The London Project (Portal Book 1)

by Mark J Maxwell

  Bill took his terminal out of his pocket. He pinched the top-right and bottom-left corners and gently pulled them apart. As he did so the polished screen shimmered, rippling gently like the surface of a lake. The terminal grew proportionally. Bill increased its size to the maximum permitted, which was around eight by twelve inches.

  The ability to resize the terminals was introduced around a year after the London Project got the green light. When two corners were simultaneously compressed millions of mechanochemical assemblers spewed forth fabricated molecules bound together by Van der Walls attraction, to reform the terminal’s physical structure. It could be reduced in size in a similar manner—the mechanosynthesis facilitating the dispersal of the molecules. The assembler factories also could self-repair—fixing all but the most severely damaged terminals, and were responsible for the upgrading of terminals to new revisions. Gone were the days of Portal having to ship out new devices. A background nanoware update could be sent across the network directing the mechanochemical assemblers to reform the device. Overnight your terminal would be upgraded, including any physical alterations the new design specified.

  The screen shimmered again as Bill released the corners and it reverted to its solid, polished form. He connected to the NHS Subnet and opened the MRI scan of Claire’s brain. It showed a side view as if it had been sliced down its vertical axis. From Louisa’s perspective, it appeared as a flat image on the screen but as Bill slid the device in front of her the terminal scanned for her viewing angle and used its pico projector to tight-beam an altered version of the image directly into her retinas. Now the image appeared to rise out of the screen into three dimensions.

  ‘Initially I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but I knew the anomaly was there so I refined the magnetic field gradient. Here’s an updated rendition.’

  Bill reached over and tapped an icon. The brain slowly faded away but as it did so a bright white dot came into focus at its base. As the rest of the brain darkened around it, the dot grew into a narrow white line that stretched upwards into the center of the brain. The line twisted and folded around itself, faster and faster until it had grown to the size and shape of a walnut. Louisa thought it had stopped but abruptly a line burst outwards, growing and splitting, first once then again and again, until it had formed an intricate tree-like structure.

  Louisa raised her right hand and swept it slowly to the left, spinning the image around. The terminal had agitated the air molecules before Louisa using ultrasound waves, so she felt a resistance with her fingertips as she ‘touched’ the three-dimensional image hanging before her.

  ‘What you’re seeing is a foreign body that has permeated the structure of the girl’s brain,’ Bill said. ‘After a certain point the scan results aren’t of a high enough resolution to pick it up, but it’s still there.’

  ‘You’re saying this thing is spread throughout her entire brain?’ Louisa asked, with a mixture of horror and fascination.

  ‘I am. It starts, or terminates depending on the way you want to look at it, at the base of the medulla before it connects to the spinal cord. From there, it travels up and integrates itself with the thalmus. That’s the central concentration you can see. It then penetrates all the subject’s lobes and even enters the cerebellum. I took a cell sample for an initial analysis but the results were inconclusive.’

  ‘Bill, what is this thing?’

  ‘It’s cellular based. From the limited equipment I have here in the lab, I know that much at least. The cells appear to be neurons. It explains why they’re hard to isolate in the MRI. But there are some key differences.’

  Bill brought up a new scan. The black and white image was of an irregularly shaped mass with a dark spot in its centre. A number of thin tendrils snaked out of it.

  ‘This is a magnified scan of the foreign neuron. Do you see this thread-like extrusion from the cell body?’ Bill pointed at one of the thicker tendrils. Louisa nodded. ‘It’s called an axon. Normally there should be only one per neuron but these cells all have three. That sort of abnormality could point to a neurological disorder but I don’t believe that’s the case here as they’re behaving in an ordered manner.’

  ‘What do you mean, ordered?’

  ‘Axons are used by the neurons to transfer electrical impulses to other parts of the body. In the case of these cells the axons have grouped themselves into a nerve bundle, which is the basis of the branching structure I showed you. It’s like they’ve combined to form their own sub-system within the brain.’

