Miles Fleming had never been this far north before. Three years ago he and Rob had gone to Alaska to climb Denali, the highest mountain in North America. Soames's jet had already flown over the Alaska range on its 2,500-mile flight from San Francisco to Fairbanks. From there they had taken the helicopter into the Arctic region towards the Brooks mountain range and the oil fields of Prudhoe Bay and Point Mclntyre.
'You'll see the Foundation soon,' Soames said, beside him, pointing out of the tinted helicopter windows to the white-capped mountains piercing the clouds below. A few miles to the east lies the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, but my grandfather bought most of the mountains you can see to your left. Aeons ago they were under the sea. Formed from marine rock, they contain huge deposits of petroleum. My grandfather created Alascon Oil but it was my father who built up the company after the big oil strikes in the sixties and seventies. He perfected the process of drilling through the mountain core. It made his fortune, which, of course, formed the basis of mine.
'When he died I sold Alascon to BP to fund Optrix but kept about a thousand acres. I like it here; the climate agrees with me. From November to early February the sun doesn't rise at all, which is ideal. And in the summer, well, I don't go out much and privacy is never a problem here.'
Fleming looked down at the sea of white-crested peaks and felt a flutter of excitement. He saw the mountains as a good omen, reinforcing his impulsive decision to accompany Soames. What better place to ensure that Rob's soul was safe than in his beloved mountains?
Through a patch in the clouds he saw an isolated collection of cabins studding one of the valleys. 'Is that it?' he asked.
Soames laughed so loudly that in the window's reflection Fleming saw the two wolves raise their heads. 'No,' Soames said eventually. 'That's the rangers' station for the wildlife refuge.' He indicated the wolves behind him. 'That's where I got them as abandoned cubs. My Foundation's just ahead.'
A particularly high peak appeared in front of them and the helicopter rose. As they neared it Fleming caught himself analysing its slopes for the best ascent, evaluating the angles and how best to tackle each section. It represented a decent challenge with a variety of inclines.
A voice broke into his thoughts. 'That's VenTec' Soames pointed to a black dome supported on eight angled struts on top of the flat mountain peak. Large plates of tinted black glass covered the massive construction and as the helicopter rose above it Fleming saw a large neon H in a circle on a steel platform projecting from the northern side.
'It was originally an oil-rig, intended to link up with that refinery in the next mountain.' Fleming saw a huddle of incomplete buildings, abandoned processing plant and skeletal metal frames on the lower peak. 'The plan was to have a system of pipes running through the mountains, connecting the rig to the refinery and eventually via a main pipeline to the coast. I sold Alascon before the plan was completed and converted the rig into a blue-sky science institute. According to the geologists it's still sitting on barrels of oil but the black stuff is old news. Oil is a product of the past, a million years in the making. I prefer products of the future.'
Fleming's stomach lurched as the helicopter dropped towards the helipad.
As the wheels touched down, the rotors' down-wash churned up the snow on the steel deck. When Fleming stepped on to the landing pad, his body felt as if it was being filleted by a thousand cold knives: the icy wind didn't seem strong but it cut through him.
'Come inside. The wind chill's at least ten below out here,' Soames said, unleashing the wolves, who raced away to the snowy slopes, grateful to escape the confines of the helicopter.
Although he could no longer see them, Fleming could hear them howl. 'Where are they going?' he asked, as two orderlies took his and Soames's bags and ushered them into the main doors of the Foundation.
'Wherever wolves go to, I suppose. They come and go as they please. They're at home.'
Inside the main lobby Fleming noticed a fireproof glass door to his right, which bore medical and clothing symbols. Inside he could see state-of-the-art Arctic coats, boots, climbing gear and lockers - the survival room, containing all the clothing, medical supplies and rations that would be needed in the event of evacuation. On the wall beside the door was a colour-coded plan of the VenTec Foundation, with its five distinct areas: a central red core with four sections radiating out.
'C'mon, Miles,' Soames said. 'I'll show you to your room, then give you the tour.'
*
VenTec.
Forty minutes later
Fleming kept rubbing his ears, wondering if the hum was emanating from within the Foundation, or from his own weary brain after all the flying.
'Your room okay?' Soames asked, as he led Fleming through the white sector, following the chevrons pointing to the blue sector.
'Fine.' Fleming's suite in the white sector was functional rather than luxurious but it had all the necessities. 'I notice the phone won't give an outside line.'
'That's mainly security. We handle confidential research here and there's an understanding that outside contact's kept to a minimum. It also cuts down on distractions. You're not completely cut off, though. Each sector's got its own communication room with sat phone for emergencies. And, naturally, we've got full modem access for data downloads. You got a problem with that?'
'Not really, no.'
'Okay. This is the white sector and most of its facilities are self-evident. It's the communal area and, like all the white corridors, it's open to everyone in the Foundation. There are some laboratories here but all the truly confidential work is done in the coloured sectors, and each coloured area is kept discrete from the others. We've got Chinese walls in here and inter-sector security is taken seriously'
They reached a smoked-glass security door leading to the blue sector, and Soames pointed to a small finger-pad next to the disk slot. 'Only I have access to all sectors. That pad's a DNA scanner, takes a micro-thin layer of skin and if it matches my DNA - and only my DNA - the lock opens.' He raised his hands and extended his fingers like a fan. 'My skeleton keys. Ownership has its privileges.'
