Conscious

by Vic Grout

  “So, where do we start?” Jenny attempted enthusiasm but it was stung by fatigue. Don smiled.

  “Not tonight, guys. You’re tired: you need sleep.”

  “But the sooner we …,” Bob tried.

  “In the morning.”

  “But It will kill millions more …”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “But the longer we leave it, the …”

  Don’s smile faded.

  “I’m sorry, guys,” his voice took a firmer hold. “I’m responsible for the security and operational efficiency of this facility – and a whole lot more besides beyond its perimeter. You folks aren’t even capable of looking after yourselves in this condition, let alone making technical calculations or decisions. I doubt you’d even understand the data we gave you in the first place. You’re beat; you’re going to bed.”

  *

  Bob had had very little idea of the time at which he had been shown to his guestroom. He had wanted to contact Jill but the OI team had said it was not possible. He had quickly showered and fallen – naked and exhausted – into bed, to be enveloped in grim dreams mixing past, present and future. He was trying to battle a monster but he could not find it; it was all around him but he could not see it. And he was alone: his allies were gone and he did not know what to do on his own. He flailed about uselessly as the unseen beast dealt death and destruction around it, but his partner, the one he relied on, had deserted him. Suddenly, the dream slipped colourlessly into the background and was replaced by vivid reality. He still had no idea what the time was but he now sat upright in bed, a single thought banishing all others to the darkness.

  ‘Hattie?!’

  PHASE SIX: SURGERY

  Chapter 26: Ups

  Andy woke slowly, physically refreshed but in a state of confusion. It took some time for him to recall the long previous day – begun in a different continent – and the events that had led him to wherever he was – whenever it was. All was dark, there was no light from anything. That was almost his first clue: he was dimly mindful of the precaution – explained to him by someone the night before – of unnecessary electrical items not being powered up. He reached over to his right and groped for the bedside light. All the equipment in the OI (that was where they were, he remembered), had been double-insulated, or otherwise protected, to minimise the potential for RFS but there was still a risk.

  The light clicked on without any side-effects other than dazzling him. He blinked and turned away to his left. There Aisha lay, still asleep – breathing softly, her eyes newly padded and bandaged by OI medical staff. Now, a little clearer, he recalled the visit there the night before. She had refused to stay in the hospital after her examination and had made Andy take her back to his room with him. Earlier, when her old dressings had been removed, he had seen – for the first time fully – the extent of the injury. It was horrific: a few smaller wounds surrounded her nose and forehead but a single seam ran almost perfectly horizontally across her face, taking in both eyes and leaving loose layers of skin on each side. One eyelid was almost detached and the glossy white underneath clearly damaged as well. When she had asked, he had been unable to tell her the whole truth as to how bad it was. Dr. Barbara had given her new medication, run several tests and taken samples before putting her back together again; they would get some results in the morning.

  Andy’s leg irritated him badly; he looked down under the covers and winced at the sight more than the pain. It was swollen and inflamed and really needed medical attention as well. But Aisha had been the priority the previous night and he had not mentioned it to anyone. Now, he dragged the infection painfully to the shower. The water stung acutely across most of its surface and on a few other parts of his body too. Afterwards, he stood motionless, drying naturally as best he could – knowing that a towel would hurt too much – gazing sadly at Aisha as she lay, now slowly waking. At first he panicked and looked for his old clothes to cover his various lesions and blisters from her, but then cursed his stupidity, realising the pointlessness.

  She stirred some more, flopped out a limp hand to where he should be lying and, realising he was not, sat up suddenly, groping around in a wider arc.

  “It’s OK, I’ve just had a shower,” he said softly to reassure her.

