by Nick M Lloyd
In fact, Charlie had helped with some of the coding logic too. Charlie’s own background in behavioural modelling had supported their work on dynamic meme linking.
Speak of the devil …
Charlie had broken away from talking to the familiar-looking woman they’d seen earlier in the lecture theatre and walked over to join them.
‘Are there other team leaders here?’ Tim asked Charlie as he arrived.
‘Nope,’ said Charlie, reaching down and taking Sam’s hand. ‘You two are special cases.’
‘You said there was a chance I’d meet a few,’ said Tim, aware that he was sounding a little needy.
Sam came to his defence. ‘Come on, Charlie.’
‘I never promised that,’ said Charlie, his eyes darting to the corner of the room where MacKenzie was speaking to Chancellor Greening. ‘You know what Francis is like.’
‘Who was the lady you were speaking to before?’ asked Sam. ‘I saw her in the lecture theatre behind Chancellor Greening.’
For a moment it looked like Charlie wouldn’t answer, but then he relented. ‘Xandra Kusr.’
Ah…
Tim knew her name. Dr Xandra Kusr was a neurosurgeon – a struck-off neurosurgeon.
‘She’s formally working with MedOp?’ asked Tim.
‘Almost,’ said Charlie. ‘I know that you know her background. It’s complicated.’
‘Can I talk to her?’ asked Sam.
‘No,’ said Tim, aware the question had been for Charlie. ‘We mustn’t risk annoying MacKenzie. You know his views on compartmentalisation.’
Tim really didn’t want to annoy MacKenzie. Their ability to earn significant money developing MIDAS was entirely reliant on the final discretionary bonus that MacKenzie would decide independently. MacKenzie was not known to be generous at all, but even less so with people he felt had crossed him in any way. The previous year, Tim had found an editorial in a business journal detailing a company MacKenzie had bought. The factory workers were rumoured to have been ‘off’ with him on his first site visit. So, MacKenzie had shelved his turn-around plans, stripped the assets, sacked the workers, and sold off the real estate – all within three days. The editorial stated that MacKenzie had been entirely upfront about his change of heart, simply stating that the original rescue plans had assumed a certain level of employee buy-in and motivation. When it became clear to MacKenzie that part of the equation did not exist, he’d implemented Plan B.
‘I want to know what Kusr has been up to,’ said Sam.
Charlie shook his head. ‘Sorry.’
Sam’s face registered disappointment. For a moment it looked as if she would wheel herself over to the woman in question, but then a voice interrupted the conversation.
‘Mr Boston. Miss Turner.’ The voice of Francis MacKenzie.
Tim turned.
‘Is MIDAS ready to send surveys to applicants?’ asked MacKenzie.
Tim took a breath before answering. MacKenzie knew it was. They’d been testing it hard for the last two months. ‘We’re ready,’ he said.
‘It’s critical,’ said MacKenzie. ‘I need to track public opinion and keep ahead of any growing concerns. The information I get from that survey data is gold dust.’
MacKenzie was correct about the data being valuable. As well as using it for early identification, and validation, of negative public perception – which could then be countered with focused interventions – MedOp also needed the financial security it would bring. Participants very explicitly agreed, in their contracts, for the data to be sold to third parties.
‘It’s ready,’ Tim repeated. He always felt uncomfortable when the commercial element came up. MacKenzie always stated that data tranches would be anonymised and individuals’ privacy protected, but Tim knew that Sam seriously doubted the anonymisation would be enough. The available tools providing smart data triangulation were simply too strong. Sam should know; she’d designed the module used in MIDAS for just that purpose.
Tim looked at Sam, willing her not to bring the subject up.
She seemed to be considering it, but luckily Charlie – perhaps sensing the moment too –intervened.
‘We think that at least five million people will sign up,’ said Charlie. ‘And they will commit to answering surveys every week to keep their allotted spaces.’
‘Blackmail,’ said Sam lightly.
MacKenzie smiled, appearing to take the comment in the intended manner. ‘I think, Samantha, they’re getting the better end of the deal. They tell me which butter they prefer, and I cure their heart disease.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, don’t book yourself on any holidays. It’s going to be non-stop.’
‘We’re on top of the next set of enhancements,’ said Tim.
‘Improved anonymisation …’ said Sam quietly.
MacKenzie affected not to have heard Sam, but the tone of his voice indicated his mood had soured. ‘I hope so. Your bonus depends on it.’
With a disapproving glance at Tim, MacKenzie walked away with Charlie hurrying after him.
‘Not great,’ said Tim.
‘Sorry,’ said Sam quietly.
They both watched as Charlie was waved away.
‘I wasn’t the only one who annoyed him this evening,’ said Sam. ‘There was the guy with the immortality question.’
‘You can see how MedOp looks at first sight. There’s some big ethical questions,’ said Tim. ‘Who wouldn’t want to live forever?’
‘Me,’ said Sam with a tiny gesture at her wheelchair. ‘Not like this, anyway.’
Tim took a sip of his drink and scanned the crowd.
The silence stretched.
‘Sorry,’ said Sam. ‘You know I don’t mean …’
Charlie slunk back. ‘Dinner for three?’