  ‘Do you know what their purpose is?’

  ‘If they were restricted to a certain area within the brain I could make a guess. But the invasion is so extensive I can’t do that. However I do believe they’re synthetic.’

  ‘Synthetic? You mean they’re manmade? Someone stuck this thing into her brain?’

  ‘Yes, but the structure couldn’t have been inserted there in its current form. It’s too well integrated to have been achieved without significant damage to the surrounding tissue and I can’t see any evidence of that. I think it was grown into her brain and its starting point was the discolouration in the medulla, close to the base of the skull.’

  ‘Bringing us back to the contusion,’ Louisa said.

  ‘Correct. Unfortunately I can’t say with any certainty the removal of whatever was inserted there led directly to the haemorrhage. I will say that it is entirely possible the two events are linked given the occurrence of the breach in the vascular membranes so soon after the wound to the base of the skull.’

  She tapped on the image of the cell. ‘How do we find out what this is?’

  He thought about it for a moment. ‘I might know a colleague who can help. I studied medicine with him but after graduation he took up a research post at the university so we lost touch. He was in a medical journal I read recently, making a fortune in genetics. I’ll send him some of the cell samples.’

  ‘Did you run a tox screen on her blood?’

  ‘Yes, it came back clean, apart from a muscle relaxant commonly used in surgery to induce paralysis.’

  ‘She had surgery recently?’

  ‘It’s possible. Perhaps whatever was torn out from the base of her skull had been inserted surgically.’

  It was another indication Claire had been in contact with a surgical professional. Had Claire been involved in a medical experiment which went wrong? There were several companies based in London that conducted medical trials. They were popular with students, offering some quick cash for trying out new drugs and medical procedures.

  ‘Was there anything on her skin? On her face in particular?’

  ‘No, not even make-up. As I said this morning, she was scrubbed clean. Was there something you were hoping to find?’

  Louisa debated whether to tell Bill about Baz Waters, but she didn’t want to see the same skeptical look the two DIs had given her. Instead she shook her head. ‘What about DNA? Do we have any traces?’

  ‘I checked her hands, under the fingernails—all negative for third-party DNA.’

  ‘And sexual contact? Did you find anything to indicate she had intercourse recently?’

  ‘I think we can rule out the prostitution theory. Unless the profession has changed dramatically without my knowledge.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She was a virgin.’

  Louisa took a moment to digest that. ‘Bill, why do I get the feeling your report isn’t going to offer anything conclusive?’

  ‘At this stage, I’m afraid it’s an open verdict. There’s too much we don’t know.’

  First CADET comes up with nothing on the girl and now this? Once a case file was opened a twenty-four hour timer started counting down. When it expired DI Fuller automatically received a summary of the case file’s progress. If he got a whiff the case was going to drag on or become unsolvable then he would do his best to shunt it out of his unit. His first priority was to keep his case file closing stats within the boundaries set by his superiors,
and their ultimate superiors in the Home Office. An open verdict was the last thing she needed.

  ‘Do me a favour,’ Louisa said, ‘make sure the link between the neck contusion and the haemorrhage is given prominence in the report, would you?’

  Bill nodded. ‘Sure.’ He picked up the jar and headed back to the theatre.

  Louisa could only hope it would buy her more time if she came under pressure from the DI. She chewed on a fingernail, a stress habit she’d tried in vain to quash. If there was a chance someone had caused the haemorrhage that killed Claire, even inadvertently, then she could argue the case should remain assigned to SCD1. It was a tenuous argument at best, but for the moment it was all she had.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The dashboard icon had been blinking incessantly for about a minute now.

  I’ll have to tap it soon…but not yet.

  Louisa was parked outside her ex-husband’s house. Selecting the icon would send a visitor notification to John’s profile via the house’s Portal interface. Then she’d have to slip into the smiling-until-your-face-cramped act she put on for John and his new wife. So she leaned back, closed her eyes, and tried to let some of the day’s tension drift away.

