by Vic Grout
“Disconnect Berlin.” “Disconnect Madrid,” they ordered in unison.
After a few seconds, the first announced, “Madrid disconnected.” A fraction of a second later, the second confirmed, “Berlin disconnected.”
On the main display screen, both nodes disappeared abruptly.
They quickly turned to Hattie, who for an alarming second, still read S = 0.740, but then:
S = 0.739
A few more seconds:
S = 0.738
Soon:
S = 0.737
“We’re stable.”
The Desk beamed huge smiles at each other. Hattie refused to offer any lower S reading but this was close enough: the point was made. Jenny grinned from ear to ear; her joy was matched by Stephen’s. Not-Thompson nodded – just the faintest of movements, shrugged slightly and raised a defensive hand; but there was clear concession in the gesture. They waited another minute but there was no change. The smiles remained.
Not-Thompson looked again at the time. It was 11:02. “So, is anything else going to happen?” she asked. It was the same question as before but her tone was entirely altered.
S = 0.737
“No, I don’t think so,” laughed Jenny. So was hers.
“Switch them back on,” ordered not-Thompson.
“Reconnect Berlin.” “Reconnect Madrid.” The remote instructions were given. They saw Hattie’s value change even before confirmation came back.
S = 0.738
“Berlin reconnected.”
S = 0.739
“Madrid reconnected … Both powered up”
S = 0.740
“Rerouting complete. We’re stable.”
“Bloody fantastic!” shouted Andy.
Not-Thompson nodded again and quickly ushered her team from the room. “We will return shortly,” she assured them. The Desk watched them leave in triumph, smiled at each other once more and looked back, almost with affection, at Hattie.
S = 0.741
“Eh?” spluttered Bob.
*
The head-scratching was metaphorical, rather than physical, but the confusion was real enough. Aisha pulled an uncomfortable face.
“Maybe this was just due?” she suggested in a whisper. “It changed from 738 to 739 last night and to 740 by this morning. Perhaps It is just continuing to improve? We know the value has been increasing steadily. Perhaps it is just coincidence that it happened now and this is normal progression?”
S = 0.740
“Ah!”
*
They waited quietly for the door to the stairs to close behind not-Thompson’s team.
“Just a blip, surely?” insisted Andy. Jenny nodded.
“I don’t know,” said Bob. “Hattie’s much more stable now: if she’s getting a different reading – even by a tiny amount, I’d have thought there was something going on.” He thought a moment longer, then shook his head. “No, you’re probably right: just a ‘blip’, I suppose.”
“Yes, probably,” agreed Aisha hesitantly. “Or …”
“Or what?”
“Well, I know Paulo Di Iorio has done some work on this. I do not think his results are very complete but I believe he has some evidence that the brain exhibits both a localised and general increase in activity immediately following a damage-repair cycle, or if new inputs are added: artificial implants for example. It is unproven but it would make sense if the brain showed temporarily higher levels of signals whilst trying to learn its way around new connectivity.”
“Suppose so.”
“The question is whether that model would make sense in an Internet scenario?”
“It might,” admitted Bob. “After all, when any network topology changes, or something else comes on board, there’s some increase in traffic to cope with it – whether it’s new devices handshaking or traffic being rerouted. I guess that’s something It could pick up on? Maybe when It sees something ‘new’, the PDN increases temporarily while It figures out how to use it properly? That might even be part of Its learning?”
“Makes sense, I suppose.”
“Shall we worry about it then?”
“Let’s not.”
*
The group that reassembled at noon was smaller: The Desk, not-Thompson, Thomson and Stephen. To minimise RFS distraction (and danger), they used a small meeting room off the main chamber. It contained some videoconferencing and audio-visual facilities but these were powered off and disconnected. There was interference to lighting from time to time and – they discovered – the climate control system had been dual-connected to a back-up source should it be needed. Everyone, from senior management to technicians now wore protective clothing to some extent. That aside, they managed a reasonable attempt at normality.
Not-Thompson began without ceremony.
“I doubt I need to tell you all how grave the situation is,” she opened. “The world is now a very dangerous place indeed. We have a problem on a scale, the like of which we have never known. We cannot accurately estimate RFS casualties – the figures rise continually – but there have undoubtedly been close to a million deaths globally and many millions of injuries.” An icy chill descended every spine and they all shuddered involuntarily. “Everyone is at risk,” she said, “at every moment of the day.” She glanced around the room and out into the main control centre. “We are at risk; the whole world is at risk. Those currently some distance from technology or technology centres – rural areas and developing countries, for example – may be safer than others but they are not entirely protected. Planes and trains have crashed, weapons have been unintentionally fired (non-nuclear, thankfully), essential supplies have been disrupted – often severed entirely. You may have already heard that your own British Royal Family has suffered a significant loss? In the short or long term, no-one is safe.
“And a new problem begins to present itself. As people suffer these losses, they become scared; they become angry. They blame governments and they blame each other. There has already been considerable unrest in many parts of the world. People are being killed, and they are beginning to kill each other. A world-wide humanitarian catastrophe looms. This cannot be allowed to continue. It has to stop.
