Rendering Nirayel-Wayward Fates
Nathan P. Cardwell
Rendering Nirayel-Wayward Fates
Copyright © 2007 Nathan P. Cardwell
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in Canada by Double Dragon eBooks, a division of Double Dragon Publishing Inc. of Markham Ontario, Canada.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN-10: 1-55404-470-7
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First Edition July 24, 2007
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Private residence-08/01/10-3:30 AM-2150 110th Street-Tulsa, Oklahoma.
Dieter Hoffman sat before his computer, shoulders, lids, and chin drooping. It was early, even for someone whose devotion to a favorite pastime usually found him at it late, early, and anytime his spouse might be absent, or otherwise indisposed. Besides, his brother-in-law, the Twerp, was supposed to be logging on soon. "Twerp," he muttered disdainfully while slipping several inches further into a more pronounced slouch.
Despite his inability to achieve a more attentive posture, he did manage to register the coffee maker's familiar sputtering, and in response, his body seemed to commence its own assertions. The muscles in his legs tensed while his hands grasped the armrests in preparation for, or perhaps hopeful anticipation of, some further correspondence. The remainder took several moments, though the continued collective insistence of his appendages did finally prompt a semi-coherent rejoinder from their more academic partner.
After dragging himself to the kitchen, he emptied the entire pot into a very large mug, and then returned to put on his headset. This last part of the ritual was to avoid waking his wife at such an early hour. Much like his ability to detect coffee, an aversion to disturbing Sarah before daybreak had invariably made its way to the top of Dieter's priority list. Finally, he clicked the enter button.
The first thing he heard was the sound of muffled footsteps, followed quickly by a low and throaty growling as he whirled about to confront the Candlis goblin of The Talisman Quest , just as it pounced.
***
08/01/10-3:30 AM-{Location unknown}
Orval reached for the door handle, and then paused to regain his composure. He hated unscheduled inspections. Ironically, these were the very types of interruptions that had always brought about the majority of delays for which the inspectors were so concerned, not that he could ever include such information in any report. For that matter, he had not actually submitted a written report in quite a few years. Apparently, when mixed with matters of national security, bureaucracy becomes an excellent medium for those who prefer a minimum of communication.
Understandably, this had generated a certain deficit of viable rationale, and without implicating the true source of the aforementioned delays, he was unavoidably forced to become somewhat inventive. However, in the due course of time, plausible excuses became less and less abundant. Eventually, he had been forced to fall back on a number of somewhat less than plausible excuses, and thereby prompted an even greater interest by his superiors. At first, this had been handled easily enough through a few pre-recorded messages. This is Doctor Kwibee. I'm not in the office right now. Please leave your message at the beep. Of course, since he actually never replied to any given request, grievance, demand, and or any incoherent hysteria that may have been logged over a period of eighteen months, he found that the bureaucrats' concerns were yet again elevated to that rare point wherein the system of government actually takes action.
The wheels of bureaucracy do in fact turn. This usually occurs when bureaucrats become the victims of their own rust. Thus did Colonel Terrance Hereford arrive. Hereford was an obnoxious little man with no technical background whatsoever. What he did have going for him was an overbearing personality, a complete lack of tact, and a rather acute case of halitosis. In short, the perfect prerequisite for a bureaucratic, bean-counting squeaky wheel.
Even so, Orval found this latest of the Colonel's visits to be quite disturbing. Why would they pull an inspection at this time of day unless something was up? Something like the replacement of hard-working civilian contractors, with no talent, backstabbing military hacks! Don't jump the gun, Orval, he cautioned himself, taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and then closing his eyes while quickly reviewing the periodic table.
Several therapeutic breaths later, he opened the door. "Good morning, Colonel," he offered with a smile and what he hoped was a casual tone.
Hereford remained seated, but did swivel about to face him. "Have a seat, Doctor Kwibee," he offered in a dry, professional voice while gesturing to the chair opposite him, at the other end of the long conference table.
"Well, I'm sure you're anxious to get down to business," he offered pleasantly, determined to conceal his irritation. He had just been invited to sit down in his own conference room while the chair offered was at the opposite end of the table in relation to his own chair, now occupied by the good Colonel.
He took the seat offered, and then opened his satchel, withdrawing the same documentation of support that he had used on all of Hereford's previous visits. Several pages were actually becoming somewhat dog-eared, thereby denoting subject matter found to be particularly puzzling by the Colonel.