  *

  New clothes: an eclectic selection of shirts – with and without collars – and trousers of various styles, including jeans, had been placed in their room, presumably before their arrival. Some simple footwear too. They mostly fitted Andy but not Aisha. However a similar arrangement had been made for the room next door – where she had been expected – and these were quickly retrieved: all room locks appeared to have been disabled for safety. Within twenty minutes, they were ready to venture out. While Aisha dressed – she insisted on doing this herself, only asking Andy’s advice on the nature of any garment she help up – he briefly turned on the TV. Some (badly broken-up) early breakfast magazine programme was on. It made grim viewing. Over a hundred million dead – probably many more: easily the ‘largest-scale human disaster of all time’. There was also evidence that It was still increasing in Its abilities: large industrial complexes were being shut down (or worse) across the world. IoE climate control systems were failing. Whole cities were being close to wiped out. Weapons were being fired at random – non-nuclear at present but most commentators considered it to be only a matter of time before these safety systems were bypassed too. And, of course, the general public still did not know what ‘It’ was! It was too much to take in: he needed something concrete to focus on. The time bar at the bottom of the screen read 5:24am: as tired as they were, their body clocks were still ahead of American time. Would anyone else be awake?

  They emerged quietly from their room, Andy leading Aisha. In one direction, the corridor disappeared into the distance with several side passages leading from it. They turned the other way, towards the foyer where they had parted the night before. Once back in surroundings Andy recognised, they followed the sign to the canteen, where they found Jenny and Bob, also forced awake by the time difference; and also dressed in new clothes provided by their hosts. Physically, at least, they both appeared improved. They were alone.

  The canteen hatch area was closed – there was no-one else to serve or be served – but Jenny had risked getting tea from a free dispenser: she and Bob sat sipping something approximating Earl Grey. She looked anxious, he utterly crestfallen. The Desk exchanged warm, but subdued, embraces. Jenny and Bob made space and Andy helped Aisha to a seat. RFS disruption was more visible here – away from their semi-insulated rooms.

  “How is everyone?” asked Aisha quickly, hoping to deflect questions about her injuries.

  “Not good,” Jenny answered shortly. “Apart from the fact that we really should be getting on with doing something, and there’s no-one here,” she looked around, then stared gloomily at Bob, “we may have another problem.”

  “What?”

  We’ve lost Hattie,” Bob replied. “We left her on the carrier – or whatever it was. We left in such a rush, I forgot her. I don’t know if we’re going to be able to measure anything any more.”

  “Which might mean we can’t prove that any of what we’re saying is true!” Jenny added.

  A deathly silence.

  *

  They waited until six o’clock but were unsurprised by no-one else appearing. Eventually, they found their way back to the foyer and tried the lift they had used the night before. However, it would not work for them. Andy pressed the call button several times without the doors opening or sight or sound of any other reaction. The other two lifts they had seen on the floor above had no openings here. They explored more of the accommodation floor but, other than gaining some idea of how huge it was, they found nothing of interest.

  At 7am, a man in white shirt and trousers came to open the canteen. His greeting was good-humoured and without apparent surprise. Within minutes, a few other people – the usual mix of suits and uniforms – emerged from v
arious accommodation corridors to partake of an early breakfast: there appeared to be no charge for this service. The Desk was collectively hungry but only Jenny and Aisha found eating easy. Bob was acutely distracted, and Andy could eat no more than a few mouthfuls before he felt uncomfortable. Jenny watched him push his plate away with concern but it was easy to hide this from Aisha.

  The canteen man also allowed them to use his phone to attempt to contact home: it was around the middle of the day in Europe. The initial response was positive. Jill, Chris, Heather and Ben were safely locked up in their London house with at least a few days’ food in store. Outside, however, things were not so good: there was still a limited police presence, Jill said, but gangs easily dodged them and were able to ransack lightly-guarded houses almost at will. The situation was deteriorating.

  And the news for everyone else was worse. To Andy’s dismay, he discovered that Ruth Jones had been killed – there were no details as to how. His ex-wife was missing and Jenny’s brother, Richard, could not be contacted. Aisha had no-one to call at all. She shook her head, as the phone was placed in her hands, and held it out to pass on to Bob for a second round. He attempted to contact Stephen but there was no response from any of the various IDs and addresses he had stored. Frustration mounted.

