by Peter Tylee
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.” He pushed back from the computer. “Man, I gotta take a break, this stint’s killing me.” He munched on a biscuit and skulled his coffee.
“Can you leave it where it is?” Samantha was hoping he’d take a break, at least until morning. She planned to deactivate his alarm after he fell asleep so he could get some decent sleep for a change.
Cookie creased his forehead and brushed the crumbs from his lap onto the carpet. “I think so; just let me activate a prop.” He’d already explained to them the necessity of such measures. Without a prop program the UG7-rated network would self-heal and all the holes Cookie had laboured to bore into the electronic defences wouldbe gone by morning. Worse, a setback like that would break Cookie’s spirit. He’d already invested more than fifty hours in the hack. The team that had devised the UG7 protocols certainly hadn’t intend for anybody to compromise their network alone. All the previous successful UG7 hacks had required a whole team of hackers – all with implants – and a disgruntled system administrator leading the charge.
He sent the appropriate commands zinging through the wires and trusted the prop to keep his hard-won holes open during his absence. “That should do it.”
“Good.” Samantha kissed him, passionately.
Jen was used to it. It didn’t even make her feel uncomfortable anymore. Besides, she thought Cookie had earned it. Penetrating another layer was a breakthrough worth celebrating.
“We’re close, you know,” Cookie said seriously. When he’d accepted the challenge, he didn’t really believe he could do it. But every day it looked more possible.
“How long do you think?” Jen felt her stomach boiling with excitement.
“It’s hard to say, I don’t even know how many layers there are. It depends on how good their sys-admin is.” He gracefully accepted another kiss, silencing any more talk for at least ten seconds.
Jen waited until it was over and said, “You two go, would you? You’re going to steam the windows if you keep that up.”
“How about it? You tired?” Samantha’s slitted eyes peered into David’s bloodshot whites. She felt guilty for asking because he needed his sleep.
“Hell no, I’ve got hours left in me.” He smiled, scooped the light-framed Samantha into his gangly arms, and carried her to their bedroom.
Jen was amused. She knew he’d be asleep ten seconds after his head hit the pillow and she knew Samantha would complain about it the next morning. She sat alone, watching the prop’s dizzying progress. But moments later the screensaver engaged and the computer showed a luscious coral reef. Bright yellow fish hovered around the entrance to a moray eel’s cave. To the right were more fish with sharp backward-angled spines along their top ridge. And a myriad of seaweed swayed in the shimmering slant of light. She loved that picture – the turquoise water, the brilliant coral, the tiny shrimp she knew she’d see if she leaned closer. It somehow represented freedom. Strange how that works.
Then it dawned on her – she had hope. It was fragile, but it was there and it felt good. And that was enough, for now.
*
Wednesday, September 15, 2066
17:02 Groningen, The Netherlands
Perspiration beaded on Hans’s forehead. It trickled past his thinning eyebrows and stung his sensitive eyes.
Godverdomme.He blinked and rubbed a palm across his sweat-streaked temples before smearing it onto his sleeve. Yuck.His containment field was expanding; he could feel the hairs onhis legs puffing away from his body with the electrostatic charge. He frowned, wondering if he’d somehow made an error and supplied the amplifier with too much power.
It’s not stable.He shook his head in dismay, wondering whether it was safe to turn it off so soon after turning it on. It’s definitely not stable.Hans flicked the switch and hoped the build-up wouldn’t fry his circuit. No smoke, that’s a good sign.He’d smelled smouldering silicon twice since breakfast and the acrid smoke was still burning his nasal passages.The last thing he wanted was another mushroom cloud of toxic particles darkening the walls of his tiny apartment. The neighbours were already getting suspicious.
With the device deactivated, he turned off the containment field. The tickle on his leg-hairs stopped and the buzz at the back of his neck receded. Hans sighed in defeat and returned to the scratchy pencil jottings that covered the graph on his clipboard. It wasn’t that he’d failed – he’d found another way it didn’t work. At times like this he reminded himself of Thomas Edison inventing the lightbulb. But he didn’t have the fate of the world on his shoulders.Hans dabbed at the sweat that was already returning to his forehead. Talk about pressure.
