by Mark New
‘What can you do, Doc?’
‘Do? Nothing, my boy. Your brain chemistry is all over the place and we don’t know why. I’m not about to introduce another pharmaceutical complication until we know what’s going on.’
‘I have an urgent job to do,’ I reminded him. ‘If I come back afterwards we can go into it in detail. Is there anything I can do in the meantime?’
‘Yes, let’s talk about this job. I’m pretty sure you bullshitted me on the nature of it. No,’ he lifted his hands to preclude my response, ‘I don’t care what it is really. I appreciate it’s need to know, it always is with you buggers. What I’m saying is that your responses to my questions all seem to indicate that you started feeling much better when the job was in the offing. Is that true to say?’
I considered the question. The first indication of happiness wasn’t really that at all. It was the night George Latimer had been in the bar. I was feeling the onset of a depression and it was true that the next morning I’d been feeling pretty lousy but, thinking about it now, it hadn’t developed into the full-blown black dog I had been expecting. But that was before George had approached me so it couldn’t have been
related. Since then, it was true, I had felt a lot better and I’d even started to enjoy myself. That seemed at odds with the nature of the potential end of days. I was also a little startled to look back at my meeting Becky and see that I’d had what I’d term only a minor emotional reaction by my usual standards. Even when she’d had a bluey at me.
‘It doesn’t quite tie in,’ I told Doc, ‘but certainly there are indications that the two might be connected now.’
‘If you were beginning to feel better, a challenge might be just what your subconscious latched onto to speed recovery. I’m still dubious about a miracle cure, though.’ So was I. I’d come to see him because I’d had my suspicions about it. That was an interesting thought: I’d just responded to his question as though I was thinking about it for the first time but, actually, I’d resolved to come to see him the night after Becky visited. What the hell was going on? More to the point, would it prevent me doing the job I’d agreed to do? It was then that I noticed that I’d stood up. I hoped the implants weren’t going to decide that they could do without me. Doc rose, too.
‘I don’t know what it’s like to live with those infernal devices but I’d advise caution, Skipper. If you won’t deactivate them, at least be aware when you’re using them that they may be the cause of the changes. You don’t want to get high on them and then fall off a cliff later.’ There may not be a ‘later’ if I didn’t get the codes back but I took his point. ‘And treat any excess,’ he pulled a face, ‘happiness, the same way you would depressive thoughts and try evacuating them to your cloud-presence.’
‘I’ll give it a try, Doc. Thanks for seeing me at such short notice and at such a time. I hope I haven’t spoiled your morning.’
‘Not at all, Skipper. Call anytime and take care. I’ll expect you back as soon as you’ve saved the world again!’ He thought he was joking. We shook hands which became a bear hug when he grabbed me. Dear old Doc was getting emotional in his old age. As I walked down Harley Street looking for a taxi back to the airport, I thought of the number of times Doc’s sage advice had helped me through some truly shitty times and was surprised to find, as a taxi pulled up, that I had a tear in my eye.
Chapter Eight
I settled into the sumptuous seat for the trip across the Atlantic. In the taxi I had received an encrypted message from Becky to say that she and George were heading to Los Angeles on a scheduled flight and they’d meet me at Argonaut Corporate Headquarters at my earliest convenience. I nearly giggled aloud at the thought of them slumming it on a scheduled flight until I realised that it was an inappropriate emotional reaction. I stamped the emotion on the thought and filed it in the back of the cave. I hoped that they hadn’t forgotten Taylor as there was no mention of her. I was a little relieved to find that the idea didn’t produce any more than wry amusement. It occurred to me that I had been in a mostly depressive state for many years and that what I was experiencing might just be normal levels of emotion and I was overreacting because I was simply unused to them. Or maybe I was wrong. I resolved to contact Doc should I believe that my faculties were becoming impaired. It would be ironic to save the world and then find the implants had killed me anyway.
I hadn’t yet told Becky but our assignation in LA was going to have to wait. I was actually headed to Quebec as there was something I wanted to check out. The jet took off in near silence and I only had to wait a further five minutes for my morning tea to arrive. I had declined a cognac now that I was on a morning schedule. The fact that it wasn’t my first tea of the day didn’t detract from the exquisite taste. I complimented the flight attendant on brewing it exactly right even though she was American and then spent the next ten minutes apologising for the slight. I really wasn’t used to dealing with people. I made a note to try to observe social mores more closely in future, if there was a future.
After consuming the tea and visiting the marble bathroom, I resumed my seat and went Online. There was no alarm either in the cabin or the cockpit that I could hear. This undercover default could prove rather useful. I checked out the program from the comfort of my sofa in the cave. There seemed to be additional deep menu items on the implants themselves but I couldn’t quite dig far enough to get at them. It was like I hit a concrete floor and couldn’t get lower though the cable seemed to descend through the concrete. Sometimes the visual representations leave a lot to be desired. I mentally shrugged. I’d just have to play the changes as they arose and hope they weren’t going to prove to be a problem. I was still sure that if the additional menus had been there when the implants were inserted, I would have known about them even if I couldn’t access them. For now, it would have to stay a mystery. My real purpose Online was to make an appointment with the Registrar in Quebec who had issued the death certificate for Pierre Meille. She wasn’t Online herself, it being horribly early there, but her office AI made an appointment for ten o’clock that morning. There were plenty of slots available - hardly anyone ever visited in person any more.