  Rick had called soon after she left Bill’s office. His trawl of the shelters hadn’t produced anything of note and he’d called it a day. Louisa wanted to do the same but someone needed to make an official statement to the press. She stopped by DI Fuller’s office beforehand to see if he wanted to host the briefing, but when he learned of the impasse in the investigation he instructed her to proceed without him. It was no big surprise—he’d only show his face to the media if it was beneficial to his career, and so far Claire’s case wasn’t likely to gain anyone a promotion.

  The briefing room had space for at least fifty journalists. Four people physically turned up, although on the screen before the podium Louisa noted a few hundred attendees attending remotely, made up from newscast reporters and high-ranking personal profiles. The latter group vastly outnumbered the newscast profiles. Portal liked to reward users who attracted a large number of subscribers to their feeds. They granted them early access to new profile extensions and allowed them to attend events normally restricted to journalists, like the MET media briefings. It increased the exposure for the MET, as some of the personal profiles had subscriber levels far exceeding the more conventional newscasts. And if there was one thing the MET command wanted above all, it was more Portal exposure.

  Her initial statement covered what they knew about Claire. In other words—not much. She was deliberately vague on the PM results, knowing if the media came to the conclusion the death was of natural causes the story would vanish from the news feeds overnight. Then the questions flashed up on the screen. She answered the ones that were voted up the most: no, they didn’t have any suspects in custody; no, she didn’t know why the girl had so many wounds all over her body; no, there wasn’t any drugs paraphernalia found at the scene. Louisa brought the briefing to a close then, hoping the last question would linger in the thoughts of the attendees.

  Ignoring the flashing icon’s demand for attention once more, Louisa checked the news feeds. Her investigation was there all right, but it wasn’t ranking highly. The top feeds were concerned with Portal’s imminent expansion throughout the UK and the new terminal nanoware revision due out in a few weeks. The peaking feeds would remain static unless something majorly newsworthy happened like a plane crash or a natural disaster.

  Blink…blink…blink.

  It was time to put her ‘game face’ on. That’s what Sergeant Stokes had always called it. He’d been her sergeant when she’d first joined the MET and his first piece of advice to her was: ‘Don’t bring the job home to the wife and kids’. John’s gender didn’t matter to the sergeant. Stokes still referred to him as ‘the wife’. It made her smile, even years later. Stokes blamed the job for his two failed marriages—never mind the fact he was a crotchety old bastard. She could only imagine what it would have been like to be married to him. But as well-meaning as his advice had been, it still hadn’t saved her marriage.

  After a few moments Louisa did feel more relaxed. Her thoughts and concerns hadn’t disappeared entirely but they were muted, stuffed into the back of her mind and walled off. It was good enough. She’d spent enough time dithering outside anyway. John and Abigail are going to look out a window, see you sitting in the car, and wonder if you’ve finally snapped. John would love that. He was just waiting for her to fall apart without him. His disposition towards her had soured further of late, if such a thing was even possible. She’d caught him staring at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. A thoughtful, measuring stare she recognised from when he was working out how to screw another barrister in court. Is he starting to regret giving up custody of the kids? Surely not. It wasn’t as if he spent a lot of time with them during their fortnightly weekend visits. Abigail definitely wouldn’t want the kids around the house all the time cramping her style, would she? A flicker of doubt spurred her into motion and she tapped the icon.

  A few seconds later Abigail’s voice rang out. ‘Hi Louisa, come on up. The kids are getting ready.’

