Conscious

by Vic Grout

  “So what are we supposed to do for the rest of the day while another fifty million die?” asked Bob, quickly interjecting a relatively civil question before Jenny could provide what was almost certain to be a more confrontational alternative.

  “We do have work to do, guys. Rest assured.”

  “What work?”

  “We want you to repeat the little demo you gave to the fellas in Brussels.”

  “What demo?”

  “The demo where you took out a couple of nodes and,” Don waved towards Hattie, “your thing here showed a decrease in your ‘sentience parameter’.”

  “Why? We’ve already done that once. What’s the point of doing it again?”

  “I’ve been asked to verify, first hand, that your model works. If you can predict – kinda like you did before – what will happen if we take out a single node, then that will help the argument for us to get authorisation to complete the job tomorrow.”

  They were convinced that their time was being deliberately wasted now but they had no choice. A major switching centre in Denver had apparently been identified that would be relatively straightforward to physically remove in its entirety. Bob found its position in the global network and identified its connectivity relative to its neighbours. The dynamic spreadsheet gave them traffic flow. Hattie still read S = 0.906. She sat now in the corner of the room behind them, with all of her output fed directly to one of the console machines in the centre. Jenny worked her calculation for removing the Denver node and, after a few minutes of scribbling, suggested a revised figure of S = 0.903. Don waited for confirmation they were ready and Jerry stood poised with mobile phone in hand.

  Jenny held up a thumb. Bob nodded agreement. Don flicked a pointed finger at Jerry.

  “Let’s go!” Jerry barked the order into the mobile.

  ‘Beep’ S = 0.905

  Jerry listened. An indistinct voice could be heard at the other end of the line.

  “Denver completely isolated,” he confirmed. “Routing stable elsewhere.”

  ‘Beep’ S = 0.904

  ‘Beep’ S = 0.903

  ‘Beep’ S = 0.902

  They waited a few more seconds but there was no further change. Don looked at Jenny, who nodded. He gestured again to Jerry.

  “Bring Denver back on.”

  This took several seconds longer. Various switches would need to reboot.

  ‘Beep’ S = 0.903

  ‘Beep’ S = 0.904

  “We’re stable again.”

  ‘Beep’ S = 0.905

  ‘Beep’ S = 0.906

  Don beamed a smile of congratulation. “Close enough! Nice one, guys! I think that does it!”

  ‘Beep’ S = 0.907

  There was a violent explosion behind them. The screen before them went blank. The whole room turned simultaneously to look towards the corner. Hattie was surrounded by flames from the initial blast but, even within the fireball that engulfed her, new, smaller eruptions were visible as more of her circuits continued to blow. Technicians, well-versed in such procedures by now and armed with fire extinguishers, rushed towards her and discharged their loads without a moment’s hesitation but it was all too late. Although the fire was banished within ten seconds, the damage was done. As the dripping foam was swept and blown away, the extent of the destruction was clear: little remained apart from a framework of charred metal casings and a few distorted, smouldering circuit boards. She was gone.

  *

  “Take care, folks! See you again some time ma’be?”

  Chuck held open the cab door and Aisha and Andy stepped down from the truck; she with help from him, he with considerable pain. They thanked Chuck warmly and both shook his hand. He climbed back in, reversed a turn and drove off into the distance towards town, a cloud of dust and sand billowing behind him along the track. They watched him disappear, then faced towards the shed.

  Andy was about to lead the way to the door when Aisha stopped dead, grabbing his arm.

  “So, just how bad is this leg?” she asked urgently. He could tell they were going nowhere until she had received a sensible reply.

  “It’s OK,” he said, trying to inject lightness into his voice. “I think I might need some different antibiotics or something. It’s flared up a bit.” He prayed she would not insist on examining him there and then. However, she obviously decided this was not the time: all she would be able to do was touch and feel, and there would be better places than in front of a shed by a dusty dirt track. She was not going to let the matter drop though.

  “So have you had it properly looked at?”

  “Well, in a way.” She looked furious so he continued quickly. “You see, it never quite got treated properly in London, did it? The ambulance was busy with the cyclist and you didn’t have the right stuff at Jill and Bob’s house. “I had the dressings changed twice in Brussels but they were rushed both times and didn’t really inspect it. They did say it might need a proper look at when we got here but it was late last night when we got in. It just feels a bit sorer today, that’s all.” The last sentence was as close to a direct lie as he cared to admit.

  “Right,” she said. “You do need to have it examined properly today.” Her tone changed. “Andy, I am worried you are not being honest with me about your injury.”

  ‘Bloody Hell,’ he thought. ‘Not being honest with you about my injury. I don’t even think I’m being honest with you about yours!’ He needed to change the subject quickly.

  “So, what do we make of the satellites coming down?” he asked as he started her towards the entrance once more.

  She made no attempt to answer him until they were seated in one of the golf carts and underway. They had entered the shed, climbed down the steps, negotiated the security on both doors through the transit room and had their passes and biometrics checked a third time by the guards. The same drivers, who had waited for them, saw them to a vacant buggy and set off. Finally, Aisha spoke.

