Heaven is a Place on Earth

by Graham Storrs

  Jan looked a bit bewildered. “I wouldn't say expert, exactly.” She turned a self-deprecating smile on Ginny. “I've got the Africa desk, so that kind of thing tends to land in my inbox.”

  “Jan, look, I'm chasing down one of my sordid scandals and someone involved might just possibly have some vague connection to S10. Can you give us a bit of background, like where they come from and why they're operating here in Oz?”

  Still looking bemused, Jan said, “Well, they started in the States. Named themselves after the date of some anti-terror legislation – ”

  “See? I told you she knew her stuff.”

  Taken aback by the interruption, Jan seemed to lose her train of thought for a moment, then recovered. “They were US only for a couple of years, then the UK voted on a similar bill and they turned up there, blowing up comms towers and hacking worldlets, nothing very serious. They've never hurt anyone directly, but there have been a few indirect casualties – people who couldn't call an ambulance because the local Net was down, that kind of thing. Anyway, suddenly they were all over Europe and then everywhere – a full-blown international terror organisation. No-one's quite sure what their agenda is. I've never seen a coherent manifesto or anything. There was something a few years ago about governments lying and people being duped. The usual rambling kind of stuff. They just seem to be anti-QNet or something. They started operations here a couple of years ago and their activity has definitely ramped up ahead of the big cyberterrorism bill vote. You've probably seen their slogans geotagged all over the place. 'The truth will set you free.' 'Kill us rather than deceive us.' 'Better dead than led.' That kind of thing.” She gave a sort of giggle and stopped. She looked at Rafe, waiting for questions.

  “Do you have any names?” he asked.

  “Not off the top of my head. I'll give you access to the file if you like. There were a lot of arrests in the States and a big trial but that was donkeys' years ago. Is that it?”

  Rafe looked at Ginny who shook her head. “Yep, that's it. Thanks, Jan. See? Didn't take long.”

  Jan smiled, apologised for not being much help and left, promising to see to that file access as soon as she got back.

  “That was your expert?” Ginny asked when they were alone again.

  “Well, she knew more than we did. Maybe there'll be something in the file.”

  Ginny nodded without enthusiasm and sat down, deep in thought.

  Rafe brought his whiteboards back to life. In the face of Ginny's obvious disappointment he grew defensive. “I know it's not much yet, but we've got Copplin's stuff and now there's Jan's file. Let's put that together and see where we are then, all right?”

  Ginny sighed. “I don't have much option, do I? I can't hide out at Cal's for the rest of my life. And I'd rather be dragged out and shot by the terrorists than spend another three weeks at my parents' house. You're right. The only way past this is through it. What do we do next?”

  Chapter 10

  Sheets of paper were scattered all over Cal's floor and furniture. After a solid hour of reading, Rafe and Ginny began collating the information they had gleaned. They quickly slipped into a method of working which involved Rafe staying in his office, updating the whiteboards, while Ginny spent most of her time in the real world, shuffling documents into different clusters and popping in to give Rafe an update every few minutes.

  Cal's documents were something like Tonia's but all in one hand. They were his own notes, diagrams, message printouts, and feed dumps. One document was a list of places Cal had discovered around the city that had weak or limited QNet coverage. One was a list of online suppliers that were “friendly to the cause” – the cause being S10, Rafe assumed. The suppliers seemed mostly to be electronics and computing shops, although notes beside some of them made it clear they supplied all kinds of other things – including weapons and explosives. There was no doubt that Cal was an active and willing member of Tonia's cell.

  When this finally dawned on Ginny, she went and sat in the bedroom on her own for a while, but it wasn't long before she was back. Rafe found it hard to make out his reluctant partner. She was bright enough, and quick, but she had that stultifying naivete that afflicted almost everyone apart from his fellow journalists and the people they mostly dealt with – politicians, crooked business people, the police, media-hungry celebrities, and out-and-out criminals. Rafe couldn't remember the last time he'd spent so much time in the company of anyone who wasn't either on the make or chasing after people on the make. It wasn't as refreshing or renewing as he might have expected. In fact, it was a bit creepy. It was as if this woman had a part of her brain missing – the part that was always looking for an angle, always trying to outsmart you and use you. It made him feel uncomfortable around her.

