by Ian Whates
"What you're going to do for me," Malcolm continued, "is this. You're going to return to ULAW and show both them and the Byrzaens that snatch of coding. It's only a small scrap of the whole, but it should be enough for your experts to confirm that I'm not bluffing, that this virus is real.
"Now let me tell you what I did before coming here. I cloned myself. Not once, not twice, but a score of times. Already those clones are in the realm of veils. Each of them is loaded with this virus, and they're just the start. I'm going to keep cloning myself. You gave me the idea for this, by the way. I suppose I should thank you for it. If you hadn't sent the assassin virus after my son sheathed within an avatar, I might never have thought of this. Forgive me if I'm not too grateful, though, won't you?
"As for my clones, pretty soon they'll find their way into every Virtuality on every human world that has access to the realm of veils, which, I'm guessing, is pretty much all of them. You can send in your agents and your assassins and your viruses, but you'll never get all of me, and should I catch a hint of anything like that going on, I'll release the doomsday virus immediately."
Benson was visibly shaken. "You're bluffing."
"No, I promise you I'm not. And it's very important that you appreciate how tempted I am to trigger the damn thing right now. You killed my son!"
Benson licked his lips and then said, slowly, "Have you any idea what this would do?"
"Some. It would crash the network of communications you've established secretly via Virtuality. It would negate the Byrzaens' stardrive..."
"It would do a hell of a lot more than that. Their whole technology is based on siphoning energy from that brane."
Benson was more shaken than Malcolm had anticipated. He must have been to let something like that slip.
"All the more reason for them to co-operate, then. Let me make myself clear. If anything happens to me, to Catherine Chzyski, to Jim Leyton or any of the habitat folk involved in recent events, the virus will be released. Never forget, you've murdered my son. Twice. Do you really think I give a damn about the fate of the Byrzaens or any of your precious schemes and intrigues? Push me on this at your peril. Am I being clear enough, Mr Benson?"
The other nodded. "Perfectly."
"Good." A question occurred to him, one which he was unlikely to ever find an answer to elsewhere. "Can I ask you something?"
"I'm not exactly in a position to refuse you."
"First contact. How did it really happen?"
Benson sighed. "No harm in telling you, I suppose. I wasn't there and officially this is still need-to-know only..."
"Unofficially?"
"Unofficially, and uncorroborated, it happened courtesy of a crystal."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm told it was an attempt to discover a new energy source. ULAW scientists directed AIs to build a particularly complex crystalline structure in Virtuality. Once completed, it proved to be identical in every detail to a crystal the Byrzaens had already built and were using to process energy from the other brane."
"Resonance!" Malcolm said.
"Something like that."
"Structures that identical are the same... the same object existing simultaneously in two different places. Quantum physics allows that this would open the door to communication between both locations, and maybe more. That's incredible."
"Isn't it just?"
"What I don't understand is why this constant draining of energy from another brane hasn't destabilised it. Presumably the brane is vast and the amount being taken infinitesimally small in the scheme of things but even so... And that begs another question: where does all the energy come from in the first place?"
Benson shrugged. "I'm no scientist, so not my field." Nor, evidently, his interest. "Now, when exactly did you say you were going to get me out of here?"
Malcolm's next call was not one he was looking forward to, even though it was to his oldest friend. He knew she wasn't going to like the idea. He was right.
"Are you serious? That man is responsible for so many deaths, Malcolm," Catherine pointed out, "most likely Philip's included, and you just expect me to let him go?"
"What else were you planning on doing to him? He's a ULAW official. How do you think they'll react to his summary execution?"
"Who said anything about execution? You know better than to underestimate me, Malcolm. A renegade faction within the government mounts an illegal raid on Kaufman Industries head office, killing KI personnel in the process. Do you really think anyone at ULAW is going to kick up a fuss if some of those responsible, including the primary organiser, get killed during our perfectly legitimate attempts to defend ourselves? I'm about to lodge a strongly worded complaint about the whole incident. I'll be amazed if ULAW want to take on KI over this, no matter how many bodies turn up. In fact, I'm going to be pushing for financial compensation and a public apology."
Knowing her, she'd probably get them, too.
"Catherine," he said, "I would never underestimate you. It wasn't the corporation's welfare I was concerned about. Trust me, releasing Benson will ensure not only yours and my safety but that of everyone involved."
She snorted. "Which still sounds like you're underestimating me." Catherine pursed her already thin lips and glared at him. "You're asking a lot, Malcolm. I'm not going to enquire what sort of a deal you've struck with that arsehole. I can guess the leverage you employed. Just tell me this much: is it real?"
