The Codex File (2012)

by Miles Etherton

  “These images will save you. The violent ones will only destroy you.”

  Clutching the picture frame tightly to his chest the first tears rolled down his reddened cheeks.

  They’d taken everything from him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  2nd August 2000

  First dates were always the worst. Everyone knew it. A combination of excitement and apprehension, all rolled into one. An emotional rollercoaster where you never knew whether you were going to be talking all night, or hoping you could make your excuses because of some unforeseen invented ‘crisis’ after an hour.

  Exhaling loudly, and looking at his watch for the fourth time in the last two minutes, Michael realised he didn’t have a ‘crisis’ thought up should the need arise. Sighing, he knew the niceties of the dating game were largely lost on him. He just hoped the same was true of Colette Matthews.

  As her name crossed his mind he felt the butterflies flutter in his stomach again. Butterflies for why this beautiful woman had agreed to go on a date with him. And butterflies as to whether she’d actually turn up at all.

  They’d been quite drunk when they’d met at a mutual friend’s party the weekend before. Maybe in the waking moments of her hangover the following morning she’d realised her mistake, cursing her drunken stupidity at arranging to meet him at a pub the following week. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been stood up he thought dejectedly as the time moved on to 7.40. She was ten minutes late.

  Closing his eyes for a moment, rubbing away the tiredness of another tedious day in insurance, he began to remember what had attracted him to her. Although the question was really what hadn’t attracted him to her. She’d been perfect. From the allure of subtle Chanel perfume, to a sharp and articulate mind, to the long cascading dark brown hair that fell just below her shoulders.

  But in the short four days since they’d first met he still couldn’t escape one inevitable question: why hadn’t someone else snapped her up?

  In contrast, the same question for him seemed far easier to answer. His last girlfriend had told him in no uncertain terms that he was too stubborn and possessive for her. He’d never quite been able to reconcile ‘clingy’, her exact words. In his mind this just meant wanting to take care of her. It certainly didn’t mean he wanted to hide her away from friends and other potential suitors as she’d implied.

  Things hadn’t been working out for a while, and maybe it was just an easy tag to use. But somewhere deep down, he worried whether she was right. Was he too clingy? And if so, would Colette Matthews see that in him? Would it put her off?

  Assuming she ever turns up, he thought with a sigh, looking round the quiet pub. Wednesday’s were never busy in the Crown in Hersham. Just a handful of regulars propped up at the bar, wearing out the same bar seat they’d been perched in for years. Exchanging old anecdotes with the landlord as he wiped the damp bartop.

  Taking the final gulp from his half pint of bitter Michael got up from his chair as the clock ticked onto 7.45. Clearly she’d had second thoughts he decided, nodding thanks to the landlord as he headed for the exit.

  Reaching out for the door to the pub, it gently swung inwards as a tall woman in her late 20s stood in the doorway, rain dripping off her long brown hair. Michael looked into Colette Matthew’s large brown eyes, a slight look of concern glinting through a relieved smile.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said, closing the door behind her, brushing the rain from her beige coat. “The traffic was murder coming out of Guildford. I think there was an accident on the Hog’s Back because of the rain. Everything else was gridlocked as a result.”

  Taking a step back Michael smiled warmly, thrilled that she’d kept their date, but conscious not to seem too pleased. Not too ‘clingy’.

  I’m useless at this he thought as Colette looked squarely at him, her smile dropping slightly.

  “You weren’t going, were you?” she said finally as Michael shuffled nervously backwards.

  “Er, well, yes, I was actually. I thought you’d stood me up,” Michael said with some embarrassment. “It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to me. I thought maybe you’d changed your mind. We had had quite a lot to drink at Gary’s party.”

  Colette touched Michael gently on the arm, her large brown eyes reflecting the smile beaming on her lips.

  “Don’t be silly. I wanted to see you again. You were by far the most interesting person there. It would have been a pretty poor party if you’d hadn’t been there.”

  Michael felt the butterflies in his stomach dance again at Colette’s compliment before it was replaced with a feeling of exhilaration. Not only was she beautiful, but she’d found him interesting too.

  After buying the drinks, a pint of bitter for him and a white wine spritzer for Colette, the two of them sat at a low table in front of the open fire that was unlit. The minutes seemed to fly by as they whistled through the small talk first, getting used to each other’s company, before moving onto sharing stories about their mutual friends and the circumstances through which they’d met.

  A colleague of Michael’s at the insurance firm, Gary, had been celebrating his birthday. Michael knew from experience that this always involved copious amounts of alcohol and food. Normally Gary’s parties were one of the social highlights of the year. But this party had been a bit flat. The rumour going round was that Gary had been having an affair and that his wife had just found out. If it was true they were both surprised Gary’s wife, Linda, had agreed to the party, nevermind act as hostess. Maybe it was all just scurrilous gossip after all. Gary had certainly never confided such a secret in him. But they both agreed there’d been a definite atmosphere.

