She still vividly remembered with nostalgic fondness a hiking trip with her father in the Alborz Mountains when she was thirteen. She recalled being cold and tired, but the scenery had been stunning. They had spent hours discussing AI and the way the world was changing. Her father explained to her that the notion of artificial general intelligence, when machines could do everything humans could, required AIs to be sentient, to develop self-awareness. Otherwise, they would stay just very clever zombies, with no true understanding of what they were doing. All the time this remained the case, humans could keep one step ahead of them. True machine consciousness, he’d said – she recalled this was the first time she’d heard the term ‘the singularity’ – would not be achieved for many decades.
Since that hiking trip just seven years ago the line between artificial and human intelligence had become increasingly blurred. Passing the Turing test had not meant that computers were now sentient, but it had highlighted instead that what most people thought of as consciousness was no longer so clear-cut. Sure, AIs now had very crude emotional states, but these had mostly been programmed in rather than learned. At best, the most powerful Minds were more like benign yet extreme psychopaths (those scoring close to the maximum of 40 on the Hare psychopathy checklist), in that they lacked the ability to feel basic emotions such as compassion, or to empathize with the emotional states of humans.
But Shireen’s job was not to protect or monitor the AIs. She had been given a quite specific task: to infiltrate the Purifiers’ network. She knew she wasn’t the only one at Bletchley working on this and it was a little frustrating that she couldn’t discuss anything with others. Surely pooling their mental resources would be more effective? But she also understood that it was probably safer for her to be doing this alone, following her instincts as she navigated her way through the vast dark web.
Later that morning, just as she was thinking of taking a short break, she received notification of a message sent to her dark web account. It was one that she only used very rarely and which few people had access to.
It was from Sarah. Shireen had suggested she contact her that way if she ever wanted to say something in private. This was the first time Sarah had used it.
She stared at her screen and her heart started beating faster. The message was brief and obscure:
Shireen, we have to meet today. Covent Garden 3 p.m. Tell no one.
She hadn’t even known Sarah was in London, but thanks to her own past experience in avoiding the prying eyes and ears of drones and sensors Shireen immediately understood Sarah’s choice of venue. Covent Garden was one of the busiest places in London – ideal if you didn’t want to be spotted easily. But what might warrant such secrecy? She quickly sent back a reply.
OK. I can be there. What’s going on?
She waited a couple of minutes for a response, but nothing came back. What the hell? Sarah would have sensitive information about all sorts of details relating to the Project, but the only reason she might want to contact Shireen at this point was if she knew something about the Purifiers and their plans.
For her own part, if she was going to get to Covent Garden without raising suspicion, Shireen decided the best course of action was to keep her story as simple and as close to the truth as possible. All staff at Bletchley were on call twenty-four hours a day and had been working around the clock for several weeks now as Ignition drew closer. And while officially everyone was still being positive about the outcome of the Project, it was also understood that many would want to have short visits to see family and loved ones to say their goodbyes, just in case. Everyone therefore was allowed a few hours off each week on compassionate grounds. Shireen had an aunt who lived in Soho, just a few minutes’ walk from Covent Garden, whom she had been meaning to visit for several weeks past. It was the perfect cover.
Within half an hour she was on the high-speed shuttle from Milton Keynes to central London. Staring out of the window and lost deep in her thoughts, she didn’t register the city’s suburbs flying past. If required, she could go dark – disappear for a few hours so that she was untraceable – but there was nothing to suggest that was necessary yet. Not having any idea what Sarah wanted was frustrating. Anyway, for now let them keep track of her movements. Someone would no doubt have already checked out her cover story, but that was in hand. Her aunt had been delighted when she’d called her to say she would be dropping in.
The train slowed as it approached Euston Station and she checked the time. Midday. She could spend a couple of hours at her aunt’s swapping family stories before she had to leave to meet Sarah. Every minute was going to feel like an hour.
34
Tuesday, 10 September – London
With one week to go till Ignition, Marc had been in Geneva with Sarah to discuss final arrangements with the rest of the international task force. Although their relationship had remained platonic so far, Marc had been finding it increasingly difficult to hide his feelings for Sarah. He still wasn’t entirely sure whether she felt the same but hadn’t wanted to jeopardize their friendship by suddenly coming on strong. On the one hand, now really was not the time for romance, but then, if the Project failed and the world was destroyed, he wouldn’t want anything to be left unsaid.
He’d been looking forward to the coming weekend when he planned to catch up with Evie in London. His daughter was over in Europe for a week with her high-school art class visiting museums and galleries in several capitals. Last night, he’d spent an enjoyable hour sharing in her delight as he watched the retinal video feed she had posted of her day at the Tate and National Portrait Galleries. He was amazed not only at the resilience and relaxed attitude of the young towards the Project, but that most schools around the world continued to function normally during these times.
It was then that his world had come crashing down.
First came the news from the London police that Evie had gone missing from her hotel. The alarm had been raised by her school party earlier that evening when her roommate had returned to the hotel from a shopping trip to find her not there. But, as the officers were very keen to stress, she could well have just gone out for a walk without telling anyone, although they acknowledged it was strange that she had also gone off-grid.
