The Sentient Collector (The Sentient Trilogy Book 1)

by Ian Williams

  A few of the staff returned a confused look as they stood with folders or clear plastic tablets in hand. Luckily one of them had had the foresight to actually listen to what he asked and went on to point in the direction of a large room at the back of the open-plan office floor. He wasted no time repeating himself to those who were in the middle of a video call or had left their desk for a few seconds to grab a drink – wastefully in his opinion. His time was much too precious to spend on such things. Those who did not hear would be told soon enough anyway.

  Wandering the length of the room revealed just how many people worked there, for the good of the Simova Company of course. Each row of cubicles contained a person beavering away contently and, to his delight, with minimal conversation between them. Most were well-versed in the cons versus pros of conversing during work time, they had all attended the training course after all.

  At the end of the room stood a large office running the width of the floor. In here was the space set aside for the woman in charge. Looking through the floor to ceiling window that separated this part of the office from hers, he could just about make out the darkened shape of a conference table and the outline of a person leaning against one end. With the window having been set to the private, opaque mode he could not see any more than shadows and shapes for now.

  A quick knock on the glass door was met with the response, “Busy, come back in five.” The woman’s voice was deeper than he expected, though it had an enviable confidence to it that he liked. His usual response would have been to barge in and bring whatever conversation had been more important than him to a swift end. The only reason he did not do that was because of a nagging reminder at the back of his mind: You’re here to help, not to take over. The board of directors had made that very clear to him before sending him in.

  “Mrs Hearn? It’s Kristof Rajco from head office,” he said, his head leaning toward the glass to hear for a response. When the discussion inside suddenly stopped, he knew he had been heard.

  “One moment,” Bridget said from inside. She then appeared in front of the door as a dark – shapely – figure that pulled the glass away to open the room to him. “Come in please, Kristof.”

  He walked in and was immediately taken aback by the sheer scale of her office. In the middle was the conference table he spotted from outside. Except now he could see the dazzling shine of its routinely polished and buffed, wooden structure. One that anyone would be proud of hosting with. He could not help but approach it and slide his fingers across its highly reflective and delightfully smooth surface.

  “You like?” Bridget said at his side.

  “Marvellous thing. The workmanship is just delicious,” he replied all too enthusiastically. This was not the stamp of authority he had imagined it to be on his journey here. Admiring her furniture set a tone for their conversation that he would rather have avoided.

  “A man of taste I see, excellent. You’ll really enjoy this then.” Bridget walked to the far end of the table toward a glass cabinet that opened the moment she set off in its direction. With the doors fully open he could see what she was referring to, and it sent a shiver of jealousy up through his body. Inside the cabinet was a collection of crystal decanters, each filled to the brim with coloured liquids that made his mouth almost water at the sight of. “What’s your poison?” she said.

  Kristof hurried over – nearly at a gallop – to choose a drink from her small yet impressive collection, like an excitable child running to an ice-cream shop. It took him all of a second to decide what to have.

  “I think I’ll join you there,” Bridget said as she picked up the sparkling decanter, containing the predictably old scotch whiskey he had chosen. She then began to dribble it into a cut glass tumbler decorated with a criss-cross pattern, before handing it to him. She watched as he instantly sipped the drink.

  He washed it around the inside of his mouth to savour the taste, then swallowed. The journey getting there was washed away entirely from his memory by the third sip. “You’ve got quite the place here, Mrs Hearn.”

  “It certainly is. Why don’t we take a seat?”

  With drink in hand and a warm sensation running down his throat, Kristof followed his host and took a seat at the end of the large table. He held his drink rather than place it down on the table, for fear of tarnishing its beaming beauty.

  “So, I should probably explain why I’m here,” he said, leaning back into the comfy black, leather chair.

  Bridget sat opposite him with her legs crossed and one knee peeking out over the top of the table. She leaned back and took a moment to enjoy her own drink. After a quick sip she placed her glass on the table without any sign of consideration to the lacquered surface.

  “The question had crossed my mind,” she said. “You needn’t worry. I was speaking to head office before you came in and they’ve explained it all to me. Though I can’t say I’m happy about being replaced.”

  “It’s not that you’re being replaced, it’s more like I have experience dealing with these kinds of situations. All I’m here to do is help, that’s all.”

  “Still sounds a lot like I’m on my way out sometime soon. Anyway, what situation are they, and you, talking about?”

  “Probably best if I show you,” Kristof said before leaving his seat and taking up position next to a three metre wide wall screen that covered the left wall. “Excuse me a second.” He removed his own wrist screen and flicked it back into its default flat position, making a small tablet, which he placed on the desk to the side of him. Scrolling through the menu until he found the correct file allowed Bridget more time to drink and fester over what he knew she realised was indeed nothing less than a coup.

  “I’m guessing this is to do with the warehouse we found yesterday?”

  “That’s correct. Ah, here we go.” Kristof flicked the file toward the wall screen and watched as a video began to play. He decided to leave his drink on the desk to free his hand.