"Let me begin by saying we're all very excited by recent breakthroughs. We have assembled the finest team of researchers and programmers in the country, and all things considered, the accumulative progress has been phenomenal, to say the least."
"Excellent. Then may I assume we can begin with…"
"Nevertheless, it behooves me to remind the Colonel that we are far from ready to release anything for testing, much less for any military application."
At this, Hereford stared back at him with an expression as unreadable as stone.
Orval was no fool. Hereford's reputation for results through intimidation was the cornerstone to the man's entire career. Still, in the long and awkward moment to follow, he found himself glowering right back at the portly Colonel in spite of himself. Time, and relentless Governmental badgering, had long since chipped away any true sense of diplomatic charity.
Hereford broke the silence. "Doctor, I'm sure you have the best interests of the pilots at heart. The problem is that this project is both over budget, and overdue. In fact, you've been behind schedule for the last five years. The truth is that I've stalled the Committee for just about as long as I can."
Oh, sure you did, Orval thought incredulously.
"If you expect to continue as Project leader, I'm going to need more to go on."
"Okay," began Orval with as much resolve as he
could muster. "It just isn't possible to make you fully aware of the depth of technical details surrounding this project within the time frame allotted. No offense, Colonel, but you're essentially a layman here, and since your superiors have necessitated that I become answerable to someone lacking the required technical background, then I cannot help but find myself handicapped in my ability to communicate. That being the case, the best I can offer is a summary of fundamental applications and basic theory."
"Oh, that," intoned Colonel Hereford warily. "Yes, that. That's fine, Doctor, but this time I'll expect a complete hard copy of all raw data to be placed in my hand before I return to Washington."
"But…"
"You remember Washington, don't you? It's the place with all those nice people in the oddly shaped building who keep sending you truckloads of money."
The remainder of Orval's congenial expression faltered. He had always been reluctant to deliver written reports, which had been verbally requested. If they actually were contemplating the replacement of his team, then he would be unable to appeal such an action. In fact, without the evidence of a written request, they could use his report literally to appropriate the entire project. He half suspected this had been their ultimate goal for some time.
"So, that said," continued the Colonel after what seemed like an eternity, "if you're still interested in providing me with another of your little presentations, then I would be only too happy to cooperate."
Orval collected his thoughts, and then took another deep breath before commencing his oration of the project's definition in the most predigested and generic descriptions feasible. Hereford had already heard a great deal of this before. Still, it had been Orval's experience that the Colonel's powers of observation were somewhat less than razor sharp. This would be Orval's fourth session to define the project for the man, including individual component layout, and a good deal of its history as well.
***
Dieter quickly sidestepped, thereby avoiding the full brunt of the creature's attack. Still, his life meter had dropped by an increment of one point, denoting his opponent's first strike before he was able to place it under the target cursor. Mildly frustrated, he quickly tapped the W button, thus drawing his sword, and then clicked on his attacker in a well-practiced motion. His character then drove the weapon in a forward thrust and right through the goblin's chest.
As it fell to its knees, the creature dropped to the ground the prize it carried, while shrieking a curse of revenge with its last vile breath. "May it serve thee well!"
***
"The Infrasubliminal Bio-Optic Translator, or IBOT, utilizes a number of established technologies, and a number of newer technologies in unison, to accomplish all of its parameter directives. Our current success in these areas has been astonishing, but by in large untested. I'll elaborate on this as I define each function." Yet again , he added silently.
"Of course, there's no need for me to brief you on the established technologies, other than to say that they are no more than industry standard materials. I'm sure you're already aware of what this involves, since it was the government who provided all pre-existing software formats."
In fact, Colonel Hereford had never been briefed on this matter, but he wasn't about to let Kwibee know it.
"So," Orval continued. "I'll just cut right to the culmination of newer technologies developed, and how it all works together."
"The first package is essentially a ping-based form of stealth infiltration software, designed to locate, analyze, and then emulate any given type of existing virtual environment. Once that contact is secured, another of our newer technologies, Digital Impulse Transference, or DIT, is then implemented upon connection with the human target and or targets within the virtual setting."
"I know, I know. It's like putting their brains somewhere else. Please, just skip…"
"Of course, it is not actually possible physically to transfer someone's mind, but IBOT does the next best thing by utilizing a stream of rapid signal bursts through a common svga monitor to broadcast a subliminal infiltration, and thus tapping directly into the target's subconscious."
The Colonel sighed heavily, his acquiescent, though downcast expression perhaps comparable to an adolescent version of himself after receiving a dosage of castor oil while pretending to be too sick to go to school.
