by Thomas Fay
‘What’s wrong?’ Fernali asked.
‘Where are you?’ John asked.
‘We’re leaving Glebe now.’
‘Have you got Streeter?’
‘Yes. He’s in good shape. The bullet wounds were minor and they patched him up. He’s regained full use of his arm.’
‘That’s good.’ John said. ‘Did you see the news?’
‘No. What happened?’
‘Councillor Jonathan Gage just declared the four of us the most wanted fugitives in Iona.’
‘Damn it! That certainly changes things a bit.’
‘Yes, it does. It means we’ve got to hurry. Get back here as quickly as you can but don’t draw attention to yourselves. Change cars if you need to.’
‘How exactly am I supposed to change cars?’
‘Steal one.’
‘What? I’m a Sentinel for Christ’s sake.’
‘Yes, and you’re also one of the four most wanted people in the city. Desperate times call for desperate measures.’
‘Right. Thanks for the pep talk. We’ll see you soon.’
Fernali hung up. John checked his call listing. Scrolling to the number he wanted, he pressed the green button. It picked up on the third ring.
‘John, are you alright?’ Agostino Romano’s voice asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘I saw the news, John. It seems you are now the most wanted man in the city.’
‘Not a title I’m keen on retaining for an extended period of time. Agostino, is Lauren safe?’
‘Si, John. Your ex-wife is with some good friends of mine.’
‘Where is—’
Simone was gesturing frantically at him to stop talking. John managed to stop himself in mid-sentence.
‘Wait. Don’t say anything,’ John spoke into the phone. He was rewarded with silence.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘Your phone has most likely been subverted by the Ruling Council’s monitoring programs by now,’ Simone said.
‘What? That’s not possible. Sentinel phones operate on a secure network.’
‘Unfortunately, it is. Gage has undoubtedly authorised your phones to be hacked. I would suggest you switch your phone off and remove the battery.’
‘Christ, that’s just great. So how am I supposed to communicate with people?’ John asked.
Simone took out her phone. She handed it to John. It was a model he didn’t recognise.
‘Use my phone. It can’t be traced.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because it’s proprietary Iona Corporation tech developed by Frost himself. The phone sets up a secure link via an Iona Corporation satellite. It effectively protects the identity of both the caller and the receiver. Trust me. It works.’
‘You have any more of these?’
‘No, it’s the only one.’
John eyed the strange phone suspiciously. Even though he had used it earlier to take a call from Qallan Frost it somehow now seemed a strange device, one that had taken on extraordinary qualities.
‘Trust me, John.’
‘I guess I don’t have much choice.’
He picked up his own telephone.
‘I’ll call you back, Agostino.’ With that he hung up. Checking the number on his phone, he dialled it from Simone’s phone. Agostino Romano picked up on the first ring.
‘Pronto.’
‘It’s John.’
‘I take it your telephone is no longer secure?’
‘It would seem that way. Better to be safe than sorry, as they say. Now, where’s Lauren?’
‘As I said before, she is staying with some friends of mine. They have a house just north of Iona, right on the beach.’
‘Where?’
‘Pearl Beach.’
‘Thank you, Agostino. I am in your debt.’
‘Va bene, John. Be careful.’
‘I will.’
John ended the conversation and handed the phone back to Simone.
‘How are we going to get to Pearl Beach?’ he asked.
Simone smiled.
‘I might know a way.’
Fifty-Seven
The 2041 Celine family sedan was dark blue in colour. It had silver wheels, a rather sedate body style and large headlights. It was one of the most popular sedans manufactured by the Iona Corporation. It was the type of car that could be found dropping kids off at school, doing the shopping at the local supermarket, taking the family on a holiday or just sitting in front of a family home in any suburban area. It was definitely not the type of car that would draw any kind of attention. That suited its two occupants perfectly.
‘You’re sure this is it?’ John asked.
‘Yes, John. This is it,’ Socrates replied.
John peered through the windscreen at a dilapidated old warehouse. Pieces of old buildings that had been torn down or had deteriorated with age lay strewn across the ground. They were in the back of Mascot, not far from where Councillor Alara Green had dropped them off in the transport ship. John clenched his fists on the steering wheel. The memory of her death above the harbour was still fresh in his mind as was the sight of the broken Council operative’s visor. He pulled the car around the side and switched the engine off.
‘Anything I should know before we go in?’ he asked.
‘I am certain there is a large number of things that you should know, John. Whether you do or not is something which I am incapable of answering.’
‘Let me rephrase that. Is there anything about Professor Holstein that I should know before we enter this building?’
‘He is a gifted mathematician and roboticist. His intellect is such that he finds it difficult to converse with people of inferior intellect.’
Socrates turned to look at John.
‘You may find that you understand very little of what he is saying. Please be patient as I explain this to Professor Holstein. He also shies away from human contact.’
‘Sure, I’ll… hey, wait a minute. Did you just say that I’m too stupid to understand him?’
‘No, John. That is not what I said at all.’
‘I could have sworn you—’
‘I implied it in no uncertain terms but I never stated it explicitly.’