  An image of a large, dirty warehouse flashed up on screen and floated from side to side as the drone the video had come from tried its best to stabilise. Once the picture had straightened out, the drone’s camera zoomed in to show an open window on the roof. It moved toward the window and then stopped just as a view of the inside presented itself.

  “Can you see the large display inside?” Kristof asked.

  Bridget leaned in and shook her head; not the response he was hoping for.

  “Hang on, let me run it forward a bit.” Suddenly the video sped up and a message appeared at the bottom saying: Five times normal speed. Within a split second the image had moved to an internal view of the warehouse, where a group of men were going about their business none-the-wiser. “This is the warehouse and this video was taken just before the police were sent in. The main concern is… let me just pause it for a second. There.”

  Bridget stood and joined in standing in front of the large screen. She investigated the area Kristof was pointing to, until her eyes flicked back to him. “They’re MARCs?” she said.

  “Exactly. Now, you may ask: what on Earth were these people doing with them? Well the honest truth is, we haven’t found out. From these videos and the police reports, we think they were studying them for some reason, though we’re far from certain. The problem is that the tech team you sent in came up empty too, so we can’t explain any of this.”

  “We’ve seen similar things before, why worry about this one in particular. Only a few months ago another Simova depot was hacked. I didn’t hear of HQ sending someone that time. So why exactly are you here, Kristof?”

  “In fact they had sent someone: me. My job is as much about discretion as it is about competence. We never caught the people behind that hack, by the way. I can’t rule out the possibility that it may have been linked to this case.” Returning to his tablet device, he searched for another file, which he then threw up to the wall screen. “Do you recognise this man, Bridget?”

  The photo that came up was of a muscula
r looking Simova employee, wearing the company shirt with its logo proudly bulging because of his well-defined chest underneath. His hair was cropped and his face clean shaven. He had the look of a hooligan about him, in Kristof’s opinion at least.

  After taking a good few seconds to consider the man’s face, Bridget finally pulled back and gave Kristof a questioning glare. “That’s one of my tech guys, why?”

  “On the video you just saw we counted a collection of seven MARCs. That’s seven highly dangerous flashes of intelligence sat around in a warehouse we had no idea about. The real issue is that we only captured four of them. Now, the other three can’t have simply vanished because the building was running off-grid. So where did they go? We are of the opinion that this man took them.”

  “You’re taking quite a leap to come to that conclusion, aren’t you?”

  “Really, perhaps you could explain this for me then?”

  Once again he shared a file from his wrist screen that flashed up and overlapped the previously opened panes. This time the file was a spreadsheet with columns of information all far too small to see in full detail. “Enlarge this area please,” Kristof said touching a row halfway down the page. The chosen area then flashed up to show very clearly what he wanted to convey.

  “So his success rate is lower than the others, that’s not enough to accuse him of being involved.”

  “The success rate is only low when the job he attended was to deal with a suspected case of a Malicious Awareness or Resurgent Corruption. Surely I don’t need to tell you just how troublesome these things could be? The Simova Company learnt that the hard way twelve years ago and we don’t wish to repeat it.” He paused. “Incidentally, what do you remember about that time?”

  “I wasn’t working for Simova back then.” Bridget began to study the screen. “But I did hear about it at the time. The company had to shut down the entire country’s network when the AI failed.”

  “Yes, well that’s what we told the public. Now, what I have been authorised to tell you cannot – under any circumstances – leave this room.” Kristof approached the desk and then turned to rest against it. He placed his hands in his pockets and crossed his right leg over his left. The deliberation was for his sake as much as Bridget’s, as he thought over the best way to explain. Just as he was about to speak, his colleague held up her hand and stopped him.

  “Hang on just one minute,” she said, heading for the door. She then stepped half out of the office and spoke to the woman sat at the nearest cubicle. “I need someone to get the head of technical up here right away. Oh, and have him wait outside this door until we call him in. OK, thanks.” With the message passed on she returned and stood with her arms crossed, ready to hear his grand tale.

  “First of all, the AI didn’t fail, we shut it down. We’d lost control of it and were finding our network unworkable in some areas of the country. With the public outcry to have it disconnected from the UK’s management system in full swing, we had to take action. The problem was that no-one actually knew what it was doing, even though huge amounts of its processing power was being utilised.”

  “So what did they do with it?”

  “That is the very heart of the matter. We didn’t manage to do anything with it. That is to say we never stopped it doing what it wanted to do.”

  “What does that mean?” Bridget asked.

  “Well, you see, Isaac – as it was named – had found a way of uploading itself to the wider network. We couldn’t contain it. When we shut it down we’d already lost most of it.”

  “So if that’s true then where is it now?”

  Kristof pushed himself away from the desk and stepped over to the wall screen. He removed the clutter of data he had painted across it at a giant’s preferred font size, and brought the frozen video of the warehouse to the front. “There,” he said, pointing directly to the strange shapes scattered around the huge screen inside the warehouse.

