by Nick M Lloyd
A graph of three columns appeared on the screen. A tall red block showed that the traditional news media were implying everyone was digging in their back gardens. The blue and the green blocks were universally low.
‘Where do you get green and blue data?’ Tim asked.
‘The online self-chronicling obsession means that people who are digging, or have neighbours that are digging, are also telling everyone they know. So, MIDAS gets green data from social media feeds.’
‘You count that as expert opinion?’ asked Tim.
‘Yes, I do,’ said Sam, raising her eyebrows – challenging Tim to argue. ‘I told you it was a loose definition.’
Tim remained silent.
I guess they’re experts about what they’re currently doing …
‘For the blues,’ continued Sam, MIDAS checks hard data points: hit rates on websites that give instructions about digging shelters, shovel and spade reserves at big retailers …’
Tim cut her off. ‘Spade reserves?’
‘MIDAS puts in an electronic reservation for a spade – click and collect – from every online retailer in the country. The order processes often give the number of items in stock. Then MIDAS cancels all the orders and repeats an hour later.’
‘How do you know if the levels are unusual?’
‘MIDAS hacked some historic sales data from annual reports, and compares it with the current numbers.’ Sam frowned. ‘I know it’s not perfect.’
‘It’s cool.’ Tim’s smile faded as he remembered his first task for the day. ‘Can we grab the breakout room for a few moments please, Sam?’
‘Sure,’ said Sam. ‘Will you wheel me?’
For a moment, Tim was thrown. Sam never allowed people to push her. Nodding, he steered her into the meeting room, before closing the door.
Tim’s demeanour must have registered.
‘Yes, I hacked,’ Sam said.
‘Why?’
‘I was curious. I wondered if MacKenzie was creating BinCubes of data indexed on individuals … n less than five.’
‘That’s all you’ve got?’ asked Tim. ‘You’d risk our whole set-up because you were curious? I know that data privacy is your big thing. I also know that MacKenzie often behaves poorly. But … did you have any evidence?’
‘Tim …’ Sam’s eyes were plaintive now. ‘I was careful.’
‘I found out in seconds,’ said Tim. ‘Data will have been transmitted from the source disk in MacKenzie’s building to your screen. It can be traced and reconstructed. We’d be ruined. Irrespective of any criminal charges, we’d not get a penny for MIDAS.’
Sam remained silent.
It was unlike her. She usually fought over every statement.
‘We need the money,’ said Tim.
Sam pulled herself around the corner until she was inches away from Tim.
‘Maybe I don’t care about the money,’ said Sam. ‘Maybe … it’s you that needs the money, so you can give what’s left of my knackered body to fucking Dr Hung.’
Now Tim was silent.
She gripped his arm. ‘I don’t enjoy living with hope. I just want to get on with what I’ve got.’
Tim hadn’t imagined it would escalate so fast. He knew he mustn’t say the word sorry. ‘It’s not all about you.’
It is mostly about you …
Although Charlie hinted that MedOp could one day provide nerve regrowth technologies, Sam was unlikely to wait for it. Would she try the South Korean, Dr Hung, or was she still considering nerve cauterisation? In terms of pain management, it was a much simpler routine for a surgeon to take out all the relevant nerves, but she’d never walk again. Tim felt a phantom abdominal spasm.
Sam would lose all feeling below the waist. But she’d be able to sleep for more than two hours without resorting to horse tranquilisers.
‘If not me, then what?’ asked Sam, her eyes still narrowed.
Tim continued. ‘If MacKenzie lets us have a copy of MIDAS … it could be used for worthy purposes. A global database to track stateless people, a repository for vaccination information, supply-chain management for disaster relief.’
Sam released Tim’s arm and let her hand fall. She wheeled herself a little backwards.
‘Any idea how long he’s been packaging individual data?’
‘None, all I saw was the most recent settings,’ said Sam. She told him about the survey questions: Are they friendly? Are they lying? Is MacKenzie reliable?