He drank the last of his beer and grimaced; it was warm.
Hans couldn’t count the number of laws he was breaking by doing his research. He scoffed at the stupidity – his own stupidity. Is it worth it?He wondered that at least twice every experiment. Lars Olssen,his colleague, close associate, and perhaps even friend had paid the ultimate price. How far am I willing to go? And should I even bother? Nobody else is…
They were all questions beyond his capacity to answer. Some things just ‘are’ and he’d learned long ago not to argue with them. Hans van de Berg was an anti-quark expert. He sneered when he thought about it. His parents had said it was the field of the future – and they’d been right. Hans thought of all the parties he hadn’t attended at university so he could study his textbooks and simulations. What a waste.He would’ve been happier as a carpenter. Or perhaps a painter?He pondered the could-have-beens with a whimsical smile. But no.The smile faded.I’m stuck in this two-bedroom shoebox with no friends, no job, and no prospects.But he was the top of his field, wasn’t he? Hans opened his fridge; it was alarmingly empty. A stale crust of bread and a portion of smeerkaas – spreadable cheese – were all he had to satisfy the rumbling in his stomach.
He munched unenthusiastically and allowed his thoughts to drift again. He knew why he wouldn’t allow himself to quit, at least not until he ran out of money: nobody else would bother. Nobody else had the expertise and nobody else cared enough or knew enough to care at all. So that leaves me.It wasn’t a comforting thought really. What if I fail?He swallowed his gooey mouthful with difficulty.
Quantum physics wasn’t the easiest arena to learn about the politics of science.Hans had learned the hard way. Sidelined for his radical – yet correct – theories, he was quickly ostracised from the men and women he’d once considered colleagues. He still winced when he thought about it, even after so long. Isolation was like an icicle in his chest. Always a social man, the pain became almost unbearable after Lars Olssen’s assassination.
A clamour outside immediately snared Hans’s attention and he darted to the window, peering cautiously over the sill. He lived on the second story of a three-story building and he scanned the scene below for signs of trouble. An unleashed dog was loping down the cobblestoned street and had spooked a child. Understandably so – the dog was huge. Hans waited for a long time to make sure nothing more serious was afoot, smearing his palm across the pane when his breath fogged the window. It was getting cold. Summer was nearly over and already the first leaves were turning, carried away by the slightest breath of air. They tumble haphazardly, spinning and cartwheeling until the rotting began. He loved autumn; it was his favourite season, a beautiful death. It brought the familiar smell from the sugar factory, which settled over Groningen for months. He adored it, but everyone else complained about it endlessly. The conversion from sugar beets into sugar emitted an acrid odour that Hans always associated with home. Sadly, for him, this year would be the last. They were setting up a system of baffles to cleanse the air before it escaped the factory. It was a new design based on nano-technology and the designers had touted that it would make factory-emitted air cleaner than ambient air.
Hans also enjoyed taking long walks through the city, aimlessly wandering around the market and drifting through the park. He enjoyed saying hello to the ducks and feeding them freshly b
aked bread from the bakery on his street. He clenched his jaw. But no more. Work, work, work.It pained him, but the walks were something from his past. He had to consider his personal security and meandering aimlessly through the city was a recipe for disaster. But his memories were alive and every night he dreamed of a time when he could wander the city again.
But for now, the next combination needed testing. Who knows, maybe this is the one…
*
Thursday, September 16, 2066
International Portal Terminals
08:34 Sydney, Australia
Dan felt the familiar change in pressure and stepped away from the white circle. Portaling from the northern hemisphere to the southern hemisphere always tickled his lungs and he coughed to erase the irritation. He’d asked about it but nobody else experienced the same sensation. His doctor had said it was all in his head. He’d suggested that perhaps the first time Dan had portaled, he’dgone from high pressureto low pressure and the air in his lungs had shifted. Ever since, his mind attributed portaling across the hemispheres with a tickle in his chest and reproduced the sensation because he expected it.