  A small fracture wormed its way into her fragile state of composure. Handling job stress was one thing, but having to deal with your ex’s twenty-two year old wife was quite another. Louisa was terrified a cutting remark from John or a mocking laugh from Abigail would disintegrate her calm in a storm of resentment, turning her into an emotional freak show. The thought of herself ranting and raving at John in front of the kids with Abigail sharing the whole awful scene on one of her public feeds was almost too much to bear. Abigail had one of those irritating voices that sounded like she’d just finished laughing every time she said something. Louisa imagined men would find it appealing enough. They probably thought she was a breath of fresh air—fun to be around and full of positivity. Not at all like their boring, constantly complaining wives. Maybe she had just finished laughing—a big belly laugh at how she landed a rich husband and a big house with a ready-made family of two kids she never saw long enough to get sick of and…shit—there’s the resentment, right on queue.

  Every so often she’d be sitting alone in the apartment, the kids off somewhere, and an evil little voice would whisper how she’d made a big mistake, John wasn’t so bad, and maybe they could have a long talk and work everything out and things could all go back to the way they’d been before. Back when they’d been happy. Then she’d be collecting the kids after their agreed-upon visit and John would appear with Abigail on the doorstep like some lifestyle feed’s depiction of domestic bliss. He’d make a big display of showing how deliriously happy they were. He’d kiss Jess and Charlie and wave goodbye and all the time smiling and hugging Abigail. At that point Louisa would realise again how big a jerk he really was. She kept telling herself to regard these trips as therapy. Just think of the money you’re saving. You could be paying a fortune to some shrink to make you realise how miserable life had been before the divorce and instead you get to do this for free.

  Louisa parked at the front door facing back down the driveway in case she needed to make a quick getaway. When the door opened and Abigail appeared by herself some of Louisa’s tension melted away. As therapeutic as John and Abigail’s displays might be, she was glad she didn’t have to experience one tonight.

  Abigail waved and smiled, teeth flashing, and Louisa waved back with a forced grin. Abigail helped Charlie on with his coat and then wrapped her arms around him, rocking him from side to side in a big hug as she exclaimed how wonderful it was to have them over to her home and how she would see them again really soon. Louisa’s jaw started to ache and she forced herself to unclench. Charlie broke free of her clutches, ran to the car and climbed into the back seat.

  Jess appeared then and as Abigail turned to hug her she ducked under Abigail’s open arms and made a beeline for the car. Beautiful, Louisa thought, and then felt a flash of guilt as Abigail’s bright smile faltered.
She actually looked a little hurt. Louisa liked to think of Abigail as a one-dimensional caricature of a husband-stealing bitch. It was hard to picture her as a normal human being with feelings. But Abigail regained her composure quickly enough and her smile returned.

  As soon as Jess had got into the car Louisa started the engine. Any more of a delay and Abigail might decide to walk over and have a ‘nice chat’, which she wanted to avoid at all costs. With a final wave she set off down the driveway.

  As Louisa turned onto the street the car connected to the Traffic Subnet and the dashboard updated to reflect the new interface. When she selected the home icon the windscreen darkened and VANS, Portal’s Vehicular Automated Navigation System, flashed up the most efficient route as an overlay on the windscreen map. She flicked it back to manual after a quick look to check if there were any diversions or traffic jams on-route. It always annoyed her that she never could get the thing to select manual drive by default.

  Most of the windscreen overlay faded away as she took control, allowing her a clear view outside. The kids teased her regularly about her driving, calling her a ‘throwback’ and telling her how no-one drove themselves around these days. They reeled off the well-publicised Traffic Subnet accident stats illustrating how safer it was for the car to self-drive using VANS. Her insurance company definitely thought so. Her last premium had been sky-high because of the amount of manual driving hours she’d logged since the last renewal.

  Louisa looked at the kids in the rear-view mirror. ‘So, how was your weekend?’

  Silence. Both Jess and Charlie had their ear-buds in and terminals switched on, the glow illuminating their faces. ‘Anyone? Last chance, you guys.’

  When no response was forthcoming she activated the parental controls extension and cut off Portal access for the pair.

  Charlie’s response was instantaneous. ‘Mom! I’m in the middle of a game!’

  ‘This is an abuse of my rights,’ Jessica chimed in. ‘It’s against the law to restrict Portal access. I’m reporting you to child services!’