Trading Reality

by Michael Ridpath

  On the far wall was a window. It was about six-feet square, and blue and white curtains hung on either side. Through it I could see a wild moorland, with dark mountains rising up in the distance. Sheep grazed in the foreground.

  ‘Nice view,’ I said.

  ‘Good, isn’t it?’ Rachel said. ‘It’s amazing how much of a difference it makes. It’s a screen left over from a demo we did a year ago. They change the scenery every week. I think that’s the Isle of Skye. You’ve got to admit, it looks better than what ever is really on the other side of that wall.’

  She turned back to face the room. ‘This is where FairSystems’ real strengths lie,’ she said, a touch of pride creeping into her voice. ‘Creating a virtual world requires a number of steps. First, you describe the shape of an object, such as a chair, in terms of mathematical formulae and coordinates. Then you add textures to the image, such as fabric, leather or wood. But then you need software to calculate what the chair will look like when either it, or the viewer moves; this is the essence of virtual reality. We’ve developed our own simulation manager that does this, and does this very well. It’s called FairSim 1.

  ‘As you can imagine, virtual reality uses up an awful lot of computer processing power. Whenever we want to try something new, it’s always lack of computer power that stops us. There is a whole range of trade-offs a programmer has to make when he is designing a world. He can recalculate the world thirty times a second, which will give the appearance of motion as smooth as television, or he can give his virtual objects realistic textures, or accurate light shading, or precise shapes, or realistic three-dimensional sound, or he can provide a wide field of vision for the user. But he can’t do all this all at once. FairSim 1 makes intelligent choices amongst these trade-offs in real time as the system is running. It makes the most of whatever computer power is available to it. It’s quite simply the best package in the world.’

  Rachel made the last statement matter-of-factly, with no hint of arrogance. She obviously believed it.

  She caught the eye of one member of the group which had been throwing the frisbee. He stood up and came over to us. He was tall and very thin, and he walked fast. He had long dark hair, and wore black jeans and T-shirt.

  ‘This is Keith Newall, our chief chip designer. Keith, this is Mark, Richard’s brother.’

  ‘Good to meet you. Man, I’m sorry about Richard.’

  I smiled.

  ‘Keith used to work for Motorola in California. That’s why he talks funny. But don’t let it deceive you. He comes from Kirkcaldy.’

  ‘Thank you for that introduction, Rachel,’ said Keith, speaking rapidly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He had a barely distinguishable Scottish accent; like David Baker’s, it was tinged with American. ‘Sorry about the frisbee. That’s Matt Gregory, Chief Executive Officer of Chips with Everything.’ He pointed to a young man with a sparsely furry face, twiddling the offending frisbee round his finger. ‘He likes to play when he comes here. But don’t worry, he won’t hurt you. He’s afraid of suits.’ This all came out in a breathless rush.

  ‘Have you told him about FairRender?’ he asked Rachel.

  ‘Go ahead,’ she said.

  ‘We’ve just completed a new graphics chip for our next generation of machines. It’s very exciting. Let me show you.’ He led me over to a large computer screen, plastered with yellow sticky bits of paper. He sat down and clicked his mouse button rapidly. He whisked me through a series of highly complex drawings so fast that it looked like an early animated film. All the while, he was talking about z-buffers, cache-based texture processing, massive parallelism, and Gouraud-shaded polygons, plus a lot else. He gave one final click of the mouse, lent back in his chair, looked up at me and said, ‘So, what do you think?’

  I thought a bit, nodded, and said, ‘Very nice.’

  ‘What do you mean, “very nice”?’ exclaimed Keith. ‘This is fucking brilliant!’

  Rachel laughed. ‘Actually, it is quite good. This wee chip represents a totally new way of generating the images you need for virtual reality. It’s much better than any of the competition. At the moment, generating a virtual image requires huge amounts of data to be stored in the computer’s memory whilst it’s doing its calculations. This slows things down. With Fair-Render we can perform all the calculations directly on the chip without storing data in memory.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, we’ll be able to create virtual images many times faster than anyone else. And we have the patent to the process.’