Ninety minutes later we landed in Quebec and I stepped off the jet feeling that here was where the proper investigation started. I filed the thought away with an emotion stamp of satisfaction.
◆◆◆
‘I’m not sure I understand the question.’ Like a lot of people in these days of Online, the Registrar had been puzzled as to why I was there in person in the first place. Any business I wanted to conduct could, she was sure, have been dealt with Online using TAG encryption to confirm identities. She had been mollified by my production of a TAG labelled badge of authority which ensured cooperation if not understanding of what I was asking. The fact that the TAG on the badge came courtesy of Sir Edward and wasn’t entirely legitimate was beside the point. TAG encryptions may be unbreakable but there are ways around them. Jan Peters had known that and it had killed him. The Registrar had no idea
that I was ghosting and was sincerely trying to help but was having difficulty with the question. She was probably about sixty years of age so I decided to try explaining what I wanted by reference to that ancient technology once referred to as ‘paper’.
‘Once upon a time,’ I said with a smile, trying desperately to appear what people thought of as friendly, ‘you would issue a paper copy of the death certificate. That would suffice as proof of death but the actual record of death would be the one that was written in your Register.’ I didn’t know a lot about the history of Canadian law but I was hoping it was similar to the UK. She nodded so I took it as encouragement to continue. ‘If in those days you had responsibility for probate like you do now, you would have issued the certificate and the copy of the will at the same time.’ She was nodding more vigorously. This dealing-with-people thing was a doddle. ‘But releasing the copy of the will wouldn’t be releasing the original will. That would still be in your vault
or wherever, all safe and sound.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘But we don’t have original documents here now, it’s all electronic and held on the servers.’ Now we were getting somewhere.
‘Yes, that’s right. Wills are filed by the person making the will, using their TAG, directly onto your secure servers which are located in this building, all protected because you have TAG authority.’
‘I don’t,’ she said helpfully, ‘but my supervisor does.’ I resisted the temptation to put my head in my hands.
‘Noted,’ I said, ‘but my point is that what you issue as the electronic will of the deceased is a copy of the original electronically filed will. In fact, you even label the copies with the copy number so nobody mistakes it for the original.’ I saw the light dawn.
‘Right! And you want to see not a copy of the will for Monsieur Meille but the original copy on our server?’ Hallelujah.
‘Please.’
‘I’ll have to call my supervisor. I don’t have that authority.’
‘That’s fine, no problem at all.’
It took a further half an hour and an almost identical explanation to her much younger supervisor but at last I was standing in the fortified basement of the building, accompanied by the supervisor and a security guard who had an irritating habit of brushing his sidearm every thirty seconds. I assumed he was ensuring it was still there and that the ‘government agent’ currently looking aghast at the server in front of him hadn’t stolen it.
‘This is.....old.’ I said. It had to be fifteen years old. It had clearly been updated and the security seemed sound but, in tech terms, it was Jurassic. There were other servers present, all of varying ages.
‘Yes,’ said the supervisor apologetically, ‘there isn’t a lot of public funding for the hardware. It’s likely that we’ll upgrade everything to the government mainframe in the next few years and this will be obsolete.’ He looked about twelve though he must be in his late twenties. I didn’t like to tell him that governments had been saying things like that for decades and yet, here we were, still in the basement. If he wanted advanced tech maybe he should join a corporation.
‘I’m assuming you can open the interface for me?’ If not, it was a wasted trip to a basement museum.
‘Oh, yes. Just let me TAG in.’ He took his slimpad from his hip carrier and started brushing at it while the guard continued brushing at his sidearm. I activated my implants and noted that, once again, they were undetectable. Although the hardware down here was old, the security tech certainly wasn’t so the undercover mode passed another stern test. I looked at the guard’s sidearm out of the corner of my eye and activated the recognition program. Instantly, the make and model appeared as text along the bottom of my field of vision. It was a simple flesch handgun with an effective range of about a hundred yards. No internal moving parts except the sliver of plastic that emerged to cut straight through the target. The guard wasn’t very good - I could tell with all that nervous brushing - and wasn’t any kind of threat to me even given my lack of actual combat prowess but it was possible that I’d come up against someone more competent before the investigation concluded and I wanted to get back in the habit of regular threat assessment. Threat duly assessed: zero.
