by Hammond, Ray
She ran her eyes over the ‘Quick Start’ instructions. The item was called an InfoStem and could replace all forms of viewpers. Its transparent stalk was almost invisible in use, claimed the literature, but the outer tip contained microcameras and a stereo retinal projector. Thus images and text were projected upside down onto the back of the wearer’s eyeballs in such a way that they appeared as a transparent display eighteen inches in front of the eyes.
She slipped on the ultra-light earpiece and stood to see how the stalk-like protrusion looked in the mirror. True, it was so fine she could hardly see it. She next selected the Tye News Network on her new VideoMate and suddenly her vision was filled with a picture of the ship she was on. Then the camera zoomed away to pan across the spaceport and the southern tip of Hope Island.
She was just about to check if Flick had gone to bed when there was a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ called Haley. Jack’s grinning face appeared.
Her InfoStem instantly displayed:
GuestList identification: Jack Hendriksen, Vice-President; Corporate Security, Tye Corporation.
‘It is you!’ she said pointing at her new InfoStem. ‘I’ve got proof]’
He stepped in, closed the door and then they were in each other’s arms.
Minutes passed as they kissed, savouring the sheer proximity of each other. Both had begun to suffer the doubt that follows separation in a new relationship.
‘I can only be away for half an hour,’ said Jack when they at last broke their embrace. She already knew their relationship must remain secret during this weekend.
‘That’ll do fine,’ replied Haley with a delicious grin. ‘There’s champagne in the bucket. I’ll only be a minute.’
*
‘You have to cancel, Tom,’ insisted Raymond Liu. ‘The networks are going haywire.’
‘CANCEL IT? ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?’ yelled Tye. ‘Half of my guests are already HERE!’ They were standing in Tye’s office late on Friday afternoon.
The engineer was immovable. ‘I’m sorry, Tom, I can’t guarantee the infrastructure. It doesn’t just affect us, other network operators are having the same trouble. Our own networks are so unreliable I can’t guarantee that TNN will even be able to broadcast this weekend. People all over the world may lose communications. I’m now putting all my monitoring teams on to the satellite networks and the air traffic management systems. The networks will repair themselves, of course, but I just can’t keep up with the fault monitoring. I’ve got half of the Asian networks down, the Canadian cellular wireless network went out for a whole hour this morning, and three more city traffic systems are looking shaky.’
‘Fix them,’ shouted Tye. ‘Just find more people and fucking FIX THEM!’
Liu tried to be reasonable once again. ‘Tom, if you won’t cancel the event at least shut down the Solaris stations.’
‘SHUT THEM DOWN?’ screamed Tye. ‘It’s only FUCKING SUNSHINE, LIU!’
‘You’ve got to shut them down, it can’t be anything else,’ urged the engineer. ‘I’m convinced they’re causing massive magnetic disturbance.’
‘That’s impossible,’ argued Tye. ‘We’re building up the rain clouds now. Don’t you realize what this MEANS TO US?’
Liu nodded. He did know. He also knew that countless lives were probably at stake.
‘You heard what happened over Denver, Tom. We can’t risk it.’
‘They don’t know what caused that yet,’ snapped Tye.
‘Sorry, Tom, but I’m shutting them down,’ said Liu quietly. ‘I’ll go over and explain things to the Solaris Control Center.’
Tye considered for a moment. ‘You won’t do that, Liu. You’re fired,’ he said, and turned away.
*
Joe Tinkler had been working for thirty-six hours without rest. He had already put in a twelve-hour day by the time Chelouche arrived and issued his latest instructions. From that point on Joe had spent the night and all day Friday discreetly speaking to his fund-managing colleagues round the world and executing his options on the Tye Corp shares as rapidly but as noiselessly as he could.
By Friday midday he had lifted his fund’s percentage of Tye Corp’s core voting stocks to nearly seventeen per cent and he could see that, despite the discreet nature of his dealings, certain people in the market were beginning to notice a reduced liquidity in Tye shares. The open-market price was starting to rise.