But Dan doubted it. It’s real, no matter what anybody else says.
He was irritable from an abundant lack of results.Of the three original possibilities on his list, he’d already scratched two,but he’d had to go to London and Chicagoto do it. The suspects had turned out to be innocent, even the most rudimentary reconnaissance had told him that.But bounty hunting was essentially a process of elimination. Less successful hunters shunned the footwork,so Dan tried never to shy fromit. It was important. He had to do it.
One to go.He was beginning to wonder whether he’d made a mistake during his database scan. Five to one it’s not her. Surely she’s not in Australia.The majority of his targets were scattered throughout North America and Europe.Australian targets were rare, and he’d never had two in a row before. A dangerous thought hovered on the edge of his mind. If it does turn out to be her, I hope the Raven doesn’t know she’s in Australia. He might try to economise on his travel.It brought a chill to his flushed cheeks and drained the colour from his skin.
A squad of drug police were leading a Labrador through the terminals. Despite advances in olfactory technology that enabled identification of individual microscopic particles, handheld scanners just weren’t as fun to work with as dogs.So they worked side by side. The Labrador’s wet nose sniffed the air and the every second the scanner classified thousands of airborne particles. They were both looking for anything illicit. The dog’s tongue lolled from its mouth and its big, happy, brown eyes were in stark contrast to the cold, tense, blue eyes of its handler. And the squad oozed business. Dan wondered why.
“What’s going on, Chuck?” Dan askedthe customs officer as he placed his unloaded pistol in the special tray for inspection.
Christopher Delaney, or Chuck as his friends knew him, snorted in reply. “Some arsehole had a condom of heroine burst in his stomach. He didn’t even make it to the counter; he just dropped dead. About fifteen minutes ago.”
Dan frowned. “They must be getting desperate.”
“You’re not wrong there. We’ve had a threefold increase over the same period last year.”
“So I guess it’s working then?” Dan raised an eyebrow and collected his weapon after passing through the scanner. For once, it didn’t go off. He had clearance to carry ammunition and an unloaded weapon into and out of the country, allthanks to the bounty-hunter certificate loaded on his chip. Besides, he was such a regular traveller that he’dbecome good friends with Christopher Delaney, and he knew several other terminal workersby name too.
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Chuck lazily eyed the baggage that scrolled lethargically across his monitor. “A neighbour of mine had a son who died last week from the shit.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Dan didn’t know what else to say. He never did.
“Yeah.” Chuck’s smile looked wan. “So was she. They said he knew what he was doing too. He’d been addicted for years so he knew exactly how much to shoot up.” He lowered his voice as if discussing something taboo. “I guess he just woke up one morning,realised what he was, and decided it was time to punch his own ticket.” He slowly shook his head. “My neighbour was understandably distressed. She’d been fighting to get him clean for God knows how long.”
“Maybe now she can lay him to rest, grieve for her loss and pick up what’s left of her life.” But Dan said it half-heartedly; he knew how hard it was to pick up the pieces of a shattered life. He’d been trying for eleven months and didn’t feel any closer to a rebuilt life than he had on day one. Still, he wished well for others. He occasionally needed to hear a success story to believe there was still hope for him.
“I doubt it.” Chuck was barely whispering. “Xantex’s prescription didn’t work fast enough and she did herself in too.”
Dan swallowed hard, understanding all too well the way she felt. “Then I hope she finds peace.”
It wasn’t what he needed to hear. It sapped his strength.
The Australian government, whether through efficiency or carelessness, had combined the roles of immigration, customs and security. Dan wished other countries would do the same; it made things easy on travellers. So, now that Chuck’s scanner had logged Dan’s details, Dan was free to enter the county.They each nodded farewell and Dan headed to the domestic portals where he selected his home address. He was thinking about the final entry on his list. I’m tired so you’ll have to wait a while. He scowled. If it’s you at all.
