“Saki, darling,” he will say in a honeyed voice, showing the yellow teeth of a nicotine lover as his lit cigarette burns in the ashtray. “You know the two problems we talked about?” Pouring liquid into a glass, he will add, Optics? Night vision?”
The woman will watch the man gulp the alcohol poured into the dirty glass.
“Well, I think I’ve sorted it out.”
The man will pass his tongue over his lips and set down the glass, sighing.
“We must see for ourselves,” she will say.
The tall, curly-haired man will get out of the flying car almost at a run. The sun’s rays will gleam on the side door when it opens upwards. He will cross the EUR courtyard in Rome, the experimental headquarters of the NOCS, quickly climbing the steps at the entrance.
“Well, Santilli, what is it?”
“I’m not sure, Commissioner,” he will say offering his hand, “but we may have found something.”
The two men will quickly descend the stairs, heading to the basement.
“It’s about yesterday morning’s massacre at Medoc. Holographic page seven of your favorite publisher of the last six months. Look at the Chicago Sun Times and check it out. They didn’t give it much prominence, as news.”
The woman will open the holographic space, quickly moving to the page. “I didn’t write that article. If it’s to complain, write to...”
“I know. You write articles about government scandals.”
The woman’s voice will sound nervous. “Look, I don’t see anything here that has anything to do with my area of interest. Because you have to...”
“Because they’ve covered it all up,” the man will interrupt her. “That article is a heap of bullshit. Those people described as victims of a madman or an industrial espionage action are not normal researchers of a university spin-off.”
“Oh no?” the woman will ask, with a note of sarcasm.
“No. That company is on the payroll of the Federation Government. The funds come from university services that were never actually provided.”
“Government coverage.”
“Exactly.”
“Look.” The blonde will shake her head. “Every week, I get phone calls from people like you, mythomaniacs, people who...”
“And Richard Proctor?”
“Who?”
“Richard. They killed him in his car in Brookfield,” the man in dim light on her desk will say. “Check that. Holographic page nineteen. He was even less important. Classified as a murder for the purpose of robbery, even if your colleague doesn’t even describe what was stolen from him.”
The woman will quickly read the title of the other article.
“So what?” she will ask almost disrespectfully. “Now you’re going to say that there’s a connection between the two bloody actions.”
The man in the cabin won’t speak for a few seconds.
What does he want from me?
“This morning, surveillance team analyzer E examined his team’s data from last night, in the shift between 8:00 p.m. and 10 p.m. It seems that a number of alarming elements have emerged.”
The Commissioner will follow the man in the lab coat up the stairs to the voice analyzer.
“Chief Inspector Santilli.”
The door will open with a hiss.
“What elements?”
“The meeting took place between two hackers known to the authorities. These are two holographic intrusion experts, who have already committed several cybercrimes. The strange thing is that there seems to be a collaboration between the two about what looks like a particularly complex new software.”
“Illegal?”
“Evidently so. Probably aimed at criminal activity.”
The man in the white coat will go down the stairs and open the door to the stage, pointing at a man across the green.
“Come, Commissioner, I’ve brought the E squad. Follow me, please.”
Passing through the elevated corridor, the Commissioner will observe six officers with helmets and gloves at holographic stations, who will move on the green screen background, apparently gesticulating in a vacuum.
“Commissioner, this is Inspector De Santis,” Santilli will say. “The head of team E.”
The burly man with a short black beard will speak with a strong Southern accent. “Good morning, Commissioner, I wouldn’t have bothered you over nonsense, but they’ve given us orders not to neglect any sign of dubious interpretation. We’re not sure, but maybe this time there’s something.”
“What is it?”
“This morning, my chief team analyst reread reports from last night’s shift. The operative reported on a suspicious conversation of about ten minutes.”
The woman will watch him tighten his lips, as if he wants to hold back the words before responding to that statement. When he speaks, his voice will sound flat, almost far away.
“Yes. Richard was my friend. My best friend,” he will say, looking her in the eye. “They killed him and I don’t know why.”
The woman will feel a strange, growing nervousness.
Something is wrong. This doesn’t look like the usual mythomania.
“And who would kill him?”
“I don’t know. Not yet.”
The woman’s colleagues will walk in the hallway, speaking loudly, ignoring her.
“Check it. Dr. Proctor, Social Research Methodologist. If you research the official data, you’ll find that he knew the others well. He had also studied with a couple of them as a boy, and then collaborated on publications.”
The woman will move her fingers in the space in front of her, and her room will fill with other people, corresponding to the names in the first article.
“Then, you can also look up Professor Borman. If you investigate his resume, you’ll find that he was discharged as an Air Force Major. An original career, don’t you think? He was their recruiting agent on the team.”