He had then accelerated his purchases. Seeing the stock starting to rise strongly, he abandoned his cover and started to buy openly in every marketplace in the world. There had been a brief glitch on a settlement problem. The World Bank cashiers had reported that their cash reserves were drying up as a result of network failures. He told them to talk to Chelouche himself and the Chief Cashier had got back to him, a look of wonder undoing his normal impassivity.
‘Doctor Chelouche has authorized me to issue whatever you need,’ he said disbelievingly. ‘I mean, to issue value – new value – in whatever currency you need.’
‘Thanks,’ said Joe and snapped the connection off.
By six p.m. he had spent over six trillion dollars. Six trillion US dollars in twenty-four hours! But he now controlled twenty-three per cent of the Tye Corporation although the stock price had leaped eleven per cent on the day. He knew that weekends still had lower trading volumes than weekdays and he knew that a significant number of the big traders still refrained from dealing on the Jewish Sabbath. He looked at his time-zone display and realized that, with the exception of the American west coast, nearly all the markets were already running at their weekend and night-time trading levels. He calculated that he could afford to catch six hours’ sleep on the sofa in Chelouche’s office. The banker also had a private bathroom on the top floor and Joe felt he needed to use it.
He put his machine to sleep and then remembered he hadn’t called Nancy. Their ‘on-off, on-off’ had come to life again since he had been back in New York and he realized that he would have to explain diplomatically that he would be unable to see her this evening.
He reached forward and woke his system up, then realized that their date had been for yesterday evening – and he had forgotten all about it. He decided it was best to leave it for now.
Sitting back in his chair, he yawned, then turned to his right-hand screen and opened up the TNN TV window. He could see the Hope Island garden party was now in full swing in the beautiful evening sunshine of the Caribbean – the opening event of One Weekend in the Future. He watched Tye shaking hands. He at least was obviously unconcerned about his stock movements.
The picture suddenly flickered, faded, and then returned.
Joe frowned. That was unusual, these days.
*
‘You’ve been very lucky with the weather,’ said a smiling President Wilkinson, as he enthusiastically pumped Thomas Tye’s hand for the cameras. ‘My people were predicting a hurricane for the weekend.’
‘Well, looks like no danger of that, Mr President,’ returned Tye, with a bright smile of his own.
‘And congratulations on your engagement,’ continued the president of the United States, laughing warmly, well aware that the TNN news crews were still focusing on them. ‘What a beautiful woman!’
‘I’m sorry you won’t be seeing her this evening,’ replied Tye. ‘You’ll have a chance to meet her after our wedding ceremony tomorrow.’
‘Of course, this will be your stag night!’ The President beamed. ‘Shouldn’t you be off somewhere with the boys?’
‘It doesn’t get any better than this, Mr President.’ Tye smirked, then he moved off – he had spotted President Orlov making a choreographed entrance.
The lawns were now glittering with global celebrity, money and power. The late-afternoon Caribbean sun was kind and the guests enjoyed a gentle breeze off the Atlantic as they gathered on acres of Kikuyu grass – Pennisetum cladestinum, imported from Kenya for its decorative and soil-binding properties – on the terraces below Tye’s mansion
.
It was a black-tie affair and the lawns were packed. The official list of those invited to step into One Weekend in the Future came to just over 200 names, but their entourages and bodyguards had swelled the total number of visitors to the island to nearly two thousand and as many of them as possible wanted to be at the opening. Nobody deigned to wear a name badge, but many of the faces were world-famous and the new GuestList system coped with the rest.
Usually, when celebrities met, there was an awkward bonhomie that extended to a few sentences before disintegrating into paranoia about entrapment – you got hit on if you stood still too long. Famous faces constantly searched crowds for other famous or useful faces who could further their causes, so the over-firm handshakes and air-kissing were simultaneously a greeting and a farewell. But the Tye Corporation had introduced new manners at this event – manners that were likely to become the norm in the future. No one was wearing Viewpers, since all had the new InfoStem.