  “I suppose about half of them will crash to Earth.” she announced suddenly.

  Andy had almost forgotten the question.

  “Half?” he suggested noncommittally.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “I suppose It has established communication with the satellites. It will not understand any of what It is doing but It will be sending them disruptive signals. Eventually, for each one, their orbits will be disturbed. Perhaps some of them will fly off into space and some will fall?”

  “Makes sense,” he agreed. “Their orbits won’t all get screwed up at once: It’ll need to get a meaningful signal or two through. Then, each broken one will take time to spin down through the atmosphere, and not all of that will get through without burning up – maybe just the big ones. I guess the first casualties are hitting the ground about now.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “I think so.”

  They continued to speed along the walkway back towards the OI; long periods of silence broken by occasional scrapes and futile attempts to lighten the mood. She spoke for the first time, to his recollection, of some memories from childhood. He rambled about various philosophical, theological, literary and grammatical conundra (one of which was whether the correct term was actually ‘conundra’). She was entertained rather than interested. Eventually, as they slowed towards the dome at the OI end of the tunnel, Andy dropped deeper into thought. He held up both their security passes in front of him and peered at them hard.

  “How many different combinations of two from four are there?” he asked suddenly.

  “Oh, not another riddle!” she laughed.

  “No, I’m serious.”

  *

  “Six.”

  It was evening. The Desk were reunited once more in the canteen. Bob had been briefly back to his room to shower and had re-entered mid-conversation. They were all in various, but largely shared, low spirits. Aisha was concerned about Andy; he was worried about her – and, to a lesser extent, himself; Jenny was beside herself with impatience over the continued delay; and Bob was mo
urning the loss of Hattie. He needed distraction.

  “Six what?” he asked.

  “Six different combinations of two from four,” Jenny expanded.

  “Aye, that’s what I figured out the hard way,” agreed Andy, “by counting them all, as we came back.”

  “And?”

  “And it doesn’t make sense!”

  “Why?”

  “Well, there are four of us, aye? And two passes that get any two of us out of the OI?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, that means any two of us can leave? And there are six different pairs of which two can leave?”

  “So?”

  “Well, think about it. We’re told that we’re not prisoners; we’re guests, aye? And it’s OK for two of us to go, so long as two remain: so they have our ‘expertise’ available when it’s needed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s OK for five of the six combinations because either you or Bob or both would be left in the OI.”

  “Right.”

  “But the other combination would have you and he both go and Aisha and I stay.”

  “True.”

  “Which would be utterly pointless. What possible technical use could we be in an emergency if you and Bob weren’t here?”

  “Yes, I see. So, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying it’s just another excuse – another lie. They made it up on the fly to keep us happy. We’re not really here to get anything done: we’re here to be kept out of mischief, out of sight – or something.”

  “But why?”

  “Who can say? But I reckon the trick started back in Brussels – and I think Stephen had his suspicions then. I think they sent us over here to get rid of us; I’m pretty convinced Aisha wasn’t fit to leave the hospital there but they drugged her up to get her to go. I think we’re some sort of threat and they want us where they can keep an eye on us.”

  “Why not just kill us, then?”

  “Again, who knows? Maybe they do think we might be useful at some point – just not yet? Perhaps, in the meantime, they don’t want us telling the rest of the world what’s going on. Perhaps, if there are always two of us inside, then the two outside have to watch their step. Perhaps having some of us here is achieving some other purpose – or stopping something happening. I don’t know exactly, but there’s something going on!”

  *

  The Desk was tormented by so many things but, just now, having time on their hands for thoughts like these was as great a threat to their collective sanity as anything. Jenny and Bob simply had no idea what to do. Aisha urged Andy to visit the medical centre; he did but came back with a report that they were busy and had asked him to return later – all three could now tell he was not well. They talked in hushed tones much of the time, not trusting anyone. Eventually, they decided to return to the control room to pay their last respects to Hattie. It was still early so, in principle, the lift would be usable. It was exercise, if nothing else, and Andy had less trouble on the level. Sure enough, the lift responded to their call and they pressed the ‘-1’ button to take them up. The doors opened at the OI floor just as a fairly large group of people approached.

  There were about nine or ten of them. Don Bell led the way. It struck both Jenny and Andy that it was the first time they had seen him without Jerry Austin in support. Behind Don marched several men in high-ranking, medal-bedecked uniforms. These surrounded a middle-aged woman in a crisp, cream-coloured business suit. The group passed them and stopped in front of the other two lifts. Security passes were inserted in both. The larger part of the entourage – mostly soldiers – took the lift to the deep bunker, ‘The Hole’. Don, the woman and two of the nearest uniformed men entered the one for the VIP floor. Both doors closed.

  “Jesus!” cried Jenny, staring after them. “Was that the Pre…?”

  “It was indeed!” agreed Andy, his eyes every bit as wide as hers.