Within an hour of talking to the police he was back in his Geneva hotel making arrangements to fly to London – Sarah had insisted on accompanying him and the two of them had packed as quickly as they could. He’d clung to the hope that Evie would return, that she had just gone for a walk and got lost. But his wristpad had pinged as they were about to leave the hotel room. He’d stopped halfway out of the door to look at it.
Professor Bruckner, congratulations on cheating death in CERN. But now you will help us ensure that Mother Earth cleanses herself of the plague of humankind. If you want your daughter to live long enough to witness Mother Earth’s glorious rebirth you will do exactly what we ask. If you inform the authorities about this message she will not live to see another sunrise.
Further instructions to follow. Acknowledge.
Marc had felt his world begin to swim and he’d stumbled against the door, then slumped to the floor. Sarah’s voice, asking him what was wrong, had sounded as though it was coming from a great distance. He’d read through the message again. What did they want? What did the message even mean? The mention of Mother Earth indicated that this was from the Purifiers, or someone trying to pass as the Purifiers.
In a shaky voice, he’d spoken into his wristpad. ‘Acknowledged.’
He didn’t remember much more of that evening, or the flight to London. He had received a call from Charlotte in New York and had tried his best to hold himself together as he spoke to her. She had been hysterical with worry, wanting to catch the next flight over herself. She told him the police in London had spoken to her too and were keen to know if Evie was having any friendship problems, whether there were any girls on the school trip with whom she might have fallen out and which might have prompted her disappea
rance. Of course not, she had told them. Evie was popular and as well-balanced and sensible as any teenage girl could be. He’d managed to persuade his ex-wife that, for now, there would be absolutely no point in her coming over to London. Evie was bound to show up soon. Maybe her wristpad had been stolen and she couldn’t find her way back to the hotel or contact anyone. He knew he hadn’t sounded very convincing, but until he had more information he just couldn’t risk telling her any more.
‘Listen, Charlie, I’ll be in London in a few hours and will call you as soon as I hear something.’ He hoped he’d sounded calm enough.
So, here they were, sitting outside a café in one of the busiest locations in the crowded metropolis. Waiting. But not just for contact from the terrorists. Sarah had persuaded him that he … they … should enlist the help of her young cyb friend, Shireen; that if anyone could infiltrate the group and find his daughter, she could.
Marc had taken a lot of convincing. ‘Sarah, we don’t know what their demands are yet. All we do know is that the Purifiers will stop at nothing to get what they want.’
But Sarah had won the argument. ‘Shireen is one of the world’s smartest cyberhackers.’ She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I’m sure you know she’s working for UN intelligence to infiltrate the Purifiers’ network, so no one on the planet is better placed than she is to find Evie. And you know as well as I do that the vital thing now is time. The longer we wait the harder it will be to trace them.’
And so they waited for Shireen. And they waited for instructions from the kidnappers. Marc stared down at his wristpad willing a message to arrive – anything, just as long as he knew Evie was still alive. After a few minutes, he stood up. ‘I’m going to get another coffee. You want one?’
‘No, thanks,’ said Sarah. ‘I’ll try to eat some of this salad. It’s already looking a bit sorry for itself.’
Marc disappeared into the café. He’d been standing in the queue for no more than a minute when his wristpad buzzed. He looked down at it and what he saw made his blood run cold.
You really should eat some lunch, Professor. We need you at your sharpest.
Stand by …
They were watching him.
That meant they would see him meeting Shireen too. He rushed back out again, his heart pounding. Several people turned to stare as he pushed his way through the crowded café entrance. Were the kidnappers among them? And how long had they been tracking him?
The look on his face must have betrayed the panic he felt, because Sarah froze. ‘What is it?’
He showed her the message then slumped down in his chair and put his head in his hands. None of this seemed real.
Sarah put her hand gently on his arm and whispered, ‘They can see us, but I don’t think they can hear us. Remember, we chose this table ourselves, so it couldn’t have been bugged in advance, and all the noise around us means no drone mike could pick up what we say if we speak softly.’
Marc looked up at her. She was right, but it didn’t reassure him in the least. ‘You know we won’t be meeting your friend now. It’s too risky. You can see that, right?’
Sarah held his gaze for a couple of seconds, then nodded.
Suddenly, his wristpad pinged again. He forced himself to look down at the new message.
Professor Bruckner, your Odin Project is an abomination and it will not succeed. As its architect, you will now become its destroyer. You will do exactly what we, the Purifiers, tell you, because you love your daughter. If you do then she will come to no harm, but you will only see her again once we are satisfied your task is complete.
The stomach-churning dread and anxiety he was feeling about Evie was now supplemented by an even deeper sense of foreboding. He tasted bile rising up in his throat. What was it they needed from him? It was clearly something they were confident he would agree to. Until recently, he would have said that a group as ruthless and resourceful as the Purifiers would have had a thousand ways of stopping the Project, but not any more. Since their failed attempt to reduce CERN to a giant crater, the eight Project sites had become physically impenetrable fortresses and surveillance within and around them was bordering on the omniscient, while the security clearances necessary to access any aspect of the Project were becoming so tight that many of the scientists and engineers involved now found it difficult to do their jobs properly. Every conceivable weakness, from cracking quantum encrypted data files to hacking the Minds themselves, had now been addressed.