  ‘That,’ I said, smiling at Keith, ‘is fucking brilliant.’

  ‘Now, let’s look at what we do with all this stuff,’ said Rachel.

  She led me over to a big man with a tangled black beard, his gut covered by a white T-shirt declaring ‘Fm lost in the Myst’. God knows what that meant.

  ‘Hi Terry,’ she said.

  Terry looked up. ‘Now then, Rachel. How’s things?’ He had a broad Yorkshire accent.

  Rachel turned to me. ‘Terry’s working on a project with one of America’s leading retailers. Look.’

  I looked over Terry’s shoulder. The screen was filled with an image of the fashion department of a clothes store. Terry pressed some keys, and a slinky black evening dress was highlighted. ‘This one costs five thousand quid. Want to try it on, Rachel?’ asked Terry.

  ‘Sure.’

  The screen cut to an elaborate fitting room. There was an image of Rachel wearing the low-cut gown. She walked up and down in front of mirrors, her reflection showing the dress from every angle. Her figure was stunning, at least on the computer. I couldn’t stop myself glancing quickly at the baggy jersey next to me. Rachel caught my glance and blushed. It was an attractive sight, a red glow spreading up from her neck to her pale cheeks.

  ‘This will be used as a marketing gimmick,’ she said quickly, recovering her cool. ‘But in five years’ time when we all have these in our homes, who knows, this may well be how we buy our clothes.’

  ‘We’ve developed body-mapping techniques that can accurately reproduce an image of a real person from any angle,’ Terry said. ‘Do you want to see me in a bikini?’

  I just caught a glimpse of Terry’s hairy stomach drooping over a little lime green number, when Rachel pulled me away. ‘He’s very good, that Terry, but he is weird.’

  There was something creepy about a programmer dressing and undressing beautiful women on a computer all day. And then dressing himself up in a skimpy bikini. Very creepy.

  Rachel showed me what some of the other programmers were working on. One was developing a three-dimensional representation of an oil well, and another a system that would help sufferers of vertigo get over their fear of heights.

  ‘Try this,’ she said, pointing to a jumble of metal and electronics. It was a ski-training system.

  I hesitated a moment, and then did as she indicated. I put my feet carefully in the ski-boots, which were fixed to specially designed metal plates, and donned a headset. Suddenly, I was on a ski-slope. All around me were mountains, sky, sunshine, and crisp white snow. I pushed off with real ski-sticks, and immediately I was hurtling down the mountainside. I could hear the swish of snow in my ears, and, strangest of all, my feet picked up the judder and jerks of snow underneath my skis. I tried a turn, my legs felt the shock of the impact, and of course the angle of the view changed. I was disoriented for a moment, but within seconds I had adjusted to the new world I was in. Of course the mountainside did not look totally realistic, and I couldn’t feel the mixture of sunshine, chill and wind on my face that is the essence of skiing, but it was a great sensation. And when I wiped out it didn’t hurt a bit.

  It would be a terrific way to learn to ski, or simply to brush up on old skills before heading out to the slopes. I really wanted another go, but something in Rachel’s expression put me off asking. Reluctantly, I followed her towards a small office at the end of the room.

  As Rachel was leading me out, a door to our left opened sud
denly. A boy of about twelve stumbled out, rubbing his eyes. He was thin, with a soft pale face, and large eyes that were red from lack of sleep. He was carrying four empty pizza boxes. He almost stumbled into Rachel.

  ‘I’m just getting rid of these,’ he said. Then he smiled tiredly. ‘It’s a great hack. We’re almost there.’

  ‘Good, Andy,’ said Rachel. ‘Did you get any sleep last night?’

  ‘Not yet,’ mumbled the boy. Then he noticed me for the first time, and pushed shut the door through which he had just come. It had a small sign on it: ‘Project Platform. Keep Out.’ A large skull and crossbones had been taped to the door underneath the notice.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I asked, as Andy staggered off with his pizza boxes.