Everyone was enjoying the experience of attending a social gathering at which they were automatically provided with all necessary information about the other guests. Each one’s system provided a complete database of all those present, complete with their biographies and most recent activities and achievements. As any guest scanned the other faces on the lawn, the InfoStem used a combination of ident-outputs and facial pattern-recognition to provide an overlay projection identifying the person on whom the wearer was focusing his or her eyes. Simultaneously, in the users’ earpieces, the system provided the correct pronunciation of that person’s name and at least one item of recent interest that might make an opening gambit for conversation.
But, as was his way, Thomas Tye had provided himself with an additional advantage. As well as receiving that output from the databases, he was also provided with audio input from one of the event organizers. She stood watching some distance behind him and guided Tye to his A-list one by one, adding her own commentary and suggestions to the audio-visual prompts as he greeted important face after face.
Ironically, many of the lesser guests on these lawns, those not expecting to be greeted personally by Tye this evening, had tuned their system into TNN’s global coverage and were watching themselves on TV as the party progressed. Many were beaming in friends and relatives via their systems.
Haley was one such and, true to her word, Flick was determinedly patched in from Ladbroke Grove in London where it was now after ten p.m.
‘There’s that tennis player, what’s her name, oh yes,’ said Flick as Haley’s gaze focused on a bronzed Amazon, the system providing identification. ‘God, she’s big!’
‘She is,’ agreed Haley, circling around a knot of Hollywood types to get a full view of the great white house above her.
She turned her head from left to right. ‘Just look at that,’ she exclaimed to her sister. Then, lifting her gaze to the roof, she saw two figures standing at a safety rail.
‘I’ll bet that’s Miss World with young Tommy,’ muttered Haley.
‘Quick, zoom in,’ urged Flick.
‘I can’t do that, it’s just one focal length,’ said Haley.
She turned back to survey the crowd on the lawn.
‘What a gorgeous hunk!’ exclaimed Flick from afar as a man in a dark naval dress uniform turned away from one group and headed towards her sister. He was carrying two glasses of champagne.
‘You’ve met Jack before,’ said Haley unnecessarily as his name and title appeared in their gaze.
*
In his apartment beside the spaceport, Raymond Liu lay on his single bed and stared at the ceiling. He was now shut out of the island’s computer networks but, despite the recent loss of his job, he couldn’t stop thinking about what might be causing the endless, apparently unconnected network failures. Beside him was a printout of the last news item he had received before HR had removed his network access. He picked it up again:
European Space Agency Disclaims Sunspot Theory
Geneva: The European Space Agency today announced that current disturbances to global communications networks – now thought to be responsible for the deaths of 937 people in a mid-air collision over Denver, Co., USA – were not in fact caused by a solar eruption or ejection of matter. Dr Alex Krywald, director of Space Weather at ESA, explained: ‘We constantly monitor and record the sun’s activity. We have searched through our recordings for the past two days and there has been no unusual activity on the surface of the sun or its corona in that period. We do not yet know what is causing this disruption in communications.’
Liu wondered why the Europeans would take the extraordinary step of publicly contradicting NASA’s analysis.
*
Despite extreme tiredness and an unusually large quantity of alcohol in her system, Haley found herself lying wide awake in the vast emptiness of her bed aboard the Treasure of the Caribbean. She had two faces in her mind and, despite repeated efforts, she could not banish them.
Jack’s face occupied the same place that it had for the last month, where it was usually the last thing Haley was aware of before her synapses quietened and consciousness retreated from her forebrain. But tonight there was another, competing image, and they flipped like two sides of the same coin. The other one was that of Dr Calypso Browne – formerly known as Miss World.
The early part of the opening evening had been everything that Haley had hoped for. She and Jack had made rapid and passionate love. Then there had been that dazzling garden party, at which Jack had made a brief appearance. Then her ‘personal greeter’ had scooped her up in readiness for the opening lecture, but Haley had been forced to admit she would not be attending.