And yet … Had the Purifiers just found the Odin Project’s Achilles heel: one of its two creators?
When the third message came through a minute later, he didn’t know what to make of it at first.
In exchange for your daughter’s life, we ask for a simple thing from you. You must give us access to your REAPER-9 code.
It would be a shame if you allow some misplaced sense of moral duty to humanity to cloud your judgement. Your daughter’s death will not be pleasant.
You have 24 hours.
He stared at it for a few seconds, his mind in turmoil. Then he understood.
When he raised his eyes to meet Sarah’s, all he could feel was a numbing sense of hopelessness – it was an experience he knew well, only this time the demons were all too real.
She had read the message too because now she spoke softly and calmly. ‘Take a deep breath, Marc, and tell me about the REAPER-9 program.’
He gathered his thoughts as best he could.
‘It’s a computer code that Qiang and I developed about fifteen years ago. It calculates dark-matter particle properties – their lifetimes, decay schemes and so on. It’s a big code – over twenty thousand lines. It’s what we used in the work that led to our breakthrough prediction.’
‘Your discovery that dark matter self-interacts?’ Sarah asked. ‘But what’s that got to do with the Project? I mean, that’s all established science now, right? It’s out there in the public domain.’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’ He sighed, still trying to work out how the Purifiers had found this weakness. There were now hundreds of research teams around the globe working day and night on the Project; thousands of engineers were building the giant superconducting magnets, several in some of the remotest parts of the world; accelerator physicists, geologists and engineers were teaming up to finalize the finer details of the dark-matter beams to ensure that each pulse was aimed in precisely the right direction for all eight to meet within a single nanosecond at ‘point zero’, a volume the size of a peppercorn deep within the molten core of the planet. And yet, the Purifiers had still known exactly what, or rather whom, to target …
‘You know, their plan is quite beautiful in its simplicity,’ he said finally. ‘The REAPER-9 program is still a vital part of the calibrations. And they want me to give them access to it. And I can guess why. All they’d need to do is change one line of code – a single line out of over twenty thousand.’
He saw the shocked look on Sarah’s face. ‘Many years ago,’ he continued, ‘I was involved in the calculations that first predicted the lifetime of the chargino, the particle that has to be bent by the magnets. The relevant subroutine in the code deals with something called R-parity conservation and it’s my numbers that feed into the main program. Changing that line of code would make our estimate of the chargino lifetime wrong.’
‘And? What are the implications? I mean, you seem to be talking about lines of code – a simulation – but we will have real beams of particles doing what they do and the entire mission has been set up to make sure nothing goes wrong. What am I missing?’
Marc chewed his lip and shook his head. ‘No, the REAPER-9 code is much more than a simulation. If it is altered so as to predict that the charginos will decay back into neutralinos more quickly than is really the case then the energy of the beams, the speed of the particles, will be adjusted to suit the prediction, and the beam will still consist of charged particles when it hits the ground.’
Sarah shook her
head. ‘I still don’t get it. Why calculate lifetimes during the run itself? Why not hardwire these numbers into the accelerator design in advance?’
‘Because then we would have no control. The energy and luminosity of the beams will always have tiny error bars and so all parameters have to be constantly adjusted. Remember, for the run to work, all eight beams need to coincide, and these particles are travelling at close to the speed of light. There is no margin for error.’
‘OK, so it doesn’t work. We’d just try again, right? Once we know, it can be corrected again.’
‘Ah, but I know now what they will do. Or at least I can guess. They only want to tamper with the code controlling the CERN beams. They know I still have the access passwords to the codes being run at CERN. The beams from the other two labs would be unaffected.’
Sarah jerked back in her seat. ‘What?’ She had said it too loudly and a few people seated nearby turned to look at her. She leaned forward and lowered her voice again. ‘But if not all eight beams meet at point zero then the perfect balance is destroyed, and the energy pulse gets sent back out again – to the Earth’s crust.’
Marc nodded. ‘If the CERN beams don’t get through then that’s three of the eight that are knocked out. The remaining five wouldn’t cause a catastrophic event, but there would still be serious seismic activity: earthquakes and tsunamis wherever it emerges. But it’s survivable.’
He saw the blood drain from Sarah’s face. ‘You mean “just” millions might die, rather than billions?’
Marc felt a sense of despair. ‘That’s what they seem prepared to risk – and, more to the point, that’s what they seem confident I would be prepared to risk in order to save Evie.’
But now that he had explained what he thought their plan would be, he realized there was something bugging him. At first, he couldn’t quite articulate it. Then it came to him. ‘What I don’t understand is why do it this way? Why not knock out just one of the eight beams and bring about the quick annihilation of the entire planet? Why three?’
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