  As with Tonia's stash, a lot of Cal's documents related to computer systems design. Rafe knew nothing about the subject but knew a man who did. Unfortunately the man lived in Canberra and there was no way to show him the pages without scanning them into his office worldlet – something Rafe was still reluctant to do. He made a mental note to ask Ginny if she knew a computer whiz closer to home. Yet the diagrams and notes were highly suggestive. References to various “security layers”, “secure worldlet interface architectures”, and “the Parliament worldlet message protocols” made him yearn for more information. The Parliament worldlet in particular could be pure gold. It might be the most secure worldlet in the country, the place in which the Government met. Was there a September 10 plot to disrupt it? He knew hackers tried to bring down the Parliament worldlet all the time. It was a prime target – like the Kremlin and the Capitol worldlets – but to the best of his knowledge, it had never succumbed. Had S10 finally found a way? Hackers in Argentina had brought down their country's parliament once, and kept it down for a week, seriously disrupting the government and leading to a state of emergency being declared. But that was twenty years ago. Surely nothing like that could happen these days?

  Still, Rafe set up a new whiteboard he labelled, “Potential Targets” and wrote, “The Parliament worldlet”. By the small hours of the morning, the whiteboard still had only one potential target on it. Rafe was standing in his office frowning at it when Ginny came in.

  “I'm going to crash,” she said. “I've been running on strong coffee for the past couple of hours and it's not helping any more, just making me feel sick.”

  Here in his office, she looked fresh and immaculately well groomed, of course. But, even a few hours ago when he'd last gone for a pee and seen her crawling about on the floor, shuffling papers into new configurations, she had looked like the living dead. “Yeah. Right. You get your head down. I'll just finish up here and I'll join you.” She raised an eyebrow. “Well, not literally, obviously. I meant... Well, you know what I meant.”

  She nodded towards the whiteboards. “How are we doing?”

  It was a hard question to answer. Rafe looked around the room. There were about twenty whiteboards now, some covered in dense scrawl in multiple colours, some almost empty. Did it all amount to a coherent story? He sighed and took the plunge.

  “This is what I think. Twelve years ago, the US put up this really crap piece of anti-terror legislation. Ironically, it seems to have brought a new terrorist organisation into being just to fight it.”

  “September 10.”

  “Correct. S10 then took on a life of its own, continuing to oppose something or other, even after it had won its case and the legislation had failed. When the UK tried to get up essentially the same thing, it gave S10 a whole new lease on life. It went international and never looked back.” He paused. Even Jan had known all that. What had he and Ginny learnt that was new?

  “The story gets interesting when Cal Copplin appears. He's a top-notch systems architect from the UK. He's employed by the Brits to design the systems necessary to support the legislation. From what I've seen, he was the head honcho, technical lead for the whole project. I can't make much sense of what his designs mean but they're impre
ssively complicated and it looks like they worked. There are test results and other documents to suggest that they built it and had it ready to roll out. Unfortunately, the bill was defeated and the systems were never deployed. Score two for S10.

  “Perhaps Cal was pissed off about that because, just a few months later, he turns up in Australia, applies for citizenship and settles here. The interesting thing is, though, that he took a job as a field technician for a computer company.”

  “Why is that interesting?”

  “Because the guy was a major high-flyer. He would have been over-qualified to be Technical Director of any company in Australia. Instead, he becomes a lowly field engineer. I'm thinking that your friend was either very pissed off indeed, or he was deliberately keeping a low profile.” Rafe moved over to the timeline board. “About four years ago, Cal is recruited into S10. That's at the same time the first green papers on the cyberterrorism bill start appearing in Australia. Then, a few weeks away from the vote, he disappears altogether.”