  ‘That’s Andy Kettering. He’s probably the brightest programer we have. And he’s not quite as young as he looks. I think he’s twenty-three.’

  ‘And what’s Project Platform?’

  Rachel looked at me for a moment, hesitating. Finally she said, ‘That’s a confidential project we’re doing for a third party. Only five people in the company know anything about it. Well, four I suppose, now Richard isn’t around.’

  I was intrigued but I let it drop. I followed Rachel into a small glass office. It was obviously hers. The desk-top was a litter of plastic coffee cups. There were at least three ashtrays scattered round the small room, each one full of cigarette stubs. Two empty bottles of Valpolicella stood guard over the wastepaper basket. Papers were carefully stacked in three neat piles on one corner of her desk, and her computer hummed gently to itself on the other. She, too, had a window, but no curtains this time. It showed a grey city in the early morning mist, a large river running through its centre.

  ‘Glasgow?’ I asked.

  ‘Ah ha.’

  I watched a lone ship make its way up the Clyde.

  ‘Richard did a lot of work in his boathouse in Kirkhaven,’ Rachel said. ‘He kept some important stuff there. I wonder if I could come round and pick it up?‘

  ‘Certainly. Or would you like me to bring it in?’

  ‘No, don’t bother. Most of it is actually in his computer, so I’ll download his files.’

  ‘OK. When do you need it?’

  ‘As soon as possible.’

  ‘How about this evening?’

  ‘I can’t make that,’ said Rachel. ‘I’ll be here most of the night. I can come round early tomorrow morning, though. Half past seven, if that’s OK?’

  ‘That’s fine.’ I wondered when she slept. Whether she slept at all.

  We were silent for a moment, standing awkwardly by a small conference table.

  This was the woman who had worked closely with Richard for years. She knew all FairSystems’ secrets. I badly wanted to ask her whether she knew anything about Richard’s death.

  ‘Do you have any idea who might have killed him?’

  It was the wrong question to ask. She looked at me, face pale and expressionless. She bit her bottom lip.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  I paused a moment. ‘He wanted to see me about something just before he died. Do you know what that might have been?’

  Her face was still impassive, but I could tell it was a struggle to keep it that way. ‘I don’t want to talk about him. OK?’ Her voice was firm.

  ‘OK,’ I said. I was irritated, but I supposed she had a right to deal with her grief in the way she chose.

  We both stood by the small table. The awkwardness remained. ‘Was there anything else?’ I asked eventually.

  She looked me straight in the eye. ‘Are you going to sell FairSystems?’

  I wasn’t prepared for that. I didn’t answer. I didn’t know the answer yet.

  Rachel saw right through me. ‘People here are talking about it. They think you’ll take the money and run.’ They could be right I thought. Rachel’s dark eyes were fixed on mine, probing, accusing. I looked down. ‘We all worked hard for Richard over the years. His death has been a shock to everyone here; some people have taken it very badly. But we all know what he was trying to do, and we want to see it through. For his sake. It’s all we can do.’ Her face was taut. She was fighting to control her emotion, and she was succeeding. ‘Richard said he would never sell out. I hope you understand that.’

  My mind was filled with a jumble of thoughts. Guilt that I had considered selling Richard’s company, concern that the last thing the workforce needed now was further demoralisation.

  I just said to Rachel, ‘Yes, I understand.’

  ‘I know you work in a bank,’ she continued. ‘I know that money is important to people like you. But this company represents more than just profits and losses. It’s Richard. Everything he cared for, everything he believed in.

  ‘The future of virtual reality can be determined right here in Glenrothes. We’re so close to making Richard’s vision a reality. Don’t destroy it, it’s too important.’ Her voice was full of contempt. She wasn’t pleading with me, she was telling me.

  I nodded, not wanting to commit myself to Rachel, feeling guilty as hell.

  ‘I’ll take you to see Willie,’ she said.