He pointed beyond the glass door. 'In the blue sector we specialize mainly in VR work. Many of our clients come here to work with our scientists and our computers to see how they can take their business to the next level. You know all about KREE8?'
Fleming nodded. 'Sure.' KREE8 were famous for their hologram communication technology and creating the first virtual movie actors, including famous dead stars. Only last year a computer-generated Marilyn Monroe had played opposite George Clooney in what had become the biggest box-office draw of the decade.
'Well,' said Soames, 'I don't think I'm giving away too many trade secrets when I say KREE8 effectively use VenTec as their R and D department. I'd guess that eighty per cent of their new product programme has come from behind that glass door in the blue sector.'
Soames stopped and indicated a slight figure walking purposefully down the corridor towards them. Aside from a small red crucifix on his chest, the man with the perma-tan and jet-black ponytail was dressed in black: polo-neck, trousers and patent leather shoes. Fleming recognized him from pictures in the media.
'Ah, speak of the devil,' Soames said. 'Miles, I'd like you to meet Frank Carvelli, the head of KREE8.'
Carvelli smiled, but the smooth olive skin around his brown eyes barely creased. Fleming guessed he had undergone plastic surgery, although it was too subtle for him to be sure. 'Dr Fleming, I'm a great fan of your NeuroTranslator,' he said.
'Thanks.'
'Miles has agreed to help us out on some of the refinements of the KREE8 version,' Soames told him.
A glance passed between Carvelli and Soames, and Carvelli raised an eyebrow in what Fleming took to be impressed surprise. 'Really? That's excellent.' He checked his watch. 'Sorry, but I've gotta get to a meeting.'
'Don't worry, Frank. I'll brief Miles on everything.'
'Real glad you're helping us out. Look forward to talking soon,' Ca
rvelli said pleasantly.
After he had disappeared into the blue sector, Soames turned to Fleming and gave him a lopsided smile. 'You're something of a coup for me. I told Frank we'd need your expertise, but he bet you'd never agree to help us out.'
'Will I work in the blue sector?'
'No, because there are other projects in there that Frank's paranoid about. More important, though, I want you to have your own space so you can work on your soul wavelength without interference. Come, I'll complete the tour then show you your work area.'
Soames doubled back, retracing his steps around the central section, leading Fleming through the white sector to the green. 'In there we do mainly government work,' he said. 'Not just for our government either.'
They went on around the perimeter of the central circle, Fleming following Soames to the top of the red sector and the bottom of the black sector. Twice they passed scientists in white bodysuits, which appeared to be the regulation uniform. Both smiled briefly and passed on without speaking. The atmosphere was' of quiet industry and didn't encourage idle chatter. In spite of the high-tech setting, Fleming was reminded of his visit to the Jesuit headquarters in Rome with its similar hush of intense activity.
Soames stopped in a square hallway. To his left, black chevrons gave directions to the black sector. To his right a large red chevron pointed to the central elevator protected by a glass security door with Authorized Personnel Only. Eye Shields Obligatory etched into the glass. The dull hum Fleming had detected on first entering VenTec was louder here.
'The red sector,' said Soames. He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a transparent plastic envelope. It contained a silver disk with a red chevron in the centre. He handed it to Fleming. 'This is your smart disk. It gives access to all white areas including your residential suite and the red sector, where you will work. The disk is specific to you and will record everything you do here - every door you open, every meal you order, every piece of apparatus you use, every consumable you take from the supply inventory. Try not to lose it.' He stood back from the door and indicated that Fleming should insert his disk into the lock mechanism.
'What's in the black sector?' he asked casually, surprised that Soames, who had been so open about the rest of his kingdom, had failed to mention it.
A strange look crossed Soames's face, as though he had a secret he was dying to share but couldn't. 'Later, perhaps,' he said. 'Come. I'll show you where you're working. The red sector's dedicated to pure computer power and houses my pride and joy'
Fleming glanced once more at the signs to the black sector but said nothing. He inserted his disk in the red sector door lock and when the elevator opened he stepped inside.
The floor was of heavily tinted glass, illuminated from below by a bright, almost blinding light. The hum was definitely louder now and seemed to be coming from the light. They began to descend.
Soames rolled down the sleeves of his sweater, and Fleming saw how the ends formed gloves, which Soames placed over his hands, checking that no skin was exposed. He covered his head and face, then put on a pair of tinted spectacles. 'I haven't yet found a way to neutralize the ultraviolet in there,' he said, reaching for a pair of mirrored eye-protectors on the rack beside the elevator doors and passing them to Fleming. 'The light won't harm your skin but you'd better put these on.'