  Ginny shook her head. “So they're planning something, probably involving Cal and his specialist knowledge of this kind of security system, and it's all going to happen any day now. Honestly, we don't seem to have got very far. I don't feel the slightest bit safer. Do you?”

  Rafe had to admit she was right. “I don't think we can give up though,” he said. The energy seemed to drain out of him as if someone had opened a tap in his ankle. “There's lots of other things we can explore.”

  Tomorrow. He couldn't do any more tonight.

  -oOo-

  The pain in Rafe's back almost made him cry out as he struggled to sit up after a night spent fighting with the sofa. The blankets he'd found in a cupboard were lying on the floor, having failed miserably to stay on top of him as he tossed and turned. He rubbed his sandpaper jaw and padded blearily to the bathroom to see what Copplin had by way of shaving implements. But the bathroom door was locked and he could hear the shower running.

  He felt old and achy and made himself a coffee while pondering the fact that there was a naked, not unattractive woman just a few metres away and he just wished she'd hurry up and get out of the bathroom so he could stand under a hot shower and wash the kinks out of his spine. Old age, he told himself, but he knew that wasn't true. His mind veered towards his mutilated, scarred genitalia, and he wrenched it away, angry and scared. Of all the things he didn't need to dwell on right now, his future life of certain celibacy was close to the top of the list. We can fix you up, the young doctor in charge of his reconstruction had told him, just a few weeks ago. They'd grow new parts for him, new skin, new muscle tissue. He'd be as good as new. Induced pluripotent cell therapy, the doc had said. No worries.

  But Rafe had told them to leave him alone. He'd had enough of being cut up and mutilated. He just wanted to forget about the whole thing. And deep inside him, where his inner voice was muffled and incoherent, some dark part of his psyche wanted to keep the scars, wanted to own them.

  “If you don't put it in the cup, it just doesn't work.” He jumped and the coffee cube he'd been holding fell from his hand onto the worktop. Ginny stood there in one of Cal's robes, her hair wrapped in a towel, grinning at him. “Earth to Rafe,” she said. “Are you always catatonic in the mornings?”

  He tried to force a smile but failed. “Do you want one?”

  “Oh yeah.” She bustled in and moved him aside. “Why don't you let me make it. You look like you're in withdrawal or something. Shit! You're not, are you?”

  “No, but thanks for asking. Of all the ways I'm totally fucked up, that is not one of them. I'll be back in a mo.” He went to the bathroom and by the time he came out, feeling only marginally better, the drink was steaming on the coffee table, Ginny was dressed, and she was frying bacon and eggs.

  The smell made him realise how hungry he was – and the sight of real food frying in a pan gave the morning a strangely exotic feel.

  “This Copplin guy must be some kind of throwback. I haven't seen eggs and bacon since I was a kid. I didn't know you could still get them.”

  “I hope you don't mind everything a bit burnt. I've only ever seen this done in interactives. I've never tried it myself. It's surprisingly tricky.”

  “It's supposed to be really bad for you,” Rafe said, as the plate of scorched eggs and bacon was handed to him. There were fringe types who swore that only genuine food, from plants and animals, was safe and healthy, but Rafe had seen documentaries on modern food production and it seemed clear to him that the more control you had over what went into your food, the more certain you could be that there was nothing dangerous in there. Even so, the smells and flavours that filled his head as he put the first forkful into his mouth made him wonder if health and safety were the only concerns you should have about the food you ate.

  “So what's our plan for today?” Ginny asked.

  He looked up at her to see whether she was joking but she seemed genuinely to trust that he would know what to do. It was a little bit scary.

  “We're going to visit a computer specialist,” he said.

  “OK.”

  “Only I don't know any. Not in Brisbane, anyway. What about you?”

  “What? Do I know any computer specialists?”

  “Yeah. You must know somebody. Someone who could look at Cal's documents and tell us what they mean.”

  “You know I'm a musician, right?”

  “Yes, but you must know somebody. What about those companies you do soundscapes for? They build worldlets, don't they?”