  At exactly 8am, Scott Lopez appeared, accompanied by Dr. Barbara. They both smiled widely as they greeted The Desk, sitting quietly but impatiently after their breakfasts.

  “Morning guys; sleep well?” Scott was positively buoyant.

  Jenny’s response was colder. “Can we get on with this?” Bob grunted something similar in intent. Andy had more interest in Dr. Barbara. She, however, was obviously not going to speak until she was asked to.

  “Sure guys,” Scott continued, his enthusiasm undamaged. “We’ll get you up to the labs as soon as we can. But first,” he grinned towards the doctor, “Dr. Barbara has some good news.” Andy felt Aisha’s grip tighten on his arm.

  “Indeed,” said Dr. Barbara, formally acknowledging the transfer of control with a nod. “I have some encouraging results. The damage to the patient’s face and eyes is not as serious as might appear on the surface. Our tests suggest that there will be few or no permanent ill-effects.”

  “So, my sight?” asked Aisha, curtly.

  “It will take time,” continued Dr. Barbara, nodding slowly, “but we expect your visual recovery to be a complete one.” Aisha visibly deflated back into her chair in relief.

  The remainder of the conversation between her and the doctor was understood by only the two of them. The rest of The Desk and Scott looked on as Aisha asked a sequence of questions, in impenetrable medical terminology, which Dr. Barbara appeared to answer to her increasing satisfaction. It seemed to both make sense to her in absolute terms and be consistent with Andy’s visual description from the night before. The prognosis was a lengthy one – many days, possibly weeks – but her sight would be returned, probably without impairment. She permitted herself an audible sigh of relief this time and stroked Andy’s arm affectionately. She could not see the doubt in his eyes.

  Jenny allowed what she considered to be a respectable period of time for the good news to settle before taking up the gauntlet once more.

  “Come on; let’s go. Let’s switch this thing off,” she urged.

  “OK. Let’s go!” Scott almost sang. Dr. Barbara took her leave.

  They returned to the lift, which responded to Scott’s summons, and ascended to the OI level. They were met by Larry Washington as the door opened. Much to Jenny’s (and, to a fair extent, the others’) annoyance, he insisted on giving them a tour of the complete OI before starting any work. The Desk protested but he had his reasons, he maintained.

  “We’re wasting time,” moaned Jenny.

  “Not much,” Larry replied brightly, “and we think you guys need to understand everything here before we can all work together. You’re proposing something massive, If we’ve understood you right – this ‘European Theory’ of yours. We can’t afford any false assumptions. What’s the expression? ‘The Devil’s in the detail’?”

  “The original version’s ‘God is in the detail’,” Andy grunted, “meaning do whatever you do as well as you can. I hope that’s what you mean?”

  Larry and Scott wore matching grins across the widths of their faces.

  *

  So The Desk suffered to be shown around the OI. This consisted essentially of three corridors – subterranean, of course, each about forty yards long, connected in a wide, square ‘H’ formation, with numerous labs, and a few offices, filling the space between and around the edge. They had originally entered, the night before, from the tunnel dome in one corner; the lifts were at the exact centre. Larry and Scott immediately led them to the point diagonally opposite. As they approached, they noticed artificial lighting gradually being exchanged for daylight.

  “This is the only part of the OI that reaches open air,” Scott explained as they came to a set of glass panels not entirely unlike a domestic French window. They stood a half-floor below the ground. Outside, a set of steps, cut into the rock at right-angles to the glass, rose to the level plain. Inside, two guards stood on either side of the opening.

  They stared, from internal shadow, out onto a desolate prairie, broken only by a few gnarled trees and bushes of wiry scrub. In the middle distance were thicker plants, which may have been cacti. Beyond, a low mountain range struggled to be seen through the floating morning mist. There was nothing of note visible between the OI and the distant hills, perhaps sixty or seventy miles away.