‘Any other questions?’ asked Tim.
‘A few on appeasement-type activity, particularly the poisoned heroin addicts,’ said Sam.
‘Poor bastards,’ said Tim.
Sam shrugged.
‘Sam … most of them have unlucky circumstances,’ said Tim, knowing he was on dangerous ground – Sam’s accident and near-constant back pain for the previous five years meant she had little sympathy for people who ‘brought it upon themselves.’
‘Heroin poisoning is not the only one.’ Sam pulled her tablet onto her lap and launched a smart screen on the wall of the meeting room.
Ankor, Appeasement.
Moments later, MIDAS returned the search results: murders, supposed murders, and pages of blogosphere commentary indicating vigilante action against all sorts of suspected undesirables. Although there was no evidence of any actual global coordination, it was spreading.
‘Like a cat bringing home a half-dead bird,’ said Sam.
It was a good analogy. How could the vigilantes of Earth possibly know what moral structures the Ankor had?
‘He could be doing it for the government,’ said Tim, returning to the subject of MacKenzie’s surveys. ‘Providing them with information on how people feel about the situation.’
‘Certainly, none of the survey questions appeared to have any commercial focus,’ said Sam. ‘There was one other strange thing. The BinCube settings were using an odd file structure.’
‘How so?’
Sam described it.
‘Those are data compression variables,’ said Tim. ‘Used for sending data via satellite burst transmission.’
‘So,’ said Sam, her eyes widening. ‘He could be sending it to the Ankor.’
Tim wasn’t wholly convinced. ‘Or another government, via satellite. It’s more secure than routing via ground-based internet cables.’
‘How easy would it be for him to send a whole BinCube up to the Ankor?’ she asked.
‘Easy with these compression settings,’ said Tim. ‘In Anglesey, MacKenzie can pump one hundred megabytes a second, straight up to them. A BinCube would be three hours of transmission time.’
‘What should we do?’ asked Sam. ‘Tell Martel?’
‘Let’s not be hasty,’ said Tim, immediately worrying that MacKenzie finding out would mean oblivion for them both whether, or not, MacKenzie was sending data to the Ankor. ‘He could easily be doing this for the UK government.’
‘But he could be sending data to the Ankor,’ said Sam.
‘And… if he is, it still would most likely be with the UK government’s blessing.’
‘Okay,’ said Sam. ‘But, perhaps, you could you see if you can get anything out of Charlie? If he knows and it is legit then he may let something slip.’
‘My relationship with Charlie has changed,’ said Tim. ‘We’re not that close any more.’
Did she just blush?
‘Since Chile?’ she asked.
No, since you started seeing him!
Tim’s well-conditioned internal filter stopped his thought being said out aloud.
Unfortunately, Sam took Tim’s silence as a calculated evasion and she followed up. ‘What happened in Chile, exactly?’
Sam had asked before and Tim had dodged the question. He’d been instructed by both Charlie and MacKenzie not to talk to anyone about it. ‘I am sworn to secrecy.’
‘I think we’re in the world of extenuating circumstances now.’
Tim took a breath. Sam was right.
‘Remember this was years ago. C
harlie was in Chile down an abandoned salt mine for two years. He was doing experiments for MacKenzie.’ Tim paused. ‘Transhumanism.’
‘Transhumanism. The head-freezing brigade,’ said Sam.
Tim nodded. ‘There’s many different varieties, of which cryogenics is now considered main-stream … for Transhumanism.’
‘So …’
‘Transhumanism starts with technology augmenting biological systems. The main issue being convincing the body not to reject whatever gizmo is being integrated.’
Involuntarily, Tim’s memory reverted to an image of Sam under the harsh white strip lights of a hospital bedroom, tubes and wires running in and out of her, dosed up on industrial-strength immunosuppressants to stop her body rejecting the lot.
Tim pushed the thoughts away and continued. ‘Pacemakers are the standard example, implanting small transistor chips under the skin to open security doors is a little more out-there.’