Tim considered the invitation very briefly. ‘Not for me, thanks. I’ll soak up the atmosphere here for a bit.’
‘Maybe find an algorithm writer?’ asked Sam.
‘Please don’t,’ said Charlie, with an admonishing look.
Sam gave Tim a final smile, before turning and wheeling away with Charlie. ‘See you Monday,’ she called over her shoulder.
‘See you Monday,’ said Tim quietly, to her retreating back.
Alone now, Tim watched the crowd ebb and flow whilst he finished his drink.
It should have been him taking Sam for dinner, but somewhere along the way, he’d missed his chance.
CHAPTER 1
MIDAS Butler Street Offices, East London, Monday 8th April
Climbing the stairs to the company offices in Butler Street, Tim entered the password into the door and then swiped his smart card. The light flashed green.
Inside the main office area, he typed the daily encryption key-code into his phone and the room registered his presence by adding his name to a smart screen on the wall.
Sam was already at her desk. This was not unusual; a combination of poor sleep patterns, desire to leave at a sensible time, and the fact she preferred not to be watched during her arrival routine meant that she was normally in the office first.
Sam’s hair appeared to have been heavily re-bleached over the weekend, and the tiny blue tattoo of the Greek letter psi stood out even more prominently on her neck. Her desk, ostensibly subject to the same overnight cleanliness policy as Tim’s, was already piled high with junk: two soft drinks cans, a bowl of muesli, a raincoat, and a Virtual Reality headset.
‘Does the extra colour mean you won?’ asked Tim.
‘Yep,’ said Sam, gingerly leaning back in her chair. ‘The Triple-Bs fragged their way to another trophy.’ She made a gun from her pointed finger and blew imaginary smoke off the top of it.
‘Has Charlie said anything about the exact dates of the next code delivery?’
‘He was working on special projects for Francis all weekend.’ Sam rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t see him.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Tim, aware that Sam and Charlie were going through some relationship tension.
Just don’t dump him before we get paid.
The thought jumped unbidden from some dark place within Tim’s psyche. Luckily, his filter stopped him verbalising it. Charlie had been instrumental in them getting the contract for MIDAS, and his ongoing goodwill was critical.
‘OrcLore?’ asked Tim, nodding at the Virtual Reality headset on Sam’s desk. OrcLore was an online role-playing game that had first interested Sam purely as a pastime but had recently become enmeshed in her work, as a potential source of data. It had tens of thousands of subscribers all running around a make-believe world interacting with each other, mostly fighting but sometimes having conversations.
‘Yep. I finished the scripts last night. I’ll give you an update later.’
‘Great,’ said Tim, moving over to his desk. He booted up his computer and checked the overnight runs. ‘I look forward to seeing if your gamebots can extract information from other players whilst they’re hunting wolf pelts.’
Sam sniffed in response, and then narrowed her eyes. ‘You’ll see.’
Tim turned back to his own screen and checked the status.
Odd…
One of the security logs was showing a data anomaly.
‘Have you picked up the overnight server room prints?’ Tim asked Sam.
‘Sorry, no.’ Sam dug around on her desk for a few moments, and then passed over a few A4 printouts. ‘These are the office ones.’
Given that MIDAS was constantly connecting into millions of external data sources, MacKenzie had been obsessive about having intricate checks to protect against hacking. They used highly specialised passive sniffing modules clamped around the various ethernet cables within the main office and server room. The modules measured the tiny changes in electromagnetic radiation when signals passed to MIDAS from the office workstations. Separate programs monitored the various processes on every computer. By triangulation, and big data analysis, a security protocol raised alerts if there was a chance that data had been stolen, moved, or created without appropriate permissions.
The security log anomaly implied something had happened.
Tim looked up at the smart screens and then across to Sam. ‘Have you noticed any data leakage?’
Sam shook her head. ‘My stuff is all secure. Why?’
‘One of my logs is showing a blip,’ said Tim. ‘I’d better report it.’
‘Let’s track it down first. Send me the log file.’
Wise words …
MacKenzie’s obsession with secrecy meant that Tim and his development team had no access to the MIDAS production systems installed in Anglesey. Just because their development system was showing a blip didn’t automatically mean that MacKenzie’s MIDAS production had been impacted.
But if there was a risk…
Quickly, Tim dropped an email to MacKenzie stating a possible hack had been registered and they were investigating.
The response came back in five seconds.
Full report by tomorrow lunchtime.
Toby – the third and final member of the MIDAS development team – arrived. Walking over to the wall where a sheet of paper was stuck on the corner of a smart screen, he scrawled ‘40 million’ on the sheet. ‘I changed my mind over the weekend. Immortality over freedom. Everyone of the right age who can read, write, and has internet access.’
It was their ongoing team bet as to who could guess the eventual number of UK MedOp applications by the time initial registration was frozen at the end of the year.
‘So, you don’t think anyone is put off by the data suck requirements?’ asked Sam.
‘Personal medical data, like the DNA swab, is a bit sensitive,’ said Toby. ‘But the surveys are just market research.’
‘We don’t actually know what is asked day-to-day,’ said Sam, raising her eyebrows. ‘Do we?’
