“Yes, we did,” said Seb2.
Mee let go of Seb’s hand.
“But they died,” she said. “I saw it on TV.”
“Yes,” said Seb2. “They died.”
“What?” Mee and Seb both spoke at the same time.
“You’re both right,” said Seb2. “Think about how you Walk. The process. What are the stages involved?”
Seb thought for a moment.
“I think of the place I want to go,” he said, “and various options appear.”
“Hold on,” said Seb2. “You think of where you want to go. Now, it just so happens you knew last night’s neighborhood pretty well. You’re a New Yorker, you could picture somewhere close by. But you didn’t know the building itself, right?”
“Right,” admitted Seb. “The nearest place I could think of was Jonny’s CD Emporium. About a block away.”
“And yet when you decided to Walk, the options available were all of the apartment itself, right? Because every piece of information available about the local geography was available to us. Unconsciously, I accessed that information so fast it seemed instantaneous.”
“Ok, makes sense,” said Seb.
“Hold your horses, you two,” said Mee. “What options? What do you mean?”
Seb turned toward her on the bench.
“When I decide to Walk, I choose where to Walk to. I try to find somewhere safe and inconspicuous. I can’t get hurt, but if I appear from nowhere in front of someone’s car, they could hurt themselves or someone else.”
“Ok, makes sense,” said Mee. “So, how do you choose? I mean, what do these ‘options’ look like, exactly?”
“I’ll show you,” said Seb2. He pointed up toward a few wispy clouds drifting over the skyscrapers of central London. A picture formed. It was Darknells, a club in Los Angeles where Mee, Seb and the rest of Clockwatchers—her old band—used to hang out sometimes after shows.
“Wow,” said Mee. “I can’t believe it.”
“I know, said Seb2. “Impressive, isn’t it?”
“No,” said Mee, “I mean I can’t believe they still haven’t changed that carpet since Dan threw up on it.”
“Oh,” said Seb2. He looked back at the sky. More pictures appeared. Each one showed the identical scene. They were more like high definition webcam feeds than pictures, as people were moving around in them—dancing, drinking, talking, laughing, shouting. As Mee looked closer, she could see they weren’t actually identical at all. There were tiny differences. In ten of the images now floating above them, there were three bar staff struggling to serve the crowd. In the eleventh and twelfth, a fourth staff member had joined them. The crowd itself showed subtle differences—the color of a shirt here, the lack of a jacket somewhere else. A poster advertising an acoustic night was missing in two of the images.
As she looked for the differences, more images appeared. Now the differences were easy to spot. The first showed the same club, but empty, closed. Yellow and black police tape sealed the door. Another image showed an apartment with people sleeping in it. Another was a storage area with barrels of beer and crates of drinks. The dimensions were the same as Darknells.
Mee squinted upward.
“Are these all…?”
“…The same place?” said Seb2. “Yes.”
“But how? Are you showing me the future? The past? What?”
“All of these images are real-time,” said Seb2.
As more images appeared and flickered across the sky, Mee frowned in confusion. There were many tiny variations on the apartment, the same for the storage room. Some of the images appearing now were blank, completely featureless.
“What does that mean?” said Mee.
The images stopped appearing. Seb2 pointed up at one showing the storage room.
“Darknells was never built there,” he said. The bar above might be the same, might be different, but they never opened a club downstairs.” He pointed at the apartment. Mee could see a couple asleep in bed. It felt disturbingly voyeuristic.
“They might be the owners of the building above,” he said, “or—just as likely—they’re renting the place, there’s no bar above, it’s an apartment building.” He pointed at one of the blank images.
“There’s no building at all above that space, otherwise we’d be looking at the foundations right now. New York might not even exist there.”
“New York might not what?” said Mee. A joint appeared in between her fingers. It was already burning and smelled intoxicating.
“I know you too well,” said Seb2, smiling.
“Humph,” said Mee, taking a drag nonetheless. She inhaled the sweet smoke before blowing a cloud upward toward the disconcerting pictures. She looked at the spliff. “This isn’t real, of course.” She felt the familiar rush. “Bloody feels like it is.”
“Tiny changes in your brain chemistry,” said Seb2. “Safer than the real thing, as I can be very precise, tailor it to your particular synaptic connections, without any danger of side-effects.”
“Well,” said Mee, taking another long drag at her imaginary spliff, “it’s good shit, whatever it is. Now, go on.”
“New York exists in hundreds of thousands of almost identical incarnations,” said Seb2. As he spoke, about twenty images above him went back to showing Darknells, the clubbers inside dancing and drinking.
“Incarnations?” said Mee. “What the bollocking hell are you on about?”
“The multiverse,” said Seb2, trying, and failing, not to look amused at Mee’s language.
“Oh, give me strength,” said Mee. “Explain, but remember I’m just a simple female who can’t grasp advanced scientific concepts.”
“Yeah, yeah, very funny,” said Seb beside her. Mee had dropped out of university while studying physics. She was far better informed on the subject than Seb.