  But in the midst of this awkwardness Michael had met Colette. She’d been invited by one of Linda’s friend, Liz, who she worked with. And in Gary’s back garden, next to a smoking barbecue they’d met and got chatting. And here they were now, four days later, still talking.

  “Come on then, I’ve got to ask,” Colette said with a wicked smile. “The question everyone dreads on a first date. Why are you still single? I must admit I was surprised, although pleasantly, when you invited me for a drink. I felt sure you must have had a girlfriend stored away somewhere.”

  Michael smiled, looking down in slight embarrassment at Colette’s forwardness.

  “Well, I was seeing someone until last summer. We’d been together for four years. It was a long distance relationship as I was living and working down here. She was working in Manchester so we only saw each other at weekends. The crunch came when I suggested that maybe I should look for a job up North and that we consider moving in together. Let’s just say the prospect of that made her reconsider her options, and reconsider us. Not long after that we split.”

  Colette nodded, sipping her white wine spritzer.

  “Do you think she was seeing someone else up there?” she said flatly, putting the glass down on the table.

  Involuntarily, Michael raised an eyebrow, surprised at the directness of the question. Colette read the expression on his face and leant forward slightly.

  “Oops, I’m sorry. One of my biggest faults, as my last boyfriend liked to remind me, is that sometimes I can be a bit too direct. I hope you’re not offended. It can be useful at work. But sometimes I think I should leave it there.”

  Michael smiled broadly, looking into her face, her light skin contrasting with the darkness of her hair which she’d pushed back behind her ears. Despite all his male urges telling him to do so, he kept his gaze steadfastly on her face, resisting the temptation to peer into her cleavage which was on display since she’d leant in.

  “No, it’s OK. It’s a fair question. I don’t think so. But who knows? She never gave me any reason to think so.”

  Colette nodded, leaning back into her chair.

  “I’m pleased. The only reason I ask is that my previous boyfriend was seeing someone behind my back. He always denied it. But I knew. The woman always does. Unfortunately, the d
istrust from there meant any lingering relationship we had soon went as well. I can put up with a lot of things, but the one thing I can’t stand is secrecy. I think I could have almost forgiven the affair. At least that’s what I told myself in more charitable moments. It was the secrets I couldn’t stand. I’ve always felt like that about things.”

  Michael nodded, slightly worried that the conversation had veered onto failed relationships. At least they seemed on a similar footing emotionally he thought, looking into her deep brown eyes. Tracing an imaginary line down her pale skin from her eyes to her mouth he watched her lips as she spoke, wondering whether he’d ever kiss them.

  Snapping himself out of his silent appreciation he quickly moved the subject onto something else.

  “So, tell me a bit more about your job. I remember from the party you said it was something to do with computers. I must be honest, I can’t remember too much more than that.”

  Colette laughed, fiddling with her hair as she leant in towards him again.

  “That’s OK. Not even my oldest friends really understand what I do. I’m a project manager for a company called SW Technologies, or Semantic Web Technologies if you want it in full. Basically, we develop software and hardware that uses semantic web technologies.”

  Michael nodded, although his expression soon gave away his lack of understanding.

  Colette smiled, holding his gaze for a few moments.

  “OK, the simple version is that the semantic web applies an intelligence to information that you can read and share, for example via social networking tools on the internet. Long term this means things like web pages, applications and databases will be able to be more intuitively linked, allowing for better and more useful and personalised information to be made available to web users. It’s an exciting area. One I think’s going to change a lot in the coming years. And if this new guy, Marcus McCoy, ever becomes Prime Minister then things are really going to change. We can probably all say goodbye to the internet as we know it, as he’ll probably ban it if you believe what you read.”

  Michael nodded, reaching for his pint of bitter. The election of the new leader of the opposition, Dr Marcus McCoy, had been all over the news for weeks. Since his victory in his party’s leadership contest he’d started hinting at what his manifesto pledges were likely to be. Top of the list was banning access to the internet because of the increasing level of illegal sites still popping up everywhere, and the surge of terrorist cells using the web as a means to recruit members. Tomorrow’s suicide bombers.

  There was some logic in the pledge, but still no detail on what might replace it. Just the preliminary findings of an independent political think tank recommending an overhaul of online access in the UK.

  “It makes insurance broking sound very dull in comparison,” he said, sipping from his glass.

  Colette laughed, pushing her hair back behind her ears again.

  “Well, maybe. But we all need insurance, don’t we?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Michael said, smiling back. “At least I understand the world of insurance. I’m ashamed to say computers and the internet are a bit of mystery to me.”

  “I’ll have to teach you then,” Colette replied quickly, and for a lingering moment they held each other’s gaze, both processing the commitment beyond the first date she’d just made.

  “Would you like another drink?” Michael finally asked, breaking the moment.