Tim suppressed a groan. Sam was needling Toby. MacKenzie had forbidden anyone professionally involved in MedOp from applying for registration. Their families were forbidden also, but Sam was positive that Toby’s father, having applied with a fake name and address, was getting surveys. In fact, Sam had always said she wouldn’t apply as she didn’t want MacKenzie accessing all her personal data.
As if he couldn’t have swabbed the desks in here for her DNA a hundred times if he wanted it …
‘Let’s not go there again,’ said Tim.
‘Do you really not think it’s worth it?’ asked Toby, looking at Sam as he set his coffee down on the desk. ‘This is an amazing step towards proper technology augmentation for humans. Surely it’s reasonable if MacKenzie needs to pay for the research using marketing data?’
Sam looked uncertain for a moment, but then her eyes narrowed and face hardened. ‘I get the maths, yes. Give me your data and I will give you good health.’
‘So, you just don’t want MedOp to tell the corporations what your favourite pizza topping is?’ asked Toby.
‘It’s not that,’ said Sam. ‘I don’t have a problem with selling the data as long as it’s not attributable back to a single individual.’
‘Agreed,’ said Tim. A few months previously, MacKenzie had sold the first tranche of MIDAS data to a large pharmaceutical firm. Tim and Sam had triangulated searches around the company and its employees to see what they could discern about the contents of the data. It had all appeared clean. MacKenzie seemed to have adhered to his data privacy commitments.
‘When can you get the real number?’ asked Toby.
MedOp registration included severe preconditions that applicants were not allowed in any circumstances to discuss or broadcast anything related to MedOp. It was impossible to get the real number of applicants from public sources, but newspapers – with God knew what sources – had estimated that in the eighteen months since the Imperial College launch, five million people had signed up.
Tim, due in Anglesey later in the month, would have access to the production systems and had undertaken to try to get the real number. Of course, he would not attempt it if there was even a tiny chance of being caught, but he had some ideas. ‘I’m not promising anything.’
‘I accept that fear of a heart attack is a strong driver,’ said Sam, ‘but I’ll stick with six million.’
‘Why so low?’ asked Tim, whose own guess was nine million. ‘Is it really data privacy? Or do you think people are just waiting to see if the first candidates get eaten alive from the inside?’
Sam smiled warmly at Tim, causing a small buzz of satisfaction to flow through him.
The feeling ended abruptly as an alarm sounded and five of the smart screens on the office wall flashed.
Each of them displaying an identical message.
We are the Ankor
We are ‘Aliens’
You must obey us in full to survive
There will be no dialogue
We will send critical directives
A Gamma Ray Burst will arrive in 164 Earth days
Three concurrent defences are necessary
Deflector shield
Survival units
Community bunkers
Individual instructions will follow
‘What’s that?’ said Sam.
‘Some type of practical joke?’ said Toby. ‘An Eastern European hack?’
‘Maybe a viral advert for a new online game,’ said Tim, wondering if the earlier data anomaly was related.
‘It’s on my phone too,’ said Sam, holding up her mobile.
‘And mine,’ said Toby.
Tim looked at his own. He had it too.
‘Aliens,’ said Toby. ‘My mother is going to freak out.’
‘She freaked out when they changed the shape of the one-pound coin,’ said Sam. ‘Didn’t she go to bed for three days?’
‘Yep,’ said Toby, already dialling.
Sam dialled hers, too.
Tim considered calling his own father but decided to simply send a text checking everything was okay. He stood and looked out of one of the main windows onto the street below. Two floors up, an
d shielded by reinforced secure windows, Tim couldn’t hear any sound from the street. As he looked closer, however, he could see groups of men and women clumping together and staring at mobile phone screens.
A few cars pulled over onto the pavement; people got out and congregated.
Back in the room, Toby was whispering urgently into his phone, whilst Sam had obviously completed her call and was now launching a series of searches within MIDAS and feeding them to the main smart screens.
Tim closed the window blinds and returned to his desk.
The central smart screen showed MIDAS in action: newsfeeds, social media feeds, and real-time automated surveys flooded the screen with text and information. The far right-hand screen simply showed a summary, whilst other screens displayed maps, video streams, and other information.
After twenty minutes of information bedlam, some relevant items appeared on the smart screen. This was data that MIDAS had determined to have the most validity, consequence, and relevance.
Multiple governmental agencies across the globe have validated that the messages are coming from somewhere just outside the current orbit of Neptune. An elaborate hoax has not been ruled out but there are very few Earth craft out there
***
Gamma Ray Burst arrival 164 days. Source unknown. Damage unknown. Large Gamma Ray Burst associated with previous Earth extinction event
***
On a new screen, Sam typed in ‘alien invasion’.
Within moments, MIDAS came back with:
Alien Invasion largely rejected by data feeds.
Trending words: pointless, unlikely, conspiracy
There were also links to the most read and most recently published articles about alien invasion. Tim created a duplicate of the search results on his own desktop and started reading.
‘I’d quite like to get a sense of the atmosphere out there,’ said Sam, reaching for her emergency crutches. ‘Coffee?’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Tim. ‘We’ll be able to monitor more from in here.’