"Yes."
She took a deep breath. "God bless Lara. What a tragic loss."
Malcolm could only agree. He refrained from reminding her that the tragedy didn't end with Lara. There was no point. Catherine knew that only too well.
At length, she said, "There's not another soul in the universe, corporeal or virtual, I'd trust to this extent. You do know that, don't you?"
"Yes."
"On the other hand, what's the point in employing a genius if you don't listen to their advice? Very well, I'll do as you ask. Benson can go free - after he suffers a few choice words from me - and I'll even smooth out the matter of his release with Leyton and the habitat folk."
"Thank you."
"You'd better be right about this."
"I am," he replied, and hoped his conviction was justified.
"One more thing. Your concern for my welfare is all very touching, but I've lived a long life in an environment that's as cutthroat as they come. I'm a tough old bird, Malcolm, not that easy to get rid of. Don't you forget it."
He smiled. "How could I ever do that?"
Things had changed. The Rebellion had long gone, having disappeared back to the habitat's final refuge, an outpost known as Far Flung. Leyton had no idea where this was, nor did he wish to know. He and Kethi had new identities and were part of a network of habitat personnel scattered across the ULAW worlds.
They stayed in touch through Virtuality, utilising the realm of veils even as their enemies did. Both sides must have been aware of the other's presence, but they ignored it, adhering to the fragile peace of stalemate.
He and Kethi saw a fair bit of Malcolm Kaufman, or at least versions of him. There were more clones of Malcolm than Leyton cared to think about, and that bothered him for some reason. He didn't really know Malcolm Kaufman, and to have so many versions of this acknowledged genius in virtual form struck him as unnatural and vaguely dangerous, though not for any reason he could justify.
As yet, the Byrzaen influence on human society had been as minimal and benign as promised, though Leyton didn't trust that and still felt this smacked of invasion through the back door. For now, the habitat watched and waited - something they were well versed in. Leyton, on the other hand, wasn't, and he chafed to be doing something more proactive. He knew that Catherine Chzyski had some hold over Benson, but she refused to specify what it was, and his ignorance on the subject was a further frustration. Leyton's biggest fear was that, while they might have the upper hand for now, the faction within ULAW that Benson represented wouldn't be taking the
ir reversal on Home lying down. If the habitat and their allies remained passive for too long, Benson would find some way of outmanoeuvring them.
In her new identity, Kethi had helped establish and was vigorously promoting a pressure group demanding greater transparency in all dealings with the Byrzaens. Their lobbying had caught the media's attention and it was producing results, all of which Leyton applauded; he just wished they could do more. Anything that might keep ULAW and the Byrzaens off-balance he would have jumped at.
Kethi's ongoing analysis of events suggested that the 'accidents' and murder of key individuals had stopped, which was something, at least; although Leyton wished they could be certain this wasn't due to the assassination programme having been completed rather than anything else. That was the problem. There were so many unknowns; too many for his peace of mind.
He was on his way to a meeting with Malcolm, a new version only recently cloned, who would have the latest intel on ULAW activities, which Kethi was anxiously waiting on. The clone might even have something productive for Leyton to do. Unlikely, but he could always hope.
Malcolm had been keeping himself busy. He was increasingly called upon in his role as 'consultant' for Kaufman Industries. He was enjoying his involvement in his old firm enormously, having been starved of such diversions during Philip's time as CEO. In the meantime, cloned versions of him had spread to every corner of human space, just as he'd warned Benson they would. Odd, but he still thought of himself - the Malcolm Kaufman that remained on Home - as the real Malcolm, and suspected that every other version felt the same about themselves. Was his point of view any more valid than that of the others? This line of thought held the potential for an introspective spiral of philosophical pointlessness, so he determined not to go there.
The snippet of coding he'd revealed to Benson was next to nothing. It had to be. He didn't want ULAW or the Byrzaens perfecting a countermeasure before the virus was ever deployed, but at the same time he'd needed them to take him seriously. A delicate balance, but one he felt he'd got right. Malcolm was nothing like the coding expert Lara Chenin had been, but nor was he a novice. Now a Sword of Damocles hung suspended over both civilisations. A situation that couldn't last forever perhaps, but it would hold everything in check for a good while, hopefully long enough for the two races to learn to work together, and for Malcolm that was enough.