  They looked out from underneath a low rocky outcrop. The early sun, behind them, cast its shape far across the desert ground, but it was obviously not a large feature; just enough to hide the exit from aerial view, and one of many similar, unexceptional rock-piles, explained Larry.

  “So guys,” Scott continued, “if you exit from what we call the ‘Look Out’ here and turn 180 degrees around the rocks, the closest point of the southwest-northeast road is about half a mile away. It meets the west-east road a mile further on. We use the roads if we really have to but there’s a strict rule: no more than three personnel at a time directly in and out of the OI and only at night. We sometimes bring equipment in that way. Otherwise, it comes in on the bullet tramcars, from the tunnels with the larger entry points – before those were taken off, that is! Apart from that, the three roads that go across the region are hardly used at all.”

  “Doesn’t anyone stumble across you by accident, from time to time?” suggested Bob.

  “They never have,” Scott answered calmly. “We’re very remote and hidden. And the perimeter area is better guarded than might be apparent. That’s Jerry Austin’s area: he’s responsible for infrastructure and communications.”

  They turned and retraced their steps, stopping to enter each and every lab as they passed, which became quickly tedious, even for Bob. True enough, he thought, there was a subtly different purpose to the kit in each room – different protocols, networks, etc. – but the overall surveillance and control role of the OI was obvious enough and this level of individual detail was unnecessary. Moreover, Larry and Scott were prone to getting diverted into trivia as they explained rack after rack of equipment. By the time they arrived at one of the larger, central rooms where The Desk was going ‘to be stationed’, another two hours had passed: it was approaching mid-morning. Jenny was approaching volcanic.

  Bob, however, had his spirits raised beyond measure when they entered the main control room. There, given centre-stage, between two workstations with large screens, sat Hattie!

  *

  She had even been cleaned, and by someone who clearly knew what they were doing. Apart from a few larger scuffs and a dent in a side panel, she looked as good as new. Also, some of her external cables, hanging free the last time Bob had seen her in the carrier, had been plugged back in. Her unknown saviour had obviously guessed in one or two places but had largely got it right! Bob corrected a few connectio
ns, checked the US adaptor and immediately powered her up. She worked!

  “How on earth did she get here?” Bob asked, astonished, as he connected her output to the nearest display.

  With a possibly even broader grin, Scott explained.

  “Not much of a problem, fella,” he laughed. “The carrier you got off last night just kept on across the centre of the region. When it got to the nearest point above ground here, it stopped for twenty minutes and a couple of our guys wheeled your kit in in the middle of the night and cleaned it up. Took two trips for all the peripherals but pretty easy really. Then the carrier just started off along the road again to keep everyone else on their way.”

  “So, why didn’t we come in that way?” asked Aisha, recalling the uncomfortable ride through the tunnel in her own personal darkness.

  Scott shrugged. “Rules is rules. We never take that many people directly in off the road – even at night. It’s a security risk.”

  They had no appetite for further argument. With no ceremony whatsoever – in fact, without even asking, Bob connected Hattie’s probes to the nearest network point and set her to run.

  ‘Beep’ S = 0.904

  “Sweet Jesus!” They hardly lacked incentive to press on but this delivered one anyway.

  They started immediately. What the Americans were clearly already calling the ‘European Theory’ was recapped by Jenny and Bob, with Aisha providing background comparison for human brain connectivity, function and behaviour. Their hosts would have already been appraised of all the essential detail, of course, by not-Thompson’s team in Brussels. However, The Desk were surprised by just how receptive Larry and Scott (and, they were given to understand, Don Bell and Jerry Austin) were to their outrageous explanation of a conscious Internet. The theory, in itself, appeared to present no particular difficulty. What would need more careful consideration would be the dual questions of what it all meant and what to do about it.