mini-membrane was not born of chaos. On the contrary, it responded to a prodigious degree of concentration. The final fifteen seconds had begun when Vera tried one last possibility. At that moment she recalled Benedita crossing herself. She would look towards the ceiling as she made the sign with her right hand when it was imperative that something should happen, such as when Vera’s permanence at the convent was at risk. Now Vera revisited in her mind each of the occasions she had seen Benedita cross herself. The last sequence. On her forehead, in the middle of her chest, to the left, to the right. Each of the movements of her hand coincided with each of the last five seconds. At the last second, with her fingers in the shape of a cross over her mouth, there it was. As though the sea opened up before her the membrane revealed the text and the images of the first operator. Clear, precise, beyond doubt. Nothing could be hidden from her now. On the sound of the final alarm, Vera hit Enter to download the document. Three seconds later she logged off, unscathed. Vera had become a hacker.
That afternoon she saw the faces of each of the three operators. She gazed at them, wanting to probe into the impassivity that contrasted with the zest for life displayed by their avatars. It was as if the essence of their real creators had been squeezed out of them. The bleep shook her out of her concentration, just when she was about to examine the data it had taken days to obtain. But the timed signal could not be ignored. Just a few minutes to get to work. She loaded the data onto her memory card. She rolled up the membrane and put it in the inner pocket of her coat. She grabbed the memory card and, with a protein biscuit in her mouth, slammed the door behind her. She got on her bicycle and pedalled off energetically.
She entered the Vatican Inc. building hoping nobody would stop her reaching her office to look at the data. Her weekly meeting would start in thirty minutes. She shut her office door. Once inside she did not insert the access card again. First, ensure that nobody can come in. Once in the office she must not compromise her usual behaviour. It must be just like any other day, performing routine movements for the cameras, positioned high up at both front corners of the ceiling, which ensured sufficient privacy for her to be able to open the documents from Galo’s membrane. She could hide it from the cameras in front of her large screen. No movement should reveal anything unusual. Although it was forbidden to enter the building with membranes without inspection or authorisation, Vera had too many years’ service to her name to be checked at the main entrance. The operators had to pass through the control side door. Where the analysing scanners could detect the tiniest chip.
She switched on her screen, which emitted the usual bleeps. Having muted the membrane, she rolled it out with the minimum movement possible. She sneezed at the same time as she opened it with a flick of the wrist. She began her usual activity on the large screen with her left hand. While following the personal information of the three avatars with her right. The cameras could not see anything. She did not even look up. Although she was more aware than ever of their presence above her.
The information showed the last job title and the company’s name. IT operator at Vatican Inc. No subsequent job was recorded. She opened the second operator’s window. There was no new company registered either. She knew the last one would be no different. Updates were done daily. If the operators had changed company, this would already appear in the records. It was an unlikely coincidence that the three would have decided to take a break at the same time. She knew it was also not feasible that they would have left together. They did not associate with each other outside of their on-screen avatars. It was as if they had vanished from working life. There had to be something else in the data. Something further to look for. Thousands of pages logged each Cf session. The user’s setup, access to levels, duration, log-in and log-out times, scores, prizes, locations, power-ups, surprise options used, etc. More data about the participation or association of avatars in the game were logged than about their working or personal lives. It would take days to study the data, to find a mere hint. And what conclusion might she reach? What exactly had made them leave Vatican Inc.? At the same time as wanting to find the quickest way to research these questions, she knew she must not leave any trace in unusual places. She would think up an excuse to call them. Before leaving for the weekly meeting she copied their mobile numbers and addresses on her memory card. Almost without moving within the space occupied by her chair, she closed the membrane. She surreptitiously put the memory card and folded membrane back in her jacket pocket. There she left it, hanging on the back of her chair. She inserted the access card to open the door and left for Zillo’s office.
‘Carda said he’d be a few minutes late.’
Her new state of concern took Vera to the large windows to look out once more over the processing room. She noticed that the empty terminals had already been filled. At the back of the room there was a new asymmetry. At the other end, tiny, another newly emptied place. Far away, but obvious.
‘We can begin with your report,’ Zillo’s hand on her shoulder froze her to the spot. ‘You’re distracted. It will take you a while to recover. Be strong and have faith. I hope you feel this house is your family. We’re here to help you if you need it. You’ve spoken to your dear Benedita, I assume.’
Vera felt guilty. Her body reacted involuntarily, just like her mind.
‘Yes, Father. I’m fine.’
‘If anything’s worrying you, you know you can come to me.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘Something is worrying you. Am I wrong?’
‘No.’
‘Nothing which can’t be fixed,’ smiled Zillo. ‘Tell me.’
‘I was just curious, Father.’
She had embarked on weeks of research, many hours of her free time
to investigate a simple absence of operators. That was not her job. Nor did she have any reason to doubt the company. There was probably a simple explanation which Father Zillo could provide. It would then be clear to her. It was as absurd as it was senseless to blindly follow intuitions which had become superstitions. She was losing her common sense. And yet.
‘Instead of your boss, think of me as an uncle or, given my age, a grandfather, if you like.’
Although Vera had the words on the tip of her tongue, different ones came out after a few seconds of silence during which Zillo waited with the patience of the confessor.
‘For the next few days, could I come in in the mornings, Father? Have some flexibility?’
‘Is that what’s worrying you? Of course, my dear.’ He took her by the hand. ‘Of course we can arrange that. Whatever you want.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Only too glad to help.’ Zillo touched the screen which showed the schedule for the day. ‘Let’s look into the GH3 mechanisms first.’
She made hardly any contribution to the meeting. With the growing number of Cf fans, Father Zillo was usually in an excellent mood when they met. If there was nothing pressing to deal with, after routine system checks by Vera and Carda, Father Zillo would hold forth as if philosophising were part of the agenda. It did not seem to bother him that neither Carda nor Vera expressed any opinion. Carda with his usual lack of expression. Vera absorbed in her own thoughts.
She could not wait to be back at her flat, sensing she was close to reaching a conclusion. Little by little her methodical steps were uncovering layers of information. The subscribers were not using their mobile numbers any more. The three operators no longer had a phone service. Another unlikely coincidence. Vera did not need to visit them to know that she would not find them at their homes. The names of industrial spies appeared on general lists which were easily accessible to companies and the population at large, as well as being in internal documents circulated among the staff by Vatican Inc. She quickly verified that the names of the three operators were not on them. They had not disappeared due to any industrial breach.
The Vatican Games Page 13