Ever since he transcended, he had been fascinated by his own emotional responses. In his former corporeal self, the levels and balance of specific chemicals were key in determining his mood. In his subsequent uploaded state, these had been replaced by the triggering of analogous coding. Superficially, his emotions felt the same as they always had, but the more he studied the issue the more convinced he became that this wasn't strictly true. His feelings were a great deal simpler and clearer than they had been in the physical world. It was something he intended to examine in more detail at some point. The real question, of course, was whether or not this less complex emotional palette was desirable. Did it make him any less human, or was it a welcome improvement - did it facilitate less confused and therefore more efficient responses?
Excitement was always an intriguing one. He'd rarely experienced that particular emotional state since adopting a virtual form. He'd been intrigued and perhaps a little excited by the advent of the Byrzaens and the opportunity to study an entirely new form of science, to discover an alien culture. He'd enjoyed no end the time spent recently with Kyle as they stripped down one of The Rebellion's off-line drive units. They did so in order to study the technology involved in converting the radically different energies of the veils into something that could propel objects between the stars. But not even these had excited him in quite the way that he remembered.
Yet now, as he waited on the arrival of the latest ship from New Paris, he was closer to that tingling, can't-wait, cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof fidgetiness that he could recall from his corporeal days than he'd been in a long while. Malcolm kept telling himself that he needn't feel guilty. He hadn't actually lied to his son. His only sin had been one of omission - he'd failed to correct an assumption. It was perfectly logical for Philip to have supposed that Malcolm had left a clone of himself on New Paris, but he hadn't. Not of himself.
"Hello, Malcolm," the latest arrival from New Paris greeted him.
"Hello, son," he replied. "Welcome home."
Being fresh from New Paris, Philip had none of his predecessor's knowledge or experience, though he'd picked up a few things along the way. Malcolm had to teach him a lot of stuff all over again, which brought with it a poignant sense of déjà-vu, as he repeated many of the same lessons and shared similar moments. Not that he begrudged a single second. After all, time was hardly an issue, and it wasn't so long ago that his son wouldn't have allowed him to get close at all. Besides, the repeat performance enabled Malcolm to exercise more discretion and be selective about what was taught and what was omitted.
He studiously brought Philip up to speed on most things, but not quite everything. He firmly believed that a father had a duty to protect his son. The least he could do was spare Philip the burden of the doomsday virus. Malcolm suddenly realised that this Philip would only have known Lara Chenin as part of team that worked on his precious 'project,' and wouldn't have met Tanya at all. The flirtatious bodyguard hadn't reappeared since Philip's 'death' and presumably wouldn't again, her services no longer required. Both had been impressive and formidable women in their own way.
As far as Malcolm could see, there was no reason Philip should ever be aware of the question that haunted his father's thoughts more often than not: to use or not to use. No, the responsibility of deciding the fate of two civilisations would remain Malcolm's alone. After all, the universe only needed one god.
Also by Ian Whates
The Noise Within
The Gift of Joy
The Bitten Word
The Mammoth Book of Alternative History
(edited with Ian Watson)
Acknowledgements
I've had great fun writing the two Noise books - just as well, considering they represent an investment of a year and a half of my life - and can only hope that people enjoy reading them. Writing is often described as a solitary vocation, sitting alone staring at a screen and tapping away. True enough, in as far as it goes, but this series, for one, wouldn't have happened without support from a number of people who merit recognition.
First and foremost I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Helen, who accepts being a keyboard widow with grace and understanding, and is more supportive than I have any right to expect or deserve. Then there is Ian Watson, whose advice and input have been invaluable, especially with the first book. It was Ian who suggested naming the pirate vessel The Noise Within, for example, effectively providing the novel with its title. A debt of gratitude is also owed to Andy West, whose technical input for this second volume has helped me avoid making an even greater fool of myself with aspects of Virtuality. More thanks are due to the members of the Northampton SF Writers Group, who workshopped assorted chapters of both novels (three from the first, two from the second) and made a number of useful criticisms and suggestions.
I'm deeply indebted to George Mann, Mark Newton and Christian Dunn of Black Library, who were brave enough (feel free to replace with either 'farsighted' or 'foolhardy,' depending on your opinion of the books) to commission two novels from a debut novelist based on a sample chapter, a synopsis, and a history of short story sales, to literary agent John Jarrold for facilitating the deal, and to Jonathan Oliver and Jenni Hill at Rebellion for seeing the process through to its conclusion.
Thanks to Dominic Harman for coming up with such bloody brilliant cover art, and, finally, to all those who have blogged, reviewed and emailed to say how much they enjoyed The Noise Within. Such feedback and support means a heck of a lot. After all, without readers, writing really would be a solitary existence.
Ian Whates
August 2010
Indicia
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Part Two
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Also by Ian Whates
Acknowledgements