‘Right. We might need to see about having that sense of humour of yours adjusted while we’re here. Come on.’
They stepped out of the dark blue sedan. John checked his handgun. Satisfied, he motioned for Socrates to lead the way. The android moved swiftly across the remains of old buildings: bricks, glass and wood fragments scattered across the ground. He reached a solid metal door that appeared to be welded shut. Socrates placed his hand on the door. His fingers moved in rapid succession as he sketched out a pattern on the metallic surface. When he stopped the door opened.
The interior was bare brick and concrete with steel beams crisscrossing the ceiling at regular intervals. Sophisticated data analysis and integration equipment with holoprojectors and an assortment of data racks dominated one side of the room. The other side was set up as a high-tech workshop, with cybernetic tools, spools of wire in different colours and pieces of computer hardware spread out across shelves and benches. The workshop created the impression of organized chaos—there was an inordinate amount of equipment yet everything seemed to have its designated place. Parts of the floor and walls were solid metal, polished to such a degree that they reflected everything around them, compounding and magnifying the effect of the multi-coloured equipment.
‘Socrates, is that you?’ a voice asked.
‘Hello, Professor Holstein. It’s good to see you again.’
The sound of shuffling feet could be heard as a figure clad in a white coat moved out from behind a complicated piece of circuitry. Professor Holstein was in his mid-sixties. His head was a tangled mass of grey hair, he wore thin wireframe glasses and his skin was pale. He stopped about ten feet away from them.
‘Socrates, is something wrong?’ Professor Ho
lstein asked. He seemed to notice John for the first time and shrank back a little. ‘Who is this? You can’t be here.’
‘Professor, my name is John Tesh. I’m a Sentinel. Socrates is my partner.’
‘Sentinels: highest form of non-Council operatives in Iona, with authority over all public law enforcement entities, reporting only to the Ruling Council,’ Professor Holstein recited. ‘Sentinels established through the Sentinel Crime Prevention Act 2041 under the aegis of Qallan Frost, Chairman of the Iona Corporation and head of the Ruling Council of Iona.’
‘Yes, that’s—’
‘Sentinels are tasked with investigating serious crimes: murder, acts of terrorism, sabotage, malicious damage to vital infrastructure and suspected conspiracy against the Ruling Council. Why are you here, Sentinel?’
‘I’m here because we need your help, Professor.’
Fifty-Eight
The inside of the old warehouse was even larger than it first appeared. Beyond the main workshop area and robotics laboratory were several smaller rooms. These had been fitted out for habitation, with rendered walls, tiled floors and soft ambient lighting. There was a small self-contained kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom. All looked well lived in.
‘How long have you lived here, Professor?’ John asked. They were seated on an old couch next to the kitchen.
‘Six years, twenty days, four hours and eight minutes,’ Professor Holstein replied.
‘And you live here alone?’
‘Prefer it that way. No distractions. It allows me to focus on my work.’
‘What work do you do, Professor?’
‘I am investigating the workings of all Iona Corporation technology.’
‘You mean the Flux Cell?’
‘Yes, the Flux Cell and the force field barriers. I would also be interested in analysing one of their transport ships.’
‘What about arc cannons?’
‘Never heard of them. Is that why you’re here?’
John shook his head. He motioned for Socrates to speak.
‘Professor, I’ve encountered a problem with my programming. I’ve run every form of self-diagnostic but am unable to locate the source of the problem.’
‘How does the irregularity manifest itself?’
‘I am forced to obey the commands of Councillors.’
‘Interesting,’ Professor Holstein said. He stood up. Retrieving a multifunction diagnostic tool and a laser screwdriver, he returned.
‘May I?’ he asked.
Socrates nodded. He reached up with both his arms. Grasping the back of his head, he pulled the skin apart. Revealed underneath was a sophisticated multiport computer interface. Professor Holstein plugged the diagnostic tool in. Activating it, he keyed in a series of instructions. Sixty seconds later the device beeped. Professor Holstein frowned.
‘Strange. There appears to be nothing wrong with either your primary or secondary data pathways.’
‘So there’s nothing wrong with him?’ John asked.
‘No, I didn’t say that. There’s something…’
Professor Holstein input another series of instructions into the diagnostic device. Taking the laser screwdriver, he inserted it into the back of Socrates’s head. After another sixty seconds the device beeped again.
‘Yes, that’s it! There is a tertiary data pathway running simultaneously with the primary and secondary. It’s extremely faint and almost undetectable but it’s there. It’s moving in perfect synchronisation with the other two, making it impossible for Socrates’s self-diagnostics to identify it. Whoever added this knew exactly what they were doing.’
‘Who would have the expertise and technology to do such a thing?’
‘While I can locate and even analyse the additional data pathway, I would not be capable of adding one like it to Socrates’s existing programming. This could have only been coded by one person.’
‘Who?’
‘The one who built him.’
‘Do you know who that is?’
‘No.’
‘Can you remove the additional data pathway?’
Professor Holstein shook his head.
‘No.’
‘Damn. This was all for nothing then.’