“So, let us now suppose we are correct in our explanation of the cause of Potentially Disruptive Noise and Random Failure Syndrome,” she continued. It appeared The Desk’s explanation had very quickly become her explanation, although credit and acknowledgement appeared not to be forthcoming as such. “We then have two questions to answer. Firstly, what do we tell the public – and when? Secondly, what do we do to stop it?”
“Surely the public have a right to be told the ...,” Andy began but was interrupted by not-Thompson.
“The first question will not be considered by the present group,” she added quickly, giving him a cold stare. “Your expertise,” she scanned the others, “is needed in relation to the second.”
There was no response: no-one wanted to take the lead.
“I ask again: what can be done to stop – or even reduce – RFS?”
Aisha looked around nervously, reluctant to be spokesperson. “I do not think there is any option,” she said slowly. “You will have to reduce the level of complexity – connectivity – that has given It Its control imperative, Its sentience, if you like. You will have to massively disconnect It; break It.”
“Kill it, you mean?” said Andy, thoughtfully, as much to himself as to the rest of the group.
*
The Thompson-Stephen-Desk federation reformed shortly afterwards and discussions recommenced, along with more experimentation and monitoring. For the time being, Hattie maintained a constant reading of S = 0.740. They worked into the afternoon; in small groups for small periods, coming together regularly to share thoughts and new information. There was a fundamental impasse, however, which no amount of technical measurement could overcome.
“The only way to stop It is to disconnect It,” Aisha found herself saying time and time ag
ain in different forms, supported by Jenny and Bob. Andy remained quiet for the most part.
“We cannot allow that,” and variations upon it, was the standard reply from not-Thompson and her entourage. Stephen and his team appeared neutral.
“Think about all the things that are connected to It! EVERYTHING’s connected to It! It’s only going to get worse! It HAS to be disconnected!”
“We cannot allow that!”
*
“OK, suggest another way then?” Jenny offered during the latest of these exchanges.
“We need to find a solution other than breaking It. Surely, there must be some way to remove the noise from the network?” implored one of not-Thompson’s team.
“Yes, that would be nice, wouldn’t it?” snarled Jenny, in an exasperated tone. “But how?”
“You have to understand, we have no control over PDN,” explained Bob, trying to remain calm. “We probably never did, but now that It’s doing things Its own way, we really don’t. You could say It’s quite literally got a mind of Its own!” He glanced at both Andy and Aisha as he said this but there was no visible objection to either the semantics or science of the statement.
“Can we not drown it out with signals – noise – of our own?”
Bob, shook his head. “Anything we could do to block the noise would have the same effect on our data. If you make the channels unusable by It, you make them unusable for us.”
“In which case, you may as well disconnect It,” observed Jenny.
“Surely we can find an intelligent way to close down interfaces or block traffic?”
“But, again, that would only disrupt us. It’s found Its own way of doing things. We don’t have any effect on It unless we physically disconnect and unplug kit. We know that: Stephen’s little trick has proved that.”
“Perhaps we can run systems at certain times only?”
“You still don’t really get this, do you?” Bob’s patience was wearing thin now. “We’re not talking about clever network settings here. We’d never be able to do that physically – which is what we’d need to do – and, even if we did, we’d be back to where we started as soon as things came back on line. We’ve seen how quickly It reconfigures Itself.”
“Can we switch off the power networks then?”
“And let people freeze, and starve? Nothing would work then!”
“Some aspects of RFS will be damaging Its own network infrastructure, surely? Perhaps, in time, It will destroy Itself?”
“In time, yes, It probably will. Obviously, It must be hurting Itself, to some extent, with what It’s doing. But the wireless gives It so much more connectivity now. At the moment, It seems to be finding Its way around Its structure faster than It’s losing parts of it. It’s killing people quicker than It’s killing Itself. I reckon It’ll outlast us!”
“So what do we do?”
Aisha turned to Jenny, who took a deep breath.
“We have to do some more calculations,” she began, hesitantly, “but it shouldn’t be too difficult. We have to identify a key set of major comms nodes across the world, which would bring Its essential complexity – Its connectivity – below a certain critical threshold.”
“We have to eliminate Its natural control imperative,” agreed Aisha.
“Then we have to physically disconnect and unplug those nodes,” said Bob.
“And leave them that way,” Jenny concluded.
“That simply cannot happen,” said not-Thompson, shaking her head slowly. “The cost would be beyond calculation.”
“More than a million people dead?” screamed Jenny, nearing hysteria.
“In economic terms, yes.”
“Well, if that’s really our priority here,” muttered Andy, sitting largely uninvolved and unobserved towards the back of the group, “then we really are screwed!”
*
A middle-aged man in uniform sat listening on headphones. A woman in a smart grey business suit watched him closely; but his features betrayed no emotion. His eyes wandered, from time to time, between the display screens in front of him and the grass lawns outside the window but his head remained motionless and his breathing steady. Eventually, he allowed just a slightly extended sigh to escape his lips. The woman’s gaze increased its intensity. He pressed a button, removed the headphones and turned to face her.
