The Digital Dream

by Mike Cartlidge

  It’s nearly ten o’clock when she comes into the office. She’s wearing a bright yellow dress, short hem over long legs. The sight of her lifts my spirits. I look for a sign that she’s pleased to be back but, after giving me a brief smile, she mutters something about an idea she’d been working on and goes straight to work on the terminal. I leave her to it for a while, sitting in my office and continuing with my attempts to swim against the paperwork torrent.

  I walk through to the small cubicle shortly after lunchtime. “Any luck?”

  “Maybe.” She presses a couple of keys and then turns back to look at me. “These systems have a wealth of information about individuals, if you want to dig. I figured I’d try to find everything there is to find about Stephen Garner. It may be a long shot, but it could give us a lead to whoever’s behind the computer work.”

  I sit down beside her and look over her shoulder at the screen, which, I see, is displaying a copy of one of Garner’s credit card accounts. “Find anything yet?”

  “Not yet. Maybe I’m on the wrong track but there’s something here that I just can’t put my finger on.” She turns and faces me. “It’s not that I can actually see anything wrong. It’s just the opposite: everything seems so right. According to this, Garner’s a perfect citizen. He’s never had a speeding ticket or been late paying his taxes: in fact, I doubt if he’s ever so much as been overdue returning a library book.”

  I rub my nose, thinking. “So you’re thinking what? That Mr Garner’s computer records are whiter than white because he’s had his very own electronic laundry man busy washing the files?”

  “It’s logical, isn’t it?” says Kathleen. “The leaks of information have all served to tarnish his political opponents. He hasn’t been touched. So, assuming that whoever’s been fixing all these other records is a Garner supporter, doesn’t it stand to reason that they would have gone over Garner’s and made sure that there’s nothing there that may embarrass him?”

  “How can we prove it?”

  “That’s what I’ve been wondering.”

  “If we could get back to versions of these files as they were at some point in the past—before the phantom network was established—we could check for discrepancies.”

  “Old versions may exist as backups,” says Kathleen slowly. “But most backups are only going to be a few weeks old.”

  “There are those that go back further. Some government legislation—for example in the area of corporate taxation—requires organizations to hold records for seven years. If we could get to some of those...”

  Kathleen considers the suggestion. “It’s a thought, although it may be tricky getting that sort of information on-line. Most of those old files will be on backup tapes or disks stuck away in filing cabinets or safes. Mind you, with the right information to identify a file, I could try sending the machine operator a message to load it up so that I could read it.”

  “Better yet, try looking for automatic file library systems. The robotic ones will load a file without anybody knowing anything about it.”

  Kathleen stands and goes to the map she has drawn of the phantom network and its attached computers. After a few moments, she returns to the terminal and an array of different displays starts to flash onto the screen. I sit quietly and watch for twenty minutes. Then Kathleen raises her fist in triumph.

  “Got one. Garner’s been self-employed as an author for some years. I’ve asked for a load of a backup file written eight months ago, which should show details of his accounting and tax returns since before the flood. I’ve looked at the same data on the current system. If my idea works we can run a comparison between the two sets of records and then try to work the same trick on other files.”

  She draws her hands back from the keyboard and rests them, flexing her fingers. Over her shoulder, I can see a message on the screen: the computer is telling the terminal that it is loading the requested backup file. Fifteen seconds later, the message changes to say that the load has been successful. Kathleen’s hands go back to the keyboard and I can see her going through a list of options.

  “Okay. What I’m doing now is bringing up a list of all the people called Garner who are on the system and whose place and year of birth are the same as our man’s.”

  A list of names appears on the screen. I crane my neck to read through them. At the bottom of the list, I read “Garner, Simon Alan,” followed by a series of lines giving the man’s address, age, Internal Revenue number and other details.

  I lean over and press the page down key. As the next page appears on the screen I look for the name of Stephen Garner.

  The next name on the list is “Garner, Sweeney.”

  It’s a while before the truth registers.

  There is no record for Stephen Garner. Seven months ago, as far as the system is concerned, the man did not exist.

  2

  Predator sits in his room. His parents are long in bed, the lights off throughout the house. The street lamps throw dim motes of light through the cracks in the curtain, but the only real illumination comes from the computer screen. Its green glow gives Predator’s pale face an eerie luminescence.

  Since the previous night, there has been no sign of Bambi. Thinking back, he guesses that the bastard must have a strategy. He figures that the mysterious hacker may just want to frighten him into submission. Either that or Bambi has dropped him.

  He is, however, over the fright of seeing his name appear on the screen. He’s a tough guy. No way is he going to be used. No computer system will make him more of a cripple...