  8

  Willie Duncan had a small circular face, soft, wrinkleless skin, and a shock of curly red hair. His eyes peered nervously through round wire-rimmed glasses. As I entered, he cowered behind the files and loose papers covering his desk.

  Rachel was right. I felt on surer ground with Willie than I had with the others. He dealt in numbers, in profits and losses. When you are a trader, you can’t hide from your profit and loss. Bad trades show up as losses, good trades make profits, excuses are irrelevant. In my mind, the only real measure of FairSystems’ value was its profitability, if not at that moment, then at least in the year or two to come.

  Scottish chartered accountants have a fearsome reputation, but Willie was certainly not fearsome. And he had none of the raw intelligence of Rachel, nor the polish of David. But he did seem to have a good grasp of FairSystems’ numbers. Everything was consistent. Everything added up.

  And it all added up to a problem.

  All of the money raised from the flotation of FairSystems on NASDAQ had been spent on a number of essential research and development projects, and on Wagner Phillips’ fees. A total of five million pounds. Since cash was running low again, spending had recently been placed under tight control. The company was shipping products to customers, but only at the rate of three hundred thousand pounds per month. The monthly losses were between one and two hundred thousand pounds. There was only two hundred thousand in the bank.

  Fortunately, Willie’s forecasts showed five hundred thousand pounds to come in from Jenson Computer over the next three months, with possibly significantly more to follow towards the end of the year.

  ‘What do these relate to?’ I asked, pointing to the Jenson payments.

  ‘Och, it’s some project Richard and Rachel were working on.’

  ‘Project Platform?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Willie was clearly surprised that I knew the project name. ‘Do you know about it?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I passed the project room just now. Do you?’

  ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘Then how do you know about these payments?’

  ‘Well, since last summer I’ve insisted on doing regular cash-flow forecasts for the business. So Richard gives me the timing and size of expected payments.’ He interrupted himself. ‘I mean “gave”.’ He paused, while he tried to collect himself. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just impossible to believe what’s happened,’ he said haltingly. He looked so upset, I almost wanted to reach over and pat his hand. But he pulled himself together. ‘About three weeks ago, he told me to expect these payments from Jenson Computer.’

  ‘And what about those possible payments later on in the year?’

  ‘He said they could be very large. Or they might not happen at all. It all depended on how Project Platform turned out.’

  Project Platform was obviously vital to the comp
any. I would have to find out more about it.

  ‘If there are no more Jenson Computer payments after the summer, what happens then?’

  Willie rustled through his papers. ‘We run out of cash in September.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Well, we might run out in August if we’re unlucky.’

  Three months. It certainly looked precarious to me.

  I asked for more numbers – breakdown of sales by customer, debtors outstanding, information on margins, research and development expenditure by product, stock positions, the lot. Willie had all the numbers and they all showed the same thing: every month more cash went out of FairSystems than went into it. I knew that small companies usually have a poor idea of what their true financial position is, and Willie was actually doing quite well. But, as he passed me each set of numbers, he writhed in anguish. He was literally wringing his hands.

  ‘It doesn’t look good, does it Willie?’ I said.

  ‘Och, no. Once we’ve spent the Jenson money, then there’s not much to rely on.’

  ‘Can we cut R & D any further?’

  ‘I don’t think so. You can ask Rachel if you like, but in the last few months we’ve slowed right down on new projects, apart from this Project Platform, that is. The cash is needed to finish what we’re already working on. If we stand still, then we’ll quickly lose our revenue.’

  He was right. A company like FairSystems was nothing if it stopped developing new products.

  I pulled out the balance sheet. ‘There are no borrowings. Have you tried all the banks?’

  ‘Oh, yes. All the Scottish banks said no. I’ve tried half a dozen English banks, and they weren’t interested. Nigel Young from Muir Campion is on our board. Muir Campion is one of the oldest Edinburgh merchant banks. He’s tried all his contacts and drawn a blank. You see, there’s no security and no profits.’

  I did see. ‘So, when do we start making money?’

  Willie looked embarrassed and shrugged.