‘I know all that,’ said Sam. ‘Skip to the new bit.’
‘Well,’ said Tim. ‘The next step is having technology replace biological systems … a mechanical heart, for instance … but the logical extremis extension is having software replacing physical technology. That’s what Charlie was investigating.’
‘What exactly?’ asked Sam.
‘Charlie was running complex energy grid experiments to test whether it could be possible that our whole reality is a program running on an extremely powerful computer from another universe.’
‘Really?’ Sam was quiet for a moment. ‘For two years?’
‘They’re difficult tests,’ said Tim. ‘And, to clarify, we’re not talking a computer in another galaxy; we mean a whole different universe. It’s called Simulation Theory. It states that everything existing here – stars, planets, life itself – is all a simulation for someone else’s benefit.’
‘Charlie occasionally mentions characters in computer games written so intricately that they don’t know they’re just characters in a computer game.’
‘As far as I know,’ said Tim. ‘he didn’t find any proof.’
‘So, what do we do?’
‘There are so many plausible explanations that it makes no sense confronting him, or Charlie, directly,’ said Tim. ‘But, we can have a think about how we could see what is happening to that data.’
An alarm sounded – another broadcast from the Ankor.
10,000 anti-gravity units assigned
A-Grav allocation to be confirmed case-by-case
Do not tamper
We will remove after use
The news cycle exploded. What was an anti-gravity unit? What did it do?
CHAPTER 10
Westminster COBRA Meeting, Tuesday 16th April
It appeared to Martel on arrival that MacKenzie had hung around the back of the meeting room waiting for Martel to choose a seat before sitting down as far away as possible. Martel tried to catch MacKenzie’s eye, but failed.
‘Prime Minister,’ Nadia Peterson said, opening the question and answer part of the meeting, ‘do we know anything more about these A-Gravs?’
‘Yes, Nadia, we do.’ The prime minister paused for a moment. ‘None of this can be repeated outside these four walls.’
Martel watched Nadia Peterson’s eyes brighten a fraction. Martel suspected that Joshua Timbers had never held such sway over his ministers and civil servants. Not that some of them wouldn’t still be averse to taking shots at him if they saw weakness and opportunity.
‘A-Gravs are the survival units, mentioned in the initial broadcast,’ said the prime minister. ‘They will create barriers to protect people from the gamma ray burst.’
‘How big will these barriers be?’ asked Peterson. ‘Have you been told how they work?’
‘I have not received any information about their workings,’ said Timbers. ‘But I have asked our science teams to come up with theories.’
Forcefield? Bend space-time? A big metal box?
Martel grimaced. They were being expected to take a lot on blind faith by the Ankor.
‘But, Prime Minister, are these A-Gravs capable of protecting everyone?’ asked Peterson.
‘No,’ said Timbers. ‘The UK will get about one hundred A-Grav units which I am told will house less than one percent of the population. I have also been given a list of locations where they are to be installed.’
From his place at the far corner, MacKenzie spoke. ‘Our only option is to support the Ankor to develop the shield.’
‘It’s not our only option,’ said Peterson.
‘Yes, it fucking is,’ replied MacKenzie, his face contorting in rage for a microsecond before smoothing back out to his standard smirk of all-knowing disdain.
As one, all members of the meeting turned to face Francis MacKenzie. Now, with everyone’s attention, he addressed the table. ‘I was not aware of the A-Grav function, number, or distribution. However, it makes no difference. Even if these A-Gravs save half the population, the GRB will still make Earth uninhabitable by stripping away the ozone. Supporting the shield development is my only focus. We are on target for a test launch in two weeks, with formal launches soon after.’ He paused and looked directly at Martel. ‘None of which is helped by ongoing investigations of the SpaceOp capability which somehow includes looking at my MedOp laboratories in Leicester.’