The elevator doors slid open and Fleming squinted through the eye-protectors as a tidal wave of light met him. Blinking, he followed Soames out. At first, he couldn't see anything, so dazzled was he by the brilliance, and he was reminded of Amber Grant's description of dying, of becoming part of the light, merging with the photons that formed it. But soon his other senses came to the fore. The hum was no longer a background distraction but a definable noise, and he could smell heat and static in the heavy air, as if a thunderstorm was imminent.
His pupils, shrunk to pinpricks, began to adapt to the light overload and to take in his surroundings. As his brain interpreted what he was seeing he heard a loud gasp. He didn't register straight away that it had come from his own lips.
*
The red sector
Fleming found himself standing on a broad circular gantry that ran round the rim of a cylindrical chamber. The sheer scale was dazzling. But it was the sight below him that had made him gasp.
He walked tentatively to the gantry rail, leaned over and looked down into the centre of the cylindrical abyss. Suspended in space, some ten feet below, was an orb of light as bright as a small sun. At least twenty feet in diameter, it pulsed and hummed. The wall surrounding the orb was comprised of tinted-glass windows, behind which were laboratories and control rooms.
'What is this place?' Fleming asked.
'We are now inside the mountain, in what was the main bore-hole when my father originally drilled for oil here. Far below us, perhaps miles below us, there is an untapped supply of oil, which has been sealed up. I increased the diameter in this upper area to house the laboratories below us. For my purposes it's perfect: cool temperature, privacy and protection - I couldn't ask for more.' Leaning over the gantry, Soames pointed at the orb. 'This is my baby, the mother of all optical computers. This is the Last Computer - the ultimate. It can assimilate and process vast amounts of information in the blink of an eye. Scouring the world wide web for anything new, the computer stores it within its almost limitless memory of light. If the world collapsed tomorrow, Miles, virtually everything it has ever known would be secure within its vast quantum system of photons encoded with data and information. And this brain below us can access any and all of that information at the speed of light. This is Mother Lucifer, the true bearer of light - or should I say enlightenment?'
Fleming was silent, staring in awe at the brilliant, pulsing orb. Soames laughed selfconsciously. 'Some of my colleagues tease me about my creation. They say it reminds them of the old story - you know the one, where a mad genius is driven to build a supercomputer powerful enough to know everything in the universe and answer the one question that obsesses him. Eventually, using all his ingenuity, money and time, the scientist completes his supercomputer and on the very first day of its creation he asks his question: "Is there a God?"'
Soames looked down at his fiery creation.
Unable to pull his eyes away from it, Fleming asked, 'What did the computer say?'
'Nothing at first, so the scientist repeats his question. "Is there a God?" he asks again. Finally the supercomputer replies: "There is now.'"
Fleming smiled politely.
'Imagine harnessing this power to your new NeuroTranslator,' Soames whispered. Imagine being able to use it to discover something not only in this world but beyond it, to communicate with the minds of those who've gone before. Not just for a few fleeting minutes, like you did with your brother, but indefinitely and at will. You could ask any question of those who've died. You could ask what it's like beyond the veil of death. Whether there's a heaven or a hell. Whether your loved ones are free of suffering. Perhaps you could even know the mind of God.'
The back of Fleming's neck prickled. He had come here to explain away the soul wavelength, to rationalize it as nothing more than the last gasp of a dying brain and reinforce his conviction that there was no afterlife - without it Rob was beyond pain - but here it was hard to hold on to his certainties. The heady vision of limitless opportunity laid out before him was dizzying. At that moment he felt nothing was impossible, on this earth or beyond it.
Then Fleming became aware of two other people standing with Soames. One was a tall black man with thinning hair and steel-rimmed glasses behind his eye-protectors. His forehead was lined but the skin around his eyes was smooth, as if all his life he'd only frowned and never smiled. The other was a woman. The white bodysuit flattered her trim figure and her long blonde hair was tied back in a bun. She was beautiful, with high cheekbones and striking pale blue eyes. He found himself comparing her icy loveliness with the exotic warmth of Amber Grant.
'Meet your two assistants,' S
oames said, and introduced them as Dr Walter Tripp and Dr Felicia Bukowski, specialists in hardware and software respectively. 'I assure you,' he went on, 'both these fine scientists eclipse most so-called experts in either field.'
As he shook their hands, Fleming noted that Bukowski's unblinking gaze never left his face.
Soames half smiled. 'As I mentioned before, we and our client KREE8 have been looking at improving your invention for some time. Our most up-to-date prototype has been moved from the blue sector to a laboratory below this gantry. Most of the hardware is complete. The analogue-digital converter should be superior to the one you're used to, as should the neural signal amplifier.'
Absolutely,' confirmed Tripp. 'In essence we've tried to rebuild your NeuroTranslator with certain enhancements while avoiding patent infringements.'
'I'm flattered,' said Fleming.
'But, of course, we'll need your expertise and the files of human neural signals you've collected over the years,' Bukowski said quickly. Her voice was surprisingly smooth and soft. It reminded Fleming of the Boston accents he had heard during his Harvard years. 'Your input is vital to calibrate our device properly so that it correctly interprets each neural instruction, whether for individual brain waves, or for a combination of waves.'
Lucifer (aka the Lucifer Code) (2001) Page 16