“All right,” she conceded, “I know about the multiverse. A hypothetical concept positing the existence of parallel universes, possibly infinite, possibly finite. If there is such a thing, and we’re merely living in one universe within the multiverse, then…oh.” She looked up at the images, thought about the way Seb Walked. “Oh,” she said again. “It’s true, then.”
“Yes,” said Seb2. “Can’t tell you whether it’s finite or infinite, though. I can’t see an end to the alternatives, but that doesn’t prove it either way. What were you going to say?”
“Mm?” said Mee, inhaling more marijuana. She realized her mind was absolutely sharp again—none of the usual dulling of her senses was occurring any more. “Oh, you bastard.”
“I need you focused for a minute,” said Seb2. “I’ll make the next one a doozy, ok?”
Mee shrugged and flicked the spliff away. It turned into a butterfly and flew off across the pond.
“Oh, very clever,” she said.
“You said if the multiverse hypothesis were true, if we really were living in one universe within it, then—what? What were you going to say?”
Mee got up from the bench. Despite the warmth of the sun, she crossed her arms and rubbed them as if she was cold.
“I was going to say, it takes a lot of the fun out of science. Some people would say it takes all meaning out of it.”
“Why?” said Seb, standing behind her and putting his arms around her.
“Because we can only investigate, test, create hypotheses about the universe we inhabit. Any conclusions about the fundamental basis of reality are unlikely to hold true for other universes. Although…”
“Although?” said Seb2.
“Although, when the multiverse was just a theory, the theory only needed to be internally consistent. There was no way of testing it. But you are the proof, you can show it to be true. This changes everything. You need to get in touch with the scientific community, this needs to be investigated properly.” She suddenly stopped short and walked away from Seb. When she turned to face him and Seb2, there were tears in her eyes.
“Let’s just skip the theorizing
for a minute,” she said. “A woman and her family died tonight. Died horribly in a fire. And you say you saved them. Please, please, tell me what happened.”
“I’m sorry,” said Seb2, “I was trying to. Now that you understand a little of what is going on—probably more than we do, to be fair—you must realize what happened.”
Mee stared at him for a few seconds, then moved back to the bench and sat heavily, as if all her strength had just been sucked out of her.
“Oh, God,” she said, “you saved them in another universe.”
“What?” said Seb.
“Yes,” said Seb2.
It was Seb’s turn to get up and pace.
“Another universe?” he said. “You mean, Mee’s right, Felicia and her family died? They all died in that fire? I failed them?”
Seb2 looked calmly at him.
“You didn’t fail,” he said. “I’ve had more opportunities to get used to this than you. I’ve gradually been learning what happens when we Walk. And I’ve begun to understand the implications. The Felicia in our universe? She was dead before we got there.”
“What?” said Seb. He was pale. “What do you mean?”
“In the first few hundred apartments we saw before you Walked, the roof was about to cave in and crush them. It happened as we Walked. You remember the apartment we Walked to?”
“Yes,” said Seb. She was alive—they all were. The kids were playing. She was cooking.”
“There was no fire in that universe,” said Seb2. “Not tonight, anyway. But it’s the same deathtrap of a building, so it’ll likely burn down another time. And we won’t know about it.”
Mee stood, took Seb’s hand and led him back to the bench. They both sat down.
“From the first apartment, we Walked into the burning apartment, but it wasn’t in our universe. It was the closest one where the roof hadn’t collapsed. It was the universe where we had a chance of saving their lives. Which is what we did.”
Seb sat silently for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice cracked slightly. He felt utterly exhausted.
“And Cubby?” he said.
“Who?” said Mee.
“The landlord,” said Seb. “We stopped him in that other universe, but not ours?”
“No,” said Seb2. “That was our Cubby. In our universe. He’s a changed man. His apartments are about to get a makeover.”
“But in all the other universes…?” said Seb.
“We can’t be everywhere,” said Seb2. “But we’ve intervened in similar situations 489 times in the last year. And this is the first time we’ve had to move into a neighboring universe. It’s gonna happen, but it’s gonna happen rarely.” He glanced upward. All the images faded away. “Something I need to tell you.”
“What?” said Seb.
“There’s only one of you in all of the universes we’ve touched when Walking,” said Seb2. “You—me—Seb Varden—you exist in some, you’re dead in some, you were never born in others. But this universe is the only one where you became a World Walker.”
Seb sat completely still.
“So I can’t be everywhere, I can’t help everyone. And when I choose to save someone, I’m effectively allowing the same person to die in every other universe. And there’s only me?”
Seb2 nodded slowly.
“I need to sleep,” said Seb. “Come on, Mee.”
Chapter 17
New York
A soft bell from the speakers flanking Mason’s computer screens alerted him to an email. It was a zip folder containing the piece of code he had commissioned from Wickerman. He picked up his phone. All of his calls were routed through a complex, ever-changing route of satellites and IP networks and completely untraceable.