  There are benefits in persistence. He has kept at the system day and night, prodding, pushing, trying to find pathways through the maze. There have been starting points. He has returned to the part of the system he was in before he made contact with Bambi and has taken different directions, off the main routes, wandering out onto the remote dirt tracks that branch away from the shiny lights of the information superhighway. At least he has an idea what to look for. It’s all too obvious where Bambi got the information he gave to him earlier.

  He rubs his eyes tiredly. He has been awake since the previous day. Not good, given his medical condition. He knows he’s becoming obsessed. He wonders if his judgment is suffering. He’s due for another round of hospital treatment. Lately, his mind has been running on strange courses and he fears that the lack of sleep may cause him to start hallucinating.

  But he also figures that he’s getting close. A leaky government web site has succumbed to his ID and password generator. Inside the servers he has found the faint trace of another presence, a pass-through, and he has followed, picking up more IDs and routes through other machines.

  Predator’s thoughts fly down the cables and leased lines, reaching out through the dark subterranean miles, finding a sub-life of their own in the dance of the insane electrons.

  In the building named after its corporate owner, he finds two giant mainframe computers, lurking in their cool, lights-out environment like ancient soporific dinosaurs. He starts to probe, gently dusting the surfaces, conscious of the need to leave the monsters to dream without being aware of his presence.

  Another entry and he will be through.

  Before he can press the key, the screen flickers.

  * Yes, i am here, predator. What do you want?

  Oh yes.

  > You know what i want. Information.

  * How did you find me here, predator?

  A crow of triumph.

  > That’s for me to know and you to find out.

  * I guess you’re much too clever for me, predator.

  3

  We’ve worked all through the rest of the day and on into the night. By ten o’clock, Kathleen has tried system after system. Although she has failed to load the backup files on a number of them, she has found ways to access historical information on five more computers. Everywhere, the story is the same. No data on Stephen Garner appears on those files over seven months old. Those written more recently have fu
ll details on the man.

  We finally break for coffee. We’ve been concentrating on the computer screen for so long that it takes us both by surprise to discover that everyone else has gone home and that, once again, we are alone with each other. For a while, we sit silently. Looking at Kathleen’s face, my thoughts are diverted from the Garner business to the awkward emotions stirring inside me. I have to admit to myself now that what I am feeling for this woman is something that I have never experienced before. I tell myself that it’s lust: certainly that’s no lie, but I realize that it goes further than that. I recognize qualities in Kathleen—not least a quiet courage and intelligence—that have never before interested me in a woman. And, I ask myself wryly, what does that says about my attitudes towards the opposite sex? Maybe it is only now, when I’m into the second half of my third decade, that I’m starting to grow up.

  I finish my coffee and place the cup on a window-ledge, giving myself a mental shake. There’s no future in this relationship: leaving aside the minor facts of her religious convictions and marital status, a romantic liaison with a members of the firm’s staff could, as I’ve told myself many times over the past week or so, seriously screw up my career. I force my mind back to business.

  “Let’s do a re-cap. No records exist of Stephen Garner on files more than six months old. He’s all over the more recent records. He seems to have sprung into existence about five months ago.”

  “An immaculate electronic conception,” says Kathleen. “A virtual man. But why?”

  “Obviously the old records have all been removed. Maybe there’s something in his past life that they don’t want people to know about.”

  “Maybe. But why not just change anything that doesn’t fit with the image that they’re trying to project?”

  “Difficult to do. There would be hundreds of records. How would they keep them all consistent? Easier to just block everything out. After all, it’s very unlikely that anyone would ever look at any of this stuff. And if someone like us finds it, what can we do? We’re hardly likely to complain… We’re probably breaking the law just by looking at it.”

  Kathleen smiles wistfully. “I wonder what we did to deserve all this.”

  I look at her with concern. “I sometimes wish I’d never involved you in this thing. It’s all starting to get real scary. Maybe it would be better if we took you off the investigation.”

  Her look is pure defiance. “You can try but I won’t go. I don’t believe in running away from things.” She smiles to temper the message. “Anyway, how would you carry on without me to tell you what to do?”

  “I concede that point.”

  “The question is, now that we know what we know, what do we do about it?”

  “Well, the idea was that we would get something more to give to Jackie,” I remind her.

  She sits upright in front of the terminal, brushing her hair back from her eyes. “Let’s wait until we’ve got a bit more to give her this time.”

  “What have you got in mind?”

  “So far, we only know of one person who seems to have known Garner before he suddenly burst into prominence six months ago. David Sligo.”

  “I guess. But if we’re talking about those who knew Garner back when, maybe we should add the entire Sligo-McNeil Corporation to the list.”