Kwibee paused, momentarily glancing over his glasses to deliver an expectant expression to the Colonel, who then promptly cleared his throat while returning his attention to his own dog-eared copy of Kwibee's documentation.
"Once the link is established, the program excludes any other ambient personnel who may be within imaging range of that particular connection. This is a security feature we implemented after several mishaps in our initial testing. This is not to imply that multiple targets cannot be acquired. It would simply necessitate the incorporation of multiple connections to the simulator."
The Colonel appeared as if he were about to say something, but reconsidered when he realized that Kwibee had already paused to gaze at him expectantly once again from over the top of his bifocals.
"At this point, the monitor literally becomes an information inlet, allowing IBOT to deliver its data stream to the target, thus facilitating the re-allocation of certain unemployed sectors of the frontal lobe to safely bypass and store information, thereby allowing the program to move on to the next stage."
This is where we came upon a bit of a snag, moaned the Colonel inwardly.
"This is where we came upon a bit of a snag," Orval continued. "With the inlet established, we still lacked an outlet. The information inside the subject could not return to IBOT for processing without the use of Electroencephalography, which would require electrodes maintain physical contact with the subject's skull. So we developed a sequence of reactionary batch commands in the DIT that serve to assimilate subject specific data, then returns through electric impulses found within the same spectrum as emitted by the human brain. This information is then recorded, and finally translated into any computer related language needed."
This isn't my new uniform, thought the Colonel ruefully. They must still have it at the cleaners. Did I remind them about the starch?
"The next problem was data retrieval. Specifically, the translated information in the target's mind had nowhere to go. We needed a hardware component on the target's end of the line to serve as a catalyst. Regrettably, the closest electronic device resembling what we required were the types of microphones used in the early voice recognition packages. This lacked the requisite spectrum sensitivity for DIT. Well, we were suffering a number of cutbacks at the time. At the risk of sounding blunt, we simply lacked the resources to develop this technology on our own." This last statement was punctuated by a brief accusatory glance in the Colonel's direction.
"So, in the fall of 1996, we initiated a carefully orchestrated infiltration of a number of the top hardware manufacturers by our own people. We figured, 'Why not let the private sector do the work for us?' This wasn't exactly a new tactic, and since the overhead of that operation was so low, the commission was quick to approve our expenses."
***
"Jesse?" Dieter queried quietly, moving closer to the microphone while glancing nervously in the direction of the bedroom, where his dear wife yet hopefully continued to sleep. "Dammit, Twerp!" he whispered as loudly as he dared. "I'm stuck in the gol-darned Candlis Mountains! Jes? You there, Bubba?"
***
"After a brief period, wherein we allowed our people to establish key positions within each company, they were sent out as moles, approaching each other's companies for the purpose of selling industrial secrets. The technology we needed to incorporate was then sold in the guise of new developments, which had supposedly been earmarked for future product release, yet still required extensive research. Incidentally, the revenue
from those proceeds managed to fund the project for two more consecutive years."
"Really?" intoned the Colonel. "I don't remember you mentioning that before…"
"The resulting reverse engineering afforded the perfect medium for a wildfire of stolen DIT technology. In a matter of weeks we had several corporations working on the very improvements we needed. Best of all, there was no way of determining any other purpose for the included specifications since DIT doesn't register until activated through a series of IBOT-encoded instructions. Besides, it's not as if the public hasn't profited. The level of sensitivity in the latest generation of market-side digital microphones is far better than it would have been without our intervention."
***
08/01/10-3:52 AM-{Location unknown}
After his briefing, the Colonel was escorted through several sets of security doors, and then to a lab where the majority of development and testing took place, and where the Doctor's demonstration had been set up just prior to his arrival. Unfortunately, there hadn't been a great deal of notice, so Orval was only able to throw together a basic presentation. Still, he hoped this idea would at last serve to illustrate the massive advances made without further need of a written report.
Hereford was seated at the terminal and given a headset with built-in microphone. He listened as Doctor Kwibee droned on, absorbing what information he felt was relevant. The rest was mostly bells and whistles meant to impress, but had very little to do with any possible flight simulator application.
He understood the virtual upgrades were of an internal nature, and that a great deal of effort had been devoted to the augmentation of simulators in ways involving the employment of the pilot's own mental resources. What he didn't understand was why the Doctor felt so obsessed with conveying every detail to him. After all, his only official participation in the operation was to secure and deliver data the Doctor had been so reluctant to provide in the first place. These little presentations didn't really serve anyone's purpose.
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