  Ginny looked uncomfortable, a forkful of bacon half-way to her mouth. “Well, yes, but...”

  “So they must have computer guys. Good ones. Can't you call one of them and ask around?”

  “Well I could, I suppose, but...”

  “But what?”

  “Well, they're my customers. I don't want to scare them off by turning up with a pile of terrorist documents and some wild story about disappearing people and murderers on the loose.”

  Rafe put his fork down and gave her a look. “Seriously? You're worried about losing some work when we're trying to save our necks – and prevent a terror attack on the parliament?”

  Ginny pressed the heel of her hand into her forehead as she grappled with her dilemma. Rafe already knew she was hard up and her business wasn't doing well, but she still seemed to be having more trouble making the decision than he thought she should. When she finally looked up she said, “All right. All right. There is a company I know that's big enough to have some good techs.” She pushed her breakfast away from her, obviously no longer interested. “Give me a few minutes to set it up.” She lay down on the sofa and zoned out. Rafe finished his breakfast, along with Ginny's bacon, and took the plates to the kitchen. He had barely begun to fathom the mysteries of the dishwasher – everything he ate came on disposable plates, or was fed into his body through his tank's drips – when Ginny sat up and scowled at him.

  “Everything set up?” he asked. Her scowl intensified. “What? Are we good to go?”

  “Yes,” she snapped and set about putting the paper documents into a neat enough heap to stuff back into the folder.

  Rafe thought about demanding what the hell was wrong with her, but left it alone. He picked up the silver tube and the black box from the worktop and studied them. Maybe the computer guy could say what they were. Ginny pushed past him, grabbed up the gun and the spare clips and thrust them into her pockets.

  “You weren't going to take it, were you?” she said. “I've seen the way you keep looking at it sideways, like it's going to jump up and shoot you. It scares the shit out of you. Well, maybe you haven't had one pushed in your face lately. The next time we meet Tonia, or Richards, or whoever's lurking out there waiting to kill us, I'm not going to be completely bloody helpless.”

  Her lips were hard and thin, her eyes glinted at him as if the whole damned business was his fault. He felt an answering anger surge inside him but he kept himself from snapping back. “Is it far
?”

  “What?”

  “Is it far to your customer's premises? Is that where we're going?”

  She looked at him as if he was stupid. “We're going to see their Deputy Engineer. We'd be off to see the Chief Engineer, only he lives in Ballarat and I don't fancy travelling two thousand kilometres. Luckily the Deputy is just the kind of nerd we need and she lives in Stanthorpe. That's just two hundred and fifty K away. We can be there in four hours. I ordered a taxi.”

  Rafe shook his head, despairing at his own idiocy. Of course there was no reason why this company Ginny knew would have any physical premises anywhere, let alone in Brisbane, or that any of its employees would be anywhere except in their tanks at home during working hours, or that any of them would happen to live in the same State. They were lucky to find someone so close. He just hadn't made the adjustment yet to this fugitive life of doing everything in physical reality. It was like living in the twentieth century or something, except worse, because at least then they had trains and buses and private cars. Once you were outside the civilised world of unlatched VR and tanks, you might as well be living in the outback without a personal flyer. A smile slowly spread across his face. Now why didn't he think of that sooner?

  -oOo-

  They took the cab to the Transit Centre and rode the lift to the roof. There they found a row of quadcopters waiting for customers. Rafe tried to ignore the hire rates appearing in his aug as he led Ginny over to a two-seater and flipped open the canopy. Becky was going to kill him – figuratively, he hoped – but that was tomorrow's problem. He might be out of a job, but at least he'd be alive. With any luck.

  “Can you fly one of these?” Ginny asked, hesitating.

  “They fly themselves. Get in. I've always wanted to try one.”

  The virtual display popped up as he sat down. It had maps and indicators of various kinds, and a big red button labelled 'Start Engines'. Beneath the label was the small print about how starting up the machine was deemed acceptance of the terms and conditions and charges. He hit the button and saw a large sum of money disappear from his company expense account.