“Yes?” The woman who answered the call was CEO of the largest cellphone corporation in the world. She had appeared on the cover of Time, repeatedly turned down offers of a political future from both major parties, neither of whom had been able to guess as to where her allegiance lay. She was quick-thinking, mercurial, consistently ahead of the game. Her status in the business world as a brilliant maverick had been sealed when her company had released a cellphone that retailed for the price of a large coffee. Media and industry pundits had confidently predicted her downfall, only to eat their words when the phone sold in its billions worldwide. The apps subsequently released made back the revenue—and more—initially sacrificed by selling the phones so cheaply. The apps were priced similarly to other apps, but the percentage her company took was far higher than her competitors. But, by then, she had captured nearly sixty percent of the world market, and no one was in a position to refuse her terms. She was a proud, successful woman who took orders from no one. No one other than Mason.
When his email arrived in the account only he used, she brought a board meeting to an early halt and read it alone.
A piece of code for an update you are due to release next week. Make sure it is included.
She shivered. Six years ago, Mason had transferred Mark, her severely disabled brother to a state-of-the-art facility in Colorado. When she had discovered Mark had been moved without her knowledge, she’d been horrified. A helicopter had arrived to take her to him and, fearing for her brother’s life, she had obeyed telephone instructions and boarded it. On arrival, she’d been shown around a superb hospital, equipped with the latest medical technology. Mark was in the hands of the very best doctors, his needs taken care of by friendly, caring staff. He was happy. But once she was left alone with her brother, his smile suddenly disappeared as his body began to twist in agony. He lost control of his bowels and bladder and began screaming, his hands smacking his own face in pain and panic. She screamed herself, punching the emergency button. No one came. She ran for the door. It was locked. Her cellphone rang.
“Watch carefully,” whispered a voice.
As quickly as it had started, Mark’s fit ended, his hands unclenching, his body relaxing. He sobbed in bewilderment and she ran to him, holding his hand.
“He has a good forty years left with proper care, I’m told,” came the whisper.
“Who are you?” she said. “What are you?”
“My name is Mason. As to what I am, I am your brother’s keeper. You currently control the biggest communication network in the world. I need access to it. You answer to me, now.”
“What’s to stop me going public, going to the press?”
“Go ahead. Mark will die slowly, in terrible pain and nothing can be traced to me. In fact, all the records here, and on your own computer, show that you requested, and paid for, his transfer to this facility. I suggest you think of his future.”
And now, for the first time since Mason had become the true power behind her throne, he was finally giving her an order. She thought back to last weekend, when she’d spent a day with Mark in the beautiful garden in the facility where he was the only patient. He’d been happy, calm and pain-free.
She dialed an internal number.
“Andreas? One more piece of code coming through before we release the update. Let me know when it’s ready.”
***
The code worked as it was supposed to. Over a period of ten days, Mason watched the results on his screens. All over the world hundreds, then thousands, then hundreds of thousands, millions and, finally, over a billion cellphones updated their operating systems, appearing as pulsing colors on the international map he was monitoring. The coverage wasn’t absolutely complete, but he was willing to gamble Varden and Patel hadn’t abandoned civilization completely. Both of them were city people by birth and inclination.
Mason had used voice recognition software before, but the program he had commissioned for this task was sophisticated, subtle, and different from other similar programs in one crucial respect. It wasn’t interested in the spoken word. It was only interested in the sung word.
Over the last few months, Mason’s software had imported every recording Meera Patel had ever made. There was plenty available—early demos, a
n EP, three albums with her band and some unique content online, either recorded at live shows by fans, or put out by the band itself. Then the search algorithm online had found recordings posted in the last twelve months. Mason immediately attempted to track the geographical origin of the recordings, only to find a maze of broken links and dead ends convoluted enough to challenge his own precautions. Maybe even more so. Where Patel—or Varden—had got their sudden mastery of technology from, Mason had no idea.
All of the recordings made up a database which was passively listening to each call being made by the billions of phones now using the updated operating system. Whenever a call was in progress, the code kicked in and checked for any singing in the background. Male voices were filtered out first, then any recordings which perfectly matched the database, as these could only be recordings. Frequency range was the next filter, as Patel’s singing voice was husky and low, which put her into a group encompassing approximately thirty percent of female singers. The next filter was far more complex, identifying formants and phonemes favored by Patel in her songs. Any close matches were then compared with the database to find musical similarities in timbre, tone, sustain, pitch, and intervals. Only 0.00027% of all calls reached the final set of filters which were the most sophisticated of all, attempting to identify and match traces of dialect, cadence and vocabulary.
The real genius of the code Wickerman had supplied was its two-way nature. It fed information back, but also learned as it received feedback from the voice recognition software. It got quicker and more accurate with every call. As a result, on the eleventh day after activation, a red light winked onto the screen and an alarm sounded. Within a few seconds, two more lights appeared as the software automatically zoomed in on the location. Another three lights appeared, then the alarm stopped, meaning the source was no longer being listened to. Six cellphones had signaled that they’d heard the singing voice of Meera Patel.
Mason noted the time and the location, then waited. Three days later, nine cellphones triggered the alarm again. The area pinpointed was less than a mile from the first. Mason picked up the phone.
World Walker 2: The Unmaking Engine Page 12