The greeter’s eyes had widened. ‘You’ve got an invitation from Josh Chandler? You don’t think . . . I mean, could I come with you?’
Haley had smiled and taken pity on her. All the woman’s Washington cool had evaporated at the mention of the famous film star.
Jack, with automatic access to all events, had found her while she was finally having a few moments alone with Josh Chandler.
‘Great to meet you. I’ve read Haley’s biography,’ said a smiling Jack as they shook hands. Haley glanced sharply at him. He hadn’t told her.
Then the couple had been left alone, as the star went to circulate with his other guests. Haley had recalled what she wanted to ask Jack. ‘Have you met this Calypso Browne?’
She sensed instantly that there was something to tell. He looked quickly down, then back up to meet her eyes.
‘Yes, I was seeing her casually before . . . before I came back to London.’
‘Casually? How casually?’
He looked down again. ‘I saw her just a few times. We never really went out.’
‘But you were lovers?’ Her voice became hoarse as she asked.
Jack shrugged. ‘Well . . . yes. But it was a casual thing. On this island . . .’
And now the two faces hung in front of her. Haley had drunk more, quite quickly, after she had been told. But with every drink she had seemed to become more sober, more cold around the heart. Jack had tried to reassure her, then was forced to return to his duties elsewhere.
She lay in the dark and her imagination now supplied even more disturbing images; she saw Jack’s lips on that achingly long neck, she saw Miss World’s fine hands on Jack’s back. She saw them kissing. She saw that stunning, natural smile that the woman seemed to produce so effortlessly.
Haley groaned, rolled out of bed and crossed to the bathroom. She flipped the light on, rummaged in her toilet bag and found the sleeping pills she kept for emergencies. She filled a glass of water, swallowed a tablet, then confronted her reflection in the down-lit mirror. She studied her slender naked body and tried to imagine what Calypso Browne would look like without clothes.
‘You’re being stupid, we all have pasts,’ she told herself Then she thought of Kevin and Barry. Not quite in the same league, she admitted to herself Why had she been slumming for so long? She turned the light off and fi
nally headed for oblivion.
*
Everyone on the Operation Iambus team had turned up for work this Saturday. Four entire floors of the United Nations Secretariat building had been given over to the investigation of Thomas Tye and his global businesses and, late in the afternoon, the team leaders had returned to Amethier’s office to make a final decision.
‘Doctor Chelouche has started the process for taking control of the Tye Corporation,’ the UNISA director advised the thirty people packed into his office. ‘Joe Tinkler and his assistants are buying yet more stock as we speak. Over fourteen of the world’s largest economies have committed central reserves to the fund.’
‘Including the USA?’ asked Martha Rose.
Amethier shook his head. ‘We haven’t formally informed Washington,’ he explained. ‘Doctor Chelouche is down there now but we’re not sure of the nature of the relationship between Wilkinson’s administration and Hope Island. The word is that Tye and Attorney-General Treno had a blazing row during his recent visit, but Wilkinson himself is on the island now. We think some deal may be under way.’
They pondered the implications. They had all watched the TV coverage of the opening ceremony and had marvelled at the body of political power assembled by one businessman. It was almost a rival to the UN.
‘A financial takeover is not going to solve the problem of the Solaris satellites,’ pointed out Ron Deakin. ‘I understand they’re under the control of a private company.’
‘The Doctor disagrees,’ said Amethier. ‘He maintains the core corporation is a thirty per cent shareholder in Phoebus Inc. and that will prove enough for us to apply to the international court for a writ of cessation.’
‘We can’t expect Tye to take this lying down,’ argued Rose. There were nods of agreement all round. Nobody was expecting this to be straightforward. ‘We’d better apply to the Hague for certiorari,’ she added. ‘That’s an immediate writ from the highest court of all. It should overrule any legal efforts they make and should shut down all operations temporarily until we have a better handle on the situation.’