  “You’re shitting me?” Bridget stepped away with her mouth stuck open.

  “Nope. I was as surprised as you when I found out earlier today. Every single MARC that’s floating around our system is a tiny part of Isaac. The little buggers are incredibly effective at evading us, and each one we’ve caught is impossible to destroy. The best we’ve managed is to keep them locked away while we figure out how to deal with them. So, you see, every time Simova hears of someone playing around with a captured MARC, their thoughts turn to Isaac. It’s also why they called me in to help. You see, I know Simova’s technology better than most.”

  “So you think the men in that warehouse were trying to do what, bring him back?”

  Kristof began removing the files from the screen with a swipe of his hand. He continued until all of his mess had been cleaned away, like wiping a blackboard. “We don’t know. They only had a tiny, I mean minuscule, collection. We’d be really worried if they had more.”

  A knock at the door interrupted the conversation. When Kristof peered around his colleague’s side he saw a figure waiting patiently and tapping a hand nervously against their leg.

  “Screen off. Enter,” Bridget said. Each request was acted upon by both parties with an equal level of urgency.

  “You wanted to see me,” the man said as he hesitantly entered the room. He leaned through to check his presence was still wanted before stepping in further and closing the door behind him.

  “Yes, thank you Aaron. This is Kristof Rajco from head office.”

  Kristof chose to move away to prevent any offer of a handshake. He returned to his drink and poured the remaining liquid straight down his throat, then sat the glass back down on Bridget’s desk – with care.

  “Now,” Bridget continued. “Aaron, we need to know about one of your tech guys, I think his name is Elliot?”

  “Yes, Elliot Sumner. He works with Graham Denehey.”

  “Good, you know the one we mean. Well we’re going to need to have a word with them both, I think. Pull them away from whatever job you have them attending and ask them to come in for a chat. Kristof has some questions for them.”

  Aaron stood and stared with a wordless expression that hinted of a foreseeable problem with the request. He took to grinning aimlessly while his hand again began to tap the side of his thigh.

  “What is it Aaron?” Bridget asked.

  “It’s just…”

  He could take the hesitant nature of Aaron’s responses no longer, Kristof had to hear the coming excuse. “Spit it out man, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Sorry sir. It’s just neither of them turned up for work today.”

  His mind was now more certain than ever that the problem with the missing MARCs was an internal one. He already suspected them, this only made his mind up. Both men had vanished at the same time as a huge case of system tampering had come to light. It was no coincidence to him, in his world such things were not possible. They were involved. “This just gets better and better.”

  “I’d still suggest we don’t jump to conclusions. We don’t know anything yet,” Bridget said, her hand held out to slow his racing mind down.

  He was having none of it, they were guilty and now he would finally get to do what he had been sent to do. “We know enough. It’s time we paid this Elliot a visit. Thank you, Aaron, you may go,” he said, brushing Bridget’s command of the situation to the side like litter on a roadside.

  “Thank you, sir.” Aaron scurried away without considering whether he should have been dismissed by Bridget instead.

  Kristof wandered over to the desk and took a seat. He grabbed his wrist screen and pulled at the corners to increase its size even more. Without looking up to Bridget he began to work on his device. He had entirely stamped his authority and saw little use in continuing the pleasantries they had shared up to now.

  “Is that it then?” Bridget asked.

  He broke away from his work and met her gaze with a frown. “That’s it. I’m due to make a video call to the Police Commissioner in half an hour. I�
�ve been given authority to use the police in finding these men and anyone else involved. This has to been dealt with quickly, but mainly as quietly as possible. You will be required to help coordinate with the police should they need more information.”

  “Fine, I’ll do that.”

  As Bridget turned to leave the room he added one final thing. “I will be gone as soon as this is finished. Rest assured your job is safe, Mrs. Hearn. If I’d wanted it you’d have known by now, OK?”

  “I guess, but…”

  “Good, then when I’m finished speaking to the police I want you to find the home address for Elliot Sumner. A team of officers will be joining me in paying him a visit soon.”

  * * *

  “Your previous preferences have allowed us to calculate a 98.344% probability that the current program should conclude happily. Please confirm you wish to continue,” a voice said through the room’s speaker system.

  Alex sat on the sofa, kicking her legs excitedly as she watched her favourite cartoon channel on the wall screen. “Yes please,” she said with a giggle. “I always like a good ending, do you, Uncle Elliot?”

  “Sure I do,” he replied from the seat next to her. Whether he really believed he would face a happy ending or not was a mystery to Graham, who watched from the kitchen area. Elliot shifted in his seat, aiming his body away from Alex. He had stretched a jumper over the flashing device attached to his chest to hide it from her – and probably himself to a large extent. Watching the TV for the past half an hour with Alex had allowed him a brief reprieve from the stress over his impending demise.

  Alex had arrived with Jane, who had immediately been sent out again for a top-up of medical supplies. She made herself comfortable by commandeering the entertainment system, while she waited for her mum to return.