“Well?”
“Well, Ma’am,” he said calmly, “the Europeans may know what the problem is.”
“Yes?”
“And they may know what to do about it.”
“Go on …”
“But you’re not going to like either part.”
Chapter 20: People
“There has to be another way. Find another way!” not-Thompson roared. The passing of a further discursive hour without progress had not changed her position but it had made her angrier. “Europe calls on its scientists in its hour of need and you let us down!” Her calm exterior was crumbling and some of her rationality seemed to have escaped her. Her words were a painful reminder to Jenny of her disastrous BBC interview before Christmas. Frequent calls, in a side room, to and from unseen powers suggested not-Thompson to be under pressure from even higher in the European order. The current episode was becoming a rant. “What good was all that research funding for academics and public bodies?” she continued with the onslaught. “You waste our money! If we had given it all to the private labs and businesses, I am sure they would deliver a solution for us!”
“We have given you a solution,” Aisha said quietly. “We have told you what to do.”
“And, if you don’t like hearing it from us, then open it out to the wider scientific community,” suggested Jenny.
“Aye, tell everyone; and ask for ideas,” suggested Andy, sardonically. “Or, if you can’t trust the people, just ask the banks!”
“Or just wait for It to destroy Itself – after It has accounted for all of us, of course,” Aisha added.
Not-Thompson bared her teeth in anger. The situation aside, she was clearly unaccustomed to being spoken to like this.
“Problem is,” Bob interjected, a piercing look in his eyes, “that you’re already doing this to some extent, aren’t you?” The others turned to him in surprise; he continued. “I guessed back in Luxembourg that I wasn’t the only guy you were consulting about this! You just wouldn’t work like that, would you? You’ve been speaking with other experts, besides us, all along; yes?”
Stephen smiled: a trace of acknowledgement.
“But the point is,” Bob continued, “they haven’t produced the goods, have they? We’re the ones who have worked out what’s going on – and I’m guessing no-one else has yet. But you’ve told them now, haven’t you?”
Stephen nodded slightly.
“So, presumably, now that you’ve shared our ideas with some other scientists and suchlike,” added Jenny, quick to pick up the plot, “they’re telling you the same things?”
“Ah, right, I see! And no-one is giving you any alternative solutions because there are none!” said Aisha conclusively.
Not-Thompson strode back to the side room abruptly, slamming the door behind her. After a brief call, she left the control room entirely.
Thomson spoke for the first time in a long while.
“With regard to your suggestion to inform the public of these ‘developments’,” he said slowly, “now is not the time; but we are discussing the matter with our American colleagues. I will keep you informed.”
*
As the afternoon wore on, they continued to monitor the Internet – It – as best they could. Stephen’s team gradually extended their reach, establishing remote connections to other regions inside and outside of Europe. This (when everything worked – and it often did not) allowed them to take measurements from across wider areas and in greater volume. Ultimately, it confirmed everything they knew but told them nothing new. Hattie still read S = 0.740. Not-Thompson had not returned and, if anyone had mentioned any of this to the A
mericans, they knew nothing of any response. A news channel, intermittently displayed on one of the side monitors, between bursts of interference, showed destruction on a global scale they could hardly believe. Three million might be dead across the world – perhaps more – initially directly from RFS. But now, a new, possibly even darker, danger arose. Supply networks had failed; vast areas were without food; there were early reports of outbreaks of disease. Law and order was breaking down in large parts of the world: there were riots and looting in several countries. Nature and people were now as much of a threat to each other as the technology. The last available credible public explanation of a massive cyber-attack seemed to matter little now; it could have been aliens for all anyone cared: the cause was immaterial – the effect catastrophic. Global society was approaching meltdown.
Personal tragedy slowly mixed with the on-screen horror. News gradually filtered through to the control room of friends and loved ones. No-one was unaffected: only levels of closeness varied. One of Stephen’s team ran out in tears without warning; they later discovered he had lost a daughter. A technician left suddenly to find his injured wife. An old school-friend of Andy’s had been killed; so had a distant uncle of Aisha’s. Jill messaged Bob to say that Chris, Heather and Ben had had a lucky escape in their car: they had promised not to drive again and were all home together as safe as they could manage. Old Mrs. Harris’s son had been badly injured returning from visiting his mother in hospital: his chances were evenly balanced. The list grew longer and longer.
Just as they were beginning to think there was little more to do or see in their work, Hattie gave them some further food for thought. The slight, and temporary, increase in the S Parameter reappeared a few times through the afternoon and early evening. As before, Hattie’s S = 0.740 changed to S = 0.741 for a few moments before reverting to S = 0.740. This happened three times before, shortly after six o’clock, her value changed to S = 0.741 and remained steady. She was not done, however: twice more over the next couple of hours, she moved from S = 0.741 to S = 0.742 for a short period before settling once more back to S = 0.741. Jenny and Bob discussed it at length but could find no sensible explanation. Aisha felt keenly that there was ‘some learning somewhere in it’ but could not be precise.