The woman will input the name, barely raising an eyebrow when a graduate will show up smiling. She will look at the man sitting in front of her in the dim light of a booth.
“And what does that mean?”
“It would mean that things didn’t go as stated. All those details have been omitted.”
“Look, I have to check my sources, and we don’t know each other. No one introduced us, and I don’t know why you’re talking to me. If you have something to report, go to the police.”
“I can’t go to the police,” the man before her will object, running a hand through his hair. “I want to talk to you. And what I have to tell you must stay between us for the time being. Don’t talk to anyone about it.”
“Look, I guess you have your reasons for not wanting to go to the police, but...”
“A suspicious conversation?”
“It took place between two well-known holographic space hackers, authors of illegal programs and violators of numerous protected holographic nodes. Their real identity is unknown, and they have not yet been discovered; however, they are known in the loop as Janus and Black Rabbit. So far, however, these have been minor crimes.”
“They have imagination, these people. And what caught your eye?”
“According to my analyst, one is kind of a celebrity. The other is less well-known, but he looks pretty good. Janus, it seems has asked the other for a solution to a rather particular problem. During the interview they talked about killing someone. Then, reference was made to a mysterious client. In addition, one of them asked the other why create that object, or rather why the customer wanted it.”
“And then?”
“And then, it seems that the answer is that they had already tried it in other ways. So, someone is thinking of inventing an object to kill someone, having already tried it in another way.”
Commissioner Cervetti will look at Inspector Santilli.
“Of course, we have dozens of such recordings a day, but the interview was about something to do with long distance wind resolution,” Santilli
will state. “And they talked about building software for a ballistic computer to apply to the object.”
“Which leads us to infer...” the Commissioner will suggest.
“That the object could be a new type of sniper rifle. And that the software will be given to someone who, somewhere in the world, is producing it,” Inspector De Santis will conclude.
The Commissioner will look at the monitor next to the team analyst. “And can you listen to the recording?”
“We can also see it, Commissioner,” De Santis will answer.
“Where did the meeting take place?”
“In a popular virtual node, an illegal one. Tortuga.”
“Tortuga.”
“I want to meet you. Today,” the man will snap.
“Look, I wouldn’t want to be rude, but...”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“Should I?” the woman will ask, putting her hands on her hips. “In my professional life I’m very attentive to ethics in collecting information. Give me proof, one bit of proof, that what you say has a foundation of truth...”
The man in the dim light will remain silent for a few seconds.
“The proof is in front of us. You wrote it. You’re the one who writes articles for your Communications Company.”
The woman will look around her desk at open holographic sheets, shaking her head.
“Look, if this is a joke, it’s gone on long enough,” she will say, moving her hands among the blocks in space, moving texts and people. “I don’t see anything. Why would I believe a single word of what you say?”
“Because I was there.”
“Would you be some kind of eyewitness, then?” the voice will sound vaguely sarcastic. “Strange that the article doesn’t talk about anything like that.”
The man’s voice will be incredibly calm. “Yes. Take a better look. Read carefully.”
He seems confident.
The woman will rotate the holographic blocks, and in front of the desk, a street will appear, an entrance to a sandstone building. A police captain will come out to make a statement.
“But I don’t see anything.”
“Now, take the sheet of stock images of the victims from the captain’s hands. Read it.”
The blonde will block the hologram of the captain standing in front of the desk, take the holographic sheet from his hands, enlarge it into space, and begin to read. “All right, I’m reading it.”
“Ask for a hologram of each name and look at them.”
“All right, I’m looking at them.” The room will fill with people, the list of the deceased. “So what?”
The voice will seem devoid of any emotion. “I’m the fifth victim, lower left.”
“Yes, Commissioner, the Tortuga node. You certainly know the cubes. Thousands of users from all over the world connect every day.”
The tall man will run his hands over his short black beard. “And do we know where they connected from? Their physical access point?”
“Not yet, but we’ve narrowed down the area of investigation. At the time of the conversation, we started a research program and followed them,” Santilli will reply. “One moved on one node of the eastern Mediterranean, the other of Eastern Europe.”
“And if they connect again, with this information, do our chances of tracking them increase?”
“If they try again, and from the conversation, everything suggests that it’s likely,” De Santis will reply.
“Commissioner, we must honestly tell you that we’re not sure.” Chief Inspector Santilli will stretch out his hands. “It could mean anything, and maybe it’s something else, who knows. Honestly, we don’t have any evidence that it’s them.”
The Commissioner will look at the two men in white shirts. “That’s true, but we don’t even have proof that they’re not. And we can’t leave out the most remote probability. I don’t want to find out one day that the one to be killed was not a mobster but His Holiness.”