  “Just a tonic water,” Colette replied, reaching for her handbag. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Rising from his seat and approaching the bar, Michael watched as Colette headed for the toilet. His gaze traced a line up her legs as he took in her full figure. Smiling he turned to face the barman, confident this wouldn’t be their last date.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The screen flickered for a moment and snapped into life. Michael sat back in his chair, the instruction manual in his lap. The TV, if you could call it that now, had been a coming home present from both sets of parents. Their old TV had been on the blink for months before Colette had been…

  Stopping himself going down that road again, he picked up the manual.

  It was a nice thought. But this was no ordinary TV as the manual was at pains to point out. This was eCitTV. In fact half-way through the manual the word TV had only been mentioned once, and that was on the cover. The rest of the manual was continually promoting the benefits of ‘content’ and ‘integration’ and, of course, the 5GSW platform. Michael read from the page open in his lap:

  “After your 5GSW device is connected and you have registered your personal details and interests, customised content will begin downloading to your own secure personal device portal.”

  Michael frowned at the alien language: ‘5GSW’, ‘downloading’, ‘personal device portal’. It was clear that the use of ‘TV’ in the product name and cover of the manual was only to provide something recognisable and less intimidating for the digitally uninitiated like himself. He could handle the concept of TV, even digital TV channels, but ‘personal device portals’ and ‘customised content‘ rather than channels all seemed too much. None of this had been possible before Colette’s death and his stay in the care home.

  Michael looked at the slimline flat screen, reading the large white lettering that appeared.

  ‘Please enter your IP address and registration serial code.’

  He looked quizzically at the screen.

  What the hell is an IP address?

  Halfway down the second page of the manual he found his IP address and registration serial code.

  He’d always been one of those frustratingly annoying people who wanted to know and understand everything. He’d been the child who had always asked one more question than anyone else. Even when the teacher had exhausted their explanation he would always be the one dissenting voice.

  But why does it do that?

  But what does that mean?

  Several paragraphs later in the manual he found the information he was looking for.

  ‘The IP address can be considered as your Intranet telephone number. This, for example, allows web pages and email to know exactly where to go.’

  He frowned a little, frustrated at how vague and patronising the explanation was. Turning back to the IP address and serial code, Michael reached for the sophisticated glossy black control panel that accompanied the ‘TV’.

  Before it had happened there had been remote controls. But now that had all changed. The remote had been replaced by the hi-tech, all-purpose, eCitTV control panel. The black console resembled a tablet computer, elegantly curved at the edges with a responsive screen that you barely had to touch to get the desired response. The screen’s number pad appeared to be where content selection was to be made from. Above the alphabet keys were further buttons which read: ‘Web’, ‘Email’, ‘Music’, ‘Video’, Social Networking’, ‘Shopping’ and ‘Your Money’.

  Were ‘TV programmes’ under ‘Video’ he wondered with slight confusion?

  Carefully, and instinctively pointing the control panel at the screen, he keyed in his eight digit IP address and registration serial code. The black screen flickered again and the message changed.

  ‘Please complete the following details to initialise your UKCitizensNet email set-up.’

  Further boxes appeared on the screen asking for the number of users connecting to UKCitizensNet, their full names, and National Insurance numbers.

  Tapping the ‘Enter’ key on the console Michael watched as his details vanished from the screen. For a few long moments the screen was blank.

  Great, the damn thing’s not working

  He flicked through the instruction manual for the Troubleshooting section. But before he could find the page he wanted the screen burst into life.

  “Hello and welcome to UKCitizensNet, the UK’s new online network. The network by and for the people of this country, brought to you via eCitTV.

  Michael looked up to see the smiling face of a smartly-d
ressed woman. Long dark hair framed her young tanned features. Behind her was a wall of screens. A kaleidoscope of the UKCitizensNet logo and various channels pumping out their 24-hour content. The smiling woman continued.

  “You have entered the age of fully integrated, fifth generation semantic web-enabled online digital entertainment. Come with us and discover how you can take advantage of what UKCitizensNet offers you.”

  The woman paused, her smile unaltered.

  “Please be ready to take down the email addresses of everyone you registered with us.”

  Still smiling smugly into the camera, and without any discernible break in the promotional announcement, she revealed Michael’s UKCitizensNet email address.

  “Thank you Michael Robertson. Your UKCitizensNet email address is mrobertson@ser56.ecit.”

  Michael’s jaw dropped as he scribbled down the address as it scrolled along the bottom of the screen.

  That was pretty clever he thought, putting his pen down. How on earth could the woman in this pre-recorded video know his name? Say his name? And then add it into a freshly created email address?

  But then there was a lot he didn’t understand about the wonders of digital and online technologies. Or this new phenomenon that seemed to be everywhere he read, including on his new ‘TV’ - fifth generation semantic web, or 5GSW for short.

  At the bottom of the screen two further options appeared: ‘Learn more about UKCitizensNet’ and ‘Select content channel’.

  By now his interest in UKCitizensNet had been aroused. But in his own mind he couldn’t be sure whether it was loyalty to Colette as her work had been internet-related. Or maybe it was sheer wonder at new technology?

  Without even considering the option, he opted to learn more about UKCitizensNet and the smiling woman again appeared on the screen.