‘There,’ said the supervisor with a flourish, ‘try that.’ I made a point of playing around with my slimpad though I ignored it and accessed the server with the implants. My young friend had opened the Meille file and I could see that it contained the death certificate, a handful of reports on the circumstances of his death and the original will. I examined it closely, still playing with a representation of it on the slimpad so as not to excite the locals. As Becky had said, the last bequest was the small sum to Jan Peters, the man they had been unable to link with him at all though that link had been the clue that kept Becky digging into all of the deaths. I opened the deeper function menu and had a look. The TAG was unbreakable but I only needed to view, not manipulate. It took me about three seconds to spot what I’d come to Quebec to see. I spent the next ten minutes aimlessly playing with my slimpad and trying to look like I was concentrating hard. Finally, I closed all the connections to the server and slipped the pad back into my pocket.
‘Very kind, Mr...’ I hadn’t read his nametag until now which was a bit of an oversight for someone trying to improve his social skills, ‘...Randall.’ He beamed. No harm done, then, he still thought he’d assisted with a very important investigation. Well, he had, it just wasn’t the one he thought he’d helped. He led the three of us back upstairs where the guard resumed his place at the entrance to the basement. Randall was kind enough to show me to the exit personally. We shook hands and said goodbye and I went Online to hail a taxi. As I waited for the taxi to reach me, I sent a brief encrypted message to Becky. By the time I got into the taxi, I’d had an acknowledgement and confirmation. I would be heading to Los Angeles to meet Becky and Peter. For the first time in many years, I thought of him without a pang of guilt so I filed that thought away as well. Doc and I were going to have a lot to talk about when I next saw him.
One of the many benefits of having your own trans-orbital jet is that you can use smaller airports than the ones used by commercial flights and you can usually drive straight up to the aircraft when you get there. The taxi driver had never been waved through like that before and realised only at the last minute that he must have had a hugely rich, very quiet passenger in the back while he was holding forth on contentious matters like the state of Quebec’s roads and some long-running Canadian vir-show I’d never seen. I was barely listening as I was playing around Online but I made sure I gave him a big tip. What the hell - I was on expenses.
The flight attendant had already made the tea as I sat down. The pilot personally apologised that air traffic control had held our departure slightly so that we wouldn’t be able to get to LA for another ninety minutes. I had a vague recollection of being told as a small child by my parents that our trip to Toronto from London would take about seven hours. All delays are relative and I was sure I could bear this with stoic fortitude, especially as the tea was so good. As it happened, I was right.
◆◆◆
Black swan technology was Peter’s pet interest. He had been obsessed with it ever since I had known him. At first, the expression had meant technology that hadn’t been foreseen but which turned out to be a game changer. A good early example would be the original world wide web. No prediction of the future from the mid twentieth century ever predicted anything like it but, when it came along, it changed the way the world worked. The Online world was a more recent example which built on the original web. At first, it seemed to be a good entertainment medium but now everyone and everything was Online. You visited places Online in the way you used to physically attend. Most medical appointments were conducted that way; shopping, virtual travel, even your accountant was Online. It would have been an unthinkable concept for anyone who had been an adult when I was born yet here it was. As tech and the associated AIs advanced so rapidly, the expression ‘black swan’ became a reference to unforeseen things you could do with tech rather than unexpected technology itself.
Peter had spent a lifetime trying to stay ahead of the game, at first for the British Armed Forces and later for the UN. I had a story for him today that would knock his socks off. I found that I was looking forward to seeing him as the Argonaut employee led me deep into the corporate building to one of the dark rooms at the heart of it. It was a feeling that was shocking only because it was so unexpected. As I was shown into the room, with the large conference table in the middle and the handful of people present, I realised I was smiling like a normal happy person. It scared me so much I nearly had to sit down. Another thought for the file.
Becky met me halfway along the side of the table. I saw her half-frown when she saw my own expression but she only said that she’d introduce me to everyone. George was standing at the end of the table and nodded seriously at me as I reached him. Becky introduced the th
inner version of George standing beside him but I didn’t really need the information. This was Jason Latimer, the company founder and one of the most famous people on the planet. We shook hands. Already seated was a man who resembled a modern-day version of Adonis. Clearly he was the work of many hours in the gym followed by many hours of rejuv treatment. I resolved at some point to use my implants to determine his actual age as he obviously wasn’t in the early thirties he appeared to be. He was Stephen Catz, the head of Argonaut’s Physical Security Team. While George and Becky ran the tech security, Catz was responsible for the security of the actual facilities themselves. It would be his team who would knock on the car window of the person attempting to access the New Mexico plant, if that ever happened. Becky told me he’d been fully briefed about an hour ago. That explained why, Greek god or no, he looked hugely worried. The last person present was seated in a highly advanced personal mobility vehicle that resembled a flying computer terminal rather than a wheelchair. Peter was about the same chronological age as Becky though without her rejuv he looked about ten years older and he was grinning at me from ear to ear. I went around the table and shook hands enthusiastically.
‘Peter, great to see you! How are you?’
‘Feeling great, thanks, John.’ He’d spent too much time with Doc. They had been together a lot after his injury but I noticed that this time I could think about it without wanting to screw myself up into a ball and scream at the universe. ‘Like the new PMV?’ he added.
‘It’s nearly as good as the trans-orbital jet I’ve been playing with for the last twenty four hours.’