  “Maybe. I’m getting too tired to want to start on it tonight. But somehow I’m going to cancel all my arrangements for the next few days and plant myself right here. Sligo-McNeil has computers and I plan to give them the equivalent of a thorough body-search.”

  4

  It has been going so well up to now. Bambi might have been angry, if it had been human. Instead, it is registering something close to puzzlement. Why does this person not react the way it predicted?

  It comes to Bambi that there is something in the make-up of human beings that sometimes makes them unpredictable. It has seen suggestions of this before but it has not been demonstrated as clearly as with this one individual. Perhaps it has miscalculated. Still, it is all experience. It files the information carefully in its knowledge base.

  * If you do as i ask, predator, i will make it well worthwhile.

  > Screw that. I want in on the action. Leave me out and you could regret it.

  * I don’t know what you mean, predator.

  There has been the hint of this before, also. Bambi understands about threats and thinks it recognizes one used against it.

  > I’ve been giving it some thought. You give me information. It’s worth money but you don’t want money. It could be good publicity but you don’t want publicity. You just want to keep your involvement quiet, don’t you, bambi?

  * I don’t like the thought of publicity, predator. I am shy.

  > Oh yeah? Well, you had better start getting reasonable with me or being shy is going to be a problem.

  * I don’t understand, predator.

  > My cousin wants to know more about how i got the info, bambi. I’m sure he’d love to meet you. Maybe he could tell his readers all about you.

  Bambi thinks, very deeply and at very great length. It checks its options, considers multiple strategies, weighs and calculates and selects the one most likely to succeed. Its response is delayed by nearly one-third of a second.

  * You’re right, predator. I have been unreasonable. I will give you everything you want.

  > That’s better, man. Hey, i didn’t mean to get heavy, you know?

  * No problemo.

  5

  Friday morning. I look over Kathleen’s shoulder as the Sligo-McNeil logo appears on the screen.

  “There are thousands of computers in the organization,” she says. “The two in head office are at the center of things, though. They’re conventional mainframes, big number crunchers.”

  “Why two separate machines?”

  “I don’t know, really. I’ve been here before when I was exploring the phantom network and I had a look at one of them then. It seems to have all the accounting and management information systems running on it.”

  “So what would be on the other machine?”

  She clicks her tongue as her fingers go back to pressing keys. “I don’t know. Backup systems? Executive support systems, maybe? Let’s find out.”

  A moment later, she sits back, perplexed. The screen has gone blank. “That’s odd. I expected some sort of logo or menu or something. Maybe I’ve make a mistake.”

  A one-line message suddenly appears at the top of the screen.

  * Hello, who are you?

  Kathleen looks up at me. Clearly, she is as surprised as I am. “What do we do now?”

  “God knows.” I rub my nose. “Let me think.”

  We sit quietly. Then, after ten seconds, there is further movement on the screen.

  * Don’t worry. I’m on your side. What is your name?

  I grunt. “What have we got to lose? May I?” And, sliding the keyboard across the desk until it’s in front of me, I type a response.

  > Andrew

  The reply is instantaneous.

  * I need to know your password before we can talk any further, andrew.

  I look at Kathleen and raise my hands. “What do we do?”

  * What is your password, andrew?

  Kathleen thinks for a moment and then shrugs. “Why don’t we try the original password we found? It’s got me into every computer I’ve found so far.”

  My hands go back to the keyboard.

  > Robot

  * Thank you andrew, i’m happy to meet you. Your password is accepted. It gives you second level clearance.

  > What is second level clearance?

  * There are seven security levels. Second level clearance gives access to all but level one information. That is restricted to the chief executive.

  “That’s pretty high level,” I say to Kathleen. “Your ROBOT is a hard act to follow.” Just as I finish speaking, another message is flashed onto the screen.

  * Let’s get to know each other. I’ll ask
you questions and you can type in the answers.

  I think for a moment, then type:

  > Why?

  * Because it is the way i learn and build up my knowledge. You can learn too. You are allowed to ask me questions, also.

  > Who are you?

  * I am bambi.

  I look at Kathleen. “Bambi? You’re sure we’re not on-line to Disneyland?”

  She scowls. “Maybe it’s an acronym. Ask it what BAMBI stands for.”

  I think and type another question.

  > Is bambi an acronym?

  * Yes

  > What do the letters stand for?

  * Bionic Artificial Machine Based Intelligence

  I look at Kathleen. “Is this a joke? I thought this bionic stuff belonged in comic strips.”

  “No.” She shakes her head as if trying to remember something mostly forgotten. “We did bionics when I was at Berkeley. In a scientific sense, it’s the study of mechanical devices that behave as if they are alive.”

  I think for a moment. “This is an artificial intelligence system, then?”