“It would be better to change the operator for the new contact, better not to make them suspicious. Put in a new agent, De Santis,” Santilli will suggest with a weary nod.
“We’ll be on him, Commissioner,” he will reply. “To think that someone in the world can even imagine building an object to kill the Pope. I can hardly believe it. I hope I’m wrong with this report.”
Cervetti will look closely at the two men, sensing that they will go beyond their duty.
“I, on the other hand, hope not. I hope you found the lead,” he will say in a low voice. “And now, let me see this recording.”
The blonde will raise her head suddenly to look at the image of the man in front of her in dim light and compare him to the hologram of a smiling young man speaking in the foreground in a bright classroom. Then, after lining up the two blond men, she will drop into the chair, putting a hand to her lips.
Oh, shit.
“Now,” Whiley will add flatly, “if you believe that talking to a dead man is compatible with his professional ethics, we can meet in front of the Kinzie Street Bridge, on the opposite side of the Chicago Sun Times building.”
The woman will continue to stare at the two blonds in front of her desk, holding the palm of her hand over her mouth.
“In two hours. Alone,” one will say in the dim light, disappearing.
The other, smiling and closely shaved, will continue to speak. Margareth Madison will sit and watch the screen with her hand slightly trembling.
197 days earlier
The young man with reddish hair resting on the collar of his denim vest will come out of the Wroclaw Brewery, along with two other companions, and look at the clock before greeting them. A yellow light will come from the windows of the room, attenuated by the thick colored glass, and in the time the door remains open, strongly rhythmic music will invade the street of colorful-roofed buildings. The young man will look up at the sky, starting at the first flying bus stop. In the sky, the stars will have already risen.
The vest will be resting on the armrest of the chair, covering a battery charger and holographic discs. The young man will be seated not far away at his holographic position, with gloves and a helmet on. The room will be dark, except for a small blue light bulb at the foot of the bed with its disheveled sheets, on which an open box of American peanuts is thrown.
“It took you long enough to show up,” will say the bearded man dressed as a privateer.
“It wasn’t as easy as expected,” will answer the nobleman looking like a cartoon figure.
They will be seated in the Black Lily, at a remote table booked for two in the name of Black Rabbit. For the occasion, the rabbit will wear the green clothing of an eighteenth-century nobleman.
“But have you solved it?”
“I think so.”
“At last,” Janus will say. “I want to know.”
“I’ve found a lot of material and ideas for the solution you need. I had to look a lot, and ask around a lot.”
“Have you been careful?”
“Of course. I have my anti-intrusion software.” The bearded man will watch the tavern’s patrons. “Your customer’s main problem is testing the weapon-cartridge combination. The pulse shot they explained to me is adjustable to the weapon, and not vice versa. So, today, with the same object, you can use different shots of different caliber, unlike the weapons of the time.”
Thursday, 2:38 p.m.
The Kinzie Street Bridge will be illuminated by the pale early afternoon sun when a small white boat passes underneath, floating slowly along the river. On the boat, some tourists will record the outline of the skyscrapers, defying the sharp wind. A woman will stop to watch the river water reflected under the bridge, the rays of almost-winter sun giving the water a unique color, making the windows of the buildings in the distance shine along with the bridge structures themselves. For a quarter of an hour, the man with the hat and the leather jacket, using binoculars, will watch the petite blonde woman in a green coat and skirt, stopped
at the meeting place. The woman will look at the buildings, then the façade of the Chicago Sun Times, standing still in a clearly visible spot along the pedestrian crossing. She will clutch a crossbody bag, looking lonely. After a while, Whiley will move from the old electric car parking lot to meet her.
“John Whiley,” he will say shaking her hand.
“Margareth Madison.” Her hand will be cold “My God, this is crazy.”
“Well, yes.” The man will look around. “You’re alone, right?”
“Of course.”
“Along the way, further down, there’s a bar.” The man will nod. “Let’s take a walk and talk in the meantime.”
The woman will follow him, looking at him curiously. “You should shave. You look older than in the stock images.”
The man will look at her, guessing that she was joking, probably to ease the tension. There will be few people along the way; a couple of boats will glide silently along the river. “I’ve been a little busy lately.”
The two will walk silently for a few minutes.
“May I ask you something?” the woman will suddenly ask. “Why me? I mean, why did you decide to tell your story to me? Are you a reader of mine, or what?”
“Why, couldn’t you do it before?”
“Of course not. At one time, each weapon had to use one and only one caliber.”
“And what does that mean for us?”
Futura: Parallel Universes. Book 2 Page 5