Martel met MacKenzie’s eyes with a steady stare. He had ordered a team to give MacKenzie’s MedOp buildings a ‘once over’, outwardly to gauge MacKenzie’s organisational structures. But, internally, Martel wanted to give MacKenzie a little shove to see how he reacted. Martel’s whole investigation was based on assuming the Ankor, and any close Earth associates, were guilty. If the prime minister felt Martel was going too hard then the approach would be reviewed.
MacKenzie looked back at the prime minister. ‘We need to agree payloads.’
Plutonium.
Sending plutonium into space in large quantities was a serious proposition – and the Ankor were requesting large quantities.
‘The policy has not changed,’ said the prime minister. ‘You should continue to prepare as you see fit but no decision to supply plutonium has yet been made.’
MacKenzie smiled and made a small gesture of acquiescence with his hands.
He took that well.
Any decision to launch plutonium into space depended on what it would be used for and the relative dangers presented by the GRB – whose location was still unknown.
‘Have other countries been asked for plutonium?’ asked Peterson.
‘Yes,’ said the prime minister. ‘Some. China has confirmed a similar request.’
Martel, listening to Timbers, but still surreptitiously watching Francis MacKenzie, saw MacKenzie flinch at the mention of China.
Something to file for further consideration.
Nadia Peterson looked directly towards Martel. ‘Are we sure the A-Gravs are not bombs, or some other type of weapon?’
‘It can’t be ruled out,’ said Martel, immediately noticing a disapproving glance from the prime minister. ‘The army will take all precautions available.’
Of course, her next question would be – how can you take precautions if you don’t know what they do?
Timbers intervened. ‘Nadia, none of us can be sure,’ he said. ‘Speculation about the A-Gravs could go on forever. Additionally, I have been told to bring together engineers capable of developing materials for radiation shields and vacuum proofing, apparently to fit out the A-Gravs.’
Vacuum proofing?
Martel had not heard that mentioned before. He looked around the table; others appeared to have had their curiosity piqued as well, but the prime minister continued to talk.
‘My decision is to take the Ankor requests at face value,’ said the prime minister. ‘The alternative is that we add to the risk that the Earth will be sterilised by the GRB.’ He paused. ‘Let’s move on. Constant reassessment of everything we don’t know doesn’t move us forward.’
One of
the senior civil servants raised his hand. ‘With regards locations, are A-Gravs linked to the prison moves I recently read about?’
‘Yes,’ said the prime minister. ‘We are in the process of emptying ten prisons through early releases and transfers.’
A murmur built in the room. This time, the prime minister allowed it to continue for a few seconds before talking over the noise. ‘Home Secretary, what’s the status of prison moves?’
‘We’re under a little pressure,’ said the home secretary. ‘There’s rife absenteeism: people are staying home, and those that are parents, are keeping their children home too.’
‘What about the basics … like food in the supermarkets?’ asked Peterson.
The prime minister answered on behalf of the home secretary. ‘At the moment, we’re not at critical risk there. I’m ready to mobilise the army if things deteriorate.’
--------
Later that day
Deep below Whitehall, having passed through all the security filters and electronic checks, Martel stood with Joshua Timbers and James Piper, the USA representative.
‘Nothing new on the Ankor,’ said Martel. ‘My team is now on-site in Anglesey. It all looks like MacKenzie is running it effectively. However, three people is not enough to cover over three thousand employees. I’d like to send an additional twenty.’
‘Sorry,’ replied Timbers. ‘This is a delicate balancing act and, although you have my full support, I cannot move against MacKenzie without evidence of wrongdoing or severe risks.’
Martel nodded, noting to himself that things might have changed in the five hours since his last report. Their assumption that the Ankor had total control of all electronic communication meant that moving messages was much more manual and took time. His team was looking assiduously for a reason to move.
‘There’s very little hard data about him, but we did find some new information,’ said Piper, stepping forward and placing two pieces of paper on the table between them.
The first was a series of covert photos, undated but apparently recent. Someone had clearly been shadowing MacKenzie. The images showed him taking pills; a zoomed-in image showed a common brand used widely for treating anxiety.
Not the public image he portrays.