Chapter 3
I wake up every morning, jump in the shower, look down at the symbol, and that pumps me up for the day. It’s to remind me every day what I have to do, which is, “Just Do It.”
24-year-old Internet entrepreneur Carmine Colettion on his decision to get a Nike swoosh tattooed on his navel, December 1997.
Thursday, September 16, 2066
Elustra Giga-Mall
14:44 Melbourne, Australia
The mall was crowded.
It always was. Such was the price to pay for living in the hub of the thirty-seventh Elustra undertaking. It truly was impressive; Jen had to admit that. A little over the top though.It was an Elustra committee brainchild – that’d wanted to increase efficiency. It chilled Jen to think of them sitting around a conference room, scoffing hors d’oeuvres,downing Champaign and concocting their plan for the Elustra Giga-Mall. The complex was actually three enormous columns arranged in a triangle with an artificially maintained garden in the middle. Each pillar was a staggering testament to the accomplishments of civil engineering. They each occupied three square-kilometres of earth – made brackish due to the raising water table – and each rose 125 stories into the sky. The tubes and connecting tunnels that linked the three pillars resembled the feeding and refuse tubes of a hospitalised monster.
The primary pillar was the epicentre of the Elustra world. It was a credit-maniac’s nightmare and a kleptomaniac’s delight. An array of retail stores, all operated by the colossal giga-corporation, catered for every conceivable desire. Jen frowned and tried to think of something Elustra had forgotten but couldn’t. There were 400 food stalls, 60 restaurants, and 7 department stores – all with names based on the Elustra trademark: Little Elustra, Big Elustra, Lustre, Lust Elm, Elustra Cute, Mini Elustra, and Gigantic Elustra. Jen had lost count but the information board proudly boasted there were 16 cinemas, 5 supermarkets, 90 clothing stores, 17 chemists, 18 hairdressers and over 300 other specialty shops selling everything from ‘antiques’ to computer games.
Impressive. Jen begrudgingly admitted. If she couldn’t find something on the outside, she knew she’d find it here – Elustra guaranteed it. As one of their favourite advertisements said, “If you can’t find it at Elustra, it doesn’t exist.” Jen believed it. And the convenience!Jen marvelled that they could operate every store in the mall for 8,760 hours a year. 8,784 hours in a leap year,Jen remembered. They’d built their business on
pure, unadulterated capitalism. And Jen was standing at the pinnacle. It frightened her a little and she could see a similarly uneasy expression on Samantha’s face.
The second Elustra pillar housed the management team’s offices. A few years ago it had featured in Fortune magazine, which reported it to have the most luxurious offices money could buy. And that had been the case until the other giga-corporations matched Elustra’s grandeur to stem the tide of quality staff they were losing to the giant retailer’s extravagance. Jen couldn’t remember how many offices the building hosted and couldn’t be bothered sitting through one of the information screenings to find out. The boring presentations ran in a loop,24 hours a day.
The final pillar housed the residences, everything from one-bedroom bachelor pads to expansive executive homes. Elustra had spared no expense. The building materials, workmanship, finish and fittings were all first class. They’d even soundproofed the walls to give every resident the sensation they were in a freestanding house. Or so they say.Jen had never heard a firsthand resident’s account, probably because their contracts forbid them to disclose company secrets. Every resident over the age of eighteen was an employee, and the Elustra Foundation thoroughly indoctrinated the teenagers who were approaching legal working age. As a result, they tended to fight ferociously to keep a position in the company, even if that meant doing menial work such as scrubbing the scum off the nest of pipes in the basement.
It was the perfect biosphere to hawk wares. Jen knew it, Samantha knew it, and most of the people living there knew it. But that was what they wanted. Or that’s what Elustra had contracted them to say if anybody asked. Jen wished she had an information pipeline into the giga-mall, but the iron-fisted approach taken by Elustra’s infamous security force made that impossible.And it was rare to find an Elustra employee in the outside world; they had no need of that anymore. They lived branded lives, Elustra Lives™. What need did they have of the outside world? Didn’t Elustra supply everything they could possibly want?