‘Professor,’ Socrates said. His face was distorted, given that the back of his head had been pulled apart, making him appear like a plastic doll that had melted in the sun. His voice was, nonetheless, perfectly clear. ‘Are you not able to block the data pathway or prevent it from affecting the primary and secondary ones?’
‘Yes, I believe that is possible. If I repolarise the primary and secondary data streams and realign their binary coefficients it should make them incompatible with the tertiary data stream.’
John’s eyes opened wide.
‘Don’t worry, John. What the professor is suggesting will not eradicate the tertiary data stream but it will make it unable to affect the primary and secondary. Think of three trains. Currently, the first and second train are running on tracks next to each other. The third train is able to jump from either track and affect how the first or second react. What the professor will do is move the first and second trains onto new tracks, ones where the third train cannot reach.’
‘Right,’ John said. ‘I’ll take your word for it. Will it work? Will you be free from the influence of the Ruling Council?’
‘Yes.’
‘What are we waiting for then? Do it.’
Fifty-Nine
The entire procedure took less than thirty minutes. John walked around the high-tech robotics laboratory while Professor Holstein inserted a series of devices into the back of Socrates’s head. Linking them to a handheld computer, he input a long series of instructions. A holoprojector on the far wall showed the code that was being input. A series of 0s and 1s scrolled across the air. It made no sense to John.
‘The repolarisation has been completed. All coefficients have realigned and the tertiary data pathway is now excluded from affecting the primary and secondary pathways,’ Professor Holstein announced.
‘So it worked?’ John asked.
‘I believe so.’
‘So there’s no way of knowing for sure?’
‘Until you expose the tertiary pathway to the trigger event which precipitates its insertion into the primary and secondary pathways there is no way of validating the code.’
‘Huh?’
‘We’ll need to wait until a Councillor orders me to do something to be sure,’ Socrates said.
‘You mean we won’t know if it worked until we’re confronted by the very people who want us in custody and our only chance will be to rely on the fact that you’re free of this rogue code?’
Socrates shrugged. It was one of those very human reactions he was capable of.
‘Thank you, Professor. Your assistance is greatly appreciated,’ John said.
‘Do what I can to help a Sentinel. I want to find the truth.’
‘The truth? Truth about what?’
‘The Iona Corporation. I want to understand their technology.’
‘I don’t think anyone does, other than them, of course.’
Professor Holstein shook his head.
‘No, I am beginning to see the truth.’
John turned to Socrates. ‘Do you know what he’s talking about?’
‘Professor,’ Socrates said. ‘Can you show us?’
‘You want to see? Yes, I can show you. This way.’
They followed Professor Holstein through the maze of equipment in the laboratory. They reached the far end, where a large wire-mesh cage was setup.
‘What is that?’ John asked.
‘A Faraday cage,’ Socrates replied. ‘It’s a conductive chamber that cancels electrical fields inside of it.’
Within the Faraday cage was a device John had seen once before. A matt-silver oblong shape about 40 centimetres in length, it lay in the centre of the cage. It appeared to be a solid block with two terminals marked plus and minus. There was a single line of
text stamped into its surface: Danger—radiation hazard.’
‘Is that…?’ John asked.
‘A Flux Cell,’ Professor Holstein replied. ‘I have managed to open one.’
‘Open one? Isn’t that dangerous?’
‘Only without the proper shielding in place. Please remain outside the Faraday cage. Do you want to see what’s inside?’
John nodded. Professor Holstein activated a switch and two robotic arms extended into the Faraday cage, through the wire mesh. The robotic arms were covered in a rubber-polymer to allow them to operate within the Faraday cage. There was a brief spark as they passed through the static electricity field formed on the outside of the cage. Grasping the sides of the smooth metallic Flux Cell, they twisted in opposite directions and pulled it apart. Inside was a series of complex circuits. The robotic arms moved these aside to reveal a metallic sphere. Perfectly symmetrical, it seemed to hang suspended in the air.
‘What is that?’ John asked.
‘That is the core of the Flux Cell and the source of its power. What lies inside is the key to the Iona Corporation’s clean energy technology.’
The robotic arms grasped the sphere. Its surface gleamed like liquid metal as they slowly rotated it. As they applied precise pressure to the sphere, it became apparent that it was not solid but that it was constructed of a pliable material layered in sheets. It took the robotic arms five minutes to carefully peel apart the metallic sheeting to reveal what lay inside.
‘Oh my God!’ John exclaimed as he saw that which was at the heart of the most advanced technology on the planet.
Sixty
Since its introduction to the world in 2029 the Flux Cell had been adopted at an exponential rate exceeding any previous technology. From private vehicles to public transport, commercial and residential buildings, aeroplanes, boats and even submarines, the technology was everywhere. The city of Iona alone had over twenty million Flux Cells in operation at any given point in time, with more being added all the time. It was a technology that had saved the world from an economic and humanitarian crisis. It had made its creator, the Iona Corporation, into the richest private entity on the planet. But for all that, no one had ever actually understood how it generated seemingly limitless clean energy. Until now.