  *

  The main control room was locked – probably against them – but Hattie’s remains had been moved to the store next door. They spent five sad minutes staring at the burnt-out shell, which was once her, then returned to the canteen for the final time that evening. They continued to talk about many things – often reprised – while sitting facing fragmented news reports from a TV high in the corner.

  First for discussion, and once again, was Hattie herself. Was her destruction merely an RFS accident waiting to happen or had It – Its powers now further increased – somehow perceived her as a threat? After all, she had become part of It everytime she was used. It was impossible to know but Bob, in particular, harboured suspicions. Secondly, the satellite issue was revisited. One had impacted closer to the OI since Aisha and Andy had returned; there were reports of others coming down across the world, causing even more death and destruction when they struck populated regions. Third, but this for the first time, Jenny very quietly outlined their work in the lab. In particular, she described – like a naughty schoolgirl – how the only way to find the disconnect-set Don wanted had been to initially calculate the one he had explicitly told them not to! Fourth: could they contact loved ones once more? It was very late in Europe but perhaps worth a try? But, no, the canteen man said the phones were no longer working. They doubted the truth of this but could not argue. Fifth: was that really the President they had seen? Yes, without a doubt. What was she doing there? Perhaps the OI and The Hole were as safe a refuge from It, a rioting population, and whatever might happen next, as anywhere for her?

  However, clouded over everything was the general impression that they were making no real progress, nor were they likely to; and, all the time, people out there were dying by their tens of millions.

  “We have to do something!” Jenny urged. “We can’t just sit around here.”

  Bob initially thought of Hattie. To an extent, she had already performed her key role but things might still be difficult in future without her. Her loss made him think, in turn, of Stephen, who now seemed to have disappeared as well. He feared the worst. Then, suddenly, he recalled the conversation with Andy on the plane.

  “We could always try your imaginary friend?” he suggested.

  “My what?”

  “Gus? Was that his name? The contact Stephen gave you when we left the EuroNet room.”

  Andy blinked slowly as he remembered. While Bob explained the story, second-hand, to Aisha and Jenny, he searched in his pockets.

  “I know I switched everything – along with my passport – when I put on new trousers,” he muttered as he fumbled. “I just hope I’ve still got it. Aye! Here!” He pulled a crumpled card, somewhat painfully, from his pocket. “Stephen said this might be worth a try if things took a turn for the worse, which I guess we could say they have!” He waved the telephone number.

  “But we don’t have access to a phone,” Aisha pointed out.

  “I wonder if we could borrow one?” suggested Bob.

  “From whom?”

  “Well, obviously not from this guy,” grumbled Jenny, indicating the canteen man. “And we don’t know anyone else even remotely well enough to ask. The four suits upstairs are hardly likely to help us: they probably have as little trust in us now as we do in them!”

  “Nevertheless, we might have to risk it,” suggested Andy.

  “Which one then? Certainly not Don. He’s in this whatever it is up to his neck. He keeps talking about ‘authorisation’ but I don’t really think he answers to anyone much – apart from the President herself, I guess. Scott or Larry – because they’re a bit more junior? Would they be daft enough to help without understanding what we were doing?

  Andy sat deep in thought. “My bet would be Jerry,” he said eventually. “I’ve just got a hunch. I know he looks like Don’s right hand man but I’ve the tiniest feeling Don may not entirely trust him. Until just now, we never saw them apart. I’m just wondering if that might be because Don feels he has to keep an eye on him. Also, there have been one or two occasions where I’
ve just sensed a bit of friction between them. And, from your story about what happened in the lab with Hattie, we know he has a phone. I know it’s not much to go on but, on the basis that someone who might be an enemy’s enemy might be your friend, I’d suggest Jerry. Aye, it’s a bloody long shot but what have we got to lose?”

  “What are you going to lose, guys?” They turned suddenly and found Jerry Austin standing behind them.

  *

  How long had he been there? How much had he heard? They could not tell. But he seemed very interested in what had just been said. Aisha decided to make some general conversation to begin: light-hearted humour might work.

  “Come to slum it with the lower ranks?” she asked jokingly.

  Jerry laughed but also sounded more than a little uncomfortable.

  “Let me assure you, people,” he began in a friendly manner, “your efforts are appreciated beyond measure.” He appeared to choose his next words with care. “These are difficult times. We’re all trying to do the best we can. But sometimes people have different roles to play in a crisis and that may mean different perspectives – sometimes even different objectives. Success for some, in such a situation, may be failure for others. But you may trust me that I have the utmost respect for your skills, your expertise, your commitment and,” he shot a pained look at Aisha, “your sacrifice.”

  The Desk did not comprehend all of this but his tone was encouraging. Jenny pressed a little further.

  “I don’t think we’ve seen you on your own before? You seem more of a team player than a loner?”

  This obviously amused Jerry although, once again, they did not fully understand why. When he spoke, he gave only a partial explanation.

  “My role in our nation’s organisation is infrastructure and communication in the outside world,” he began. “But, in here, I answer to Don: he’s responsible for security and that’s kinda taken priority so far. But he’s tied up now with some other things. We have a, ah, … a VIP on site.”