“They were following me about?”
“Yes, though not very stealthily. We thought you might have noticed.”
“No, not at all.” said Benedict with a shake of the head. “How do you know?”
“I think we were tailing you too. Well, not us personally, but some other department that does all that kind of cloak and dagger stuff for us. We would have contacted you straight away if we had known how intransigent Comtec were going to be, but there you are.”
“Just one thing, how do I know that you really are who you claim to be? For all I know, you might just as easily be working for Comtec and trying to set me up.” said Benedict.
“A good and fair point,” conceded Millington. “Just present yourself at the United Space Agency building on Remington Plaza and ask for IT. Give this to the security desk.” He passed a grey plastic card bearing a bar code across the table. “If 10 a.m. next Monday would be convenient, perhaps we could continue our conversation then?”
Benedict contemplated the card for a moment before picking it up and popping it in his pocket. What did he have to lose?
The following Monday he made his way to Remington Plaza, pausing several times along the way just to see if someone was following him, an urge he’d found difficult to resist ever since his conversation with Millington. Satisfied that he was indeed alone he entered the Space Agency building and was guided to the IT department on the tenth floor. He felt slightly apprehensive as he passed the plastic card across the security desk; it did seem an odd way to introduce yourself and he briefly wondered if he was about to become the butt of someone’s joke. Apparently not; the security guard took the card without a hint of hesitation and then dialed a number. A few minutes later Millington appeared and ushered him into his office and just a few minutes after that Benedict found himself a paid retainer of the United Space Agency. A very well paid retainer, as a matter of fact.
Benedict soon discovered that compared to the private sector, there were considerable advantages to be found in working for the government. Not least was the fact that his budget didn’t appear to have an upper limit. There were no difficult meetings with the finance department and no compromises on equipment or manpower; he just wrote out a requisition for whatever was needed and it arrived with the next post. The taxpayer evidently had very deep pockets. Added to that, there were no project managers breathing down his neck, no deadlines to keep and save for his own conscience, very little in the way of accountability. The worst he had to put up with was the occasional visit from Millington, which usually entailed nothing more than a friendly chat over a cup of tea. All in all he wished he’d joined government service years ago.
Little more than a year later he completed a scaled down approximation of his Comtec core and programmed it to perform a selection of tasks that it might carry out in its normal environment out in space. Then he began experimenting with it. He tickled and teased it with all manner of malicious code, attempted to hack it, swamped it with random, meaningless data and assaulted it with simulated power spikes and power failures. To his surprise, he found the core to be surprisingly robust, humming away peacefully as it brushed aside each threat with apparent contempt.
After completing his initial assessment of the core he was asked to make a short presentation to small group of what Millington described as ‘select individuals’. Making presentations wasn’t one of Benedict’s fortes but the half dozen men and women in his audience listened politely enough as he guided them through his investigations. As he finished his appraisal Millington joined him at the head of the table and invited questions.
“So your assessment is that the core is safe, stable and immune from attack?” asked a sharp looking woman in a grey suit.
Benedict hesitated, “Further investigation is strongly recommended but research to date would seem to confirm that the core is, as Comtec claims, safe from outside attack. I attempted to compromise the core using conventional forms of attack, employing all the usual techniques that perform well against digital or holographic systems. The core rejected all of the attacks but it should be noted that it operates on completely different principles which–”
“How different?” asked a man wearing a military uniform.
“In layman’s terms, digital and holographic systems all require some kind of memory storage device on to which data is written. This data is then accessed as required, but the simple fact that it is available for recall makes it vulnerable. The Comtec core, on the other hand, utilizes no conventional memory devices and in consequence there is much less to attack.”
“So how does the core retain information?” continued the military man.
“The core can read any program and interpret its functions. The interpretation is then absorbed into a matrix after which the original program can be discarded.”
“And what prevents the matrix from absorbing a malicious program?”
“The core has a set of fundamental logic protocols hard wired into its matrix. A set of morals, if you wish, which will quite simply dismiss any code which runs against its principles.”
“Your computer has principles?” snorted a black suit.
“Well, yes,” said Benedict. “Don’t you?”
“Of course,” said the suit coldly. Benedict couldn’t help but notice military man give a wry smile and a small shake of the head. “But exactly whose principles does it have? Yours?”
“Not at all. In the main we used a selection of existing statutes. The laws of robotics, health and safety directives, human rights protocols, various codes of honor, rules of fair play, that sort of thing. The Girl Guide’s handbook is in there somewhere, I believe.”
“No religious teachings?” asked another.
“Ah… we thought it best to leave out the various religious tomes.”
“Because?”
“Although I do not regard myself as a religious scholar, I am aware of enough contradictions and inconsistencies to render the inclusion of religious works impractical at best.”
“There are many of the opinion that the ailments which afflict mankind today are attributable to a lack of religion and religious education. Would you not agree, Mr. Benedict?” A few of the audience fidgeted uncomfortably in their seats as Benedict struggled for a response. Luckily, military man came to his rescue.
“You may be correct, sir, but the last thing we need is a computer which might attempt to smite the ungodly and cast them down into the abyss. Perhaps in this case the scriptures are best left out of the equation.”
At that point Millington decided that it was probably a good time to conclude the proceedings and after thanking Benedict for his most excellent work he led the visitors out of the room. Only the military man gave Benedict a nod of approval.
One evening a few weeks later, Benedict finished up his work and made his way to the metro station around the corner from the agency building. He was later than usual but at least it meant that he’d be able to sit down rather than having to stand up most of the way back home. A train pulled in and he hopped onto a car with several vacant seats. He flopped down in the first available seat, pulled out his data pad and began reading the evening news.
Piracy was on the increase again. Well that figured; too many colonies, too many rich pickings and not enough resources to police them. Why bother digging stuff out of the ground if you can get someone else to do it for you and then hijack the proceeds?
What else was happening in the universe? The interstellar lottery was running at ninety million credits. Now there was a lot of money for you. Almost enough to finance an expedition to an uninhabited world, which was quite an interesting notion particularly as another story stated that the United Space Agency had now discovered more Earth like planets than it had plans for.
As the train neared his stop he put away his data pad and glanced across the aisle. The train had emptied considerably but there was a man seated opposite and he was staring straight at him. His face was familiar but Be
nedict couldn’t quite place it. Then the man nodded his head and the gesture jogged his memory. The military man who attended the presentation at the agency, though this time out of uniform.
“Good evening, Mr. Benedict,” he said. “I think we should talk. If you haven’t already eaten perhaps I could buy you dinner?” Thirty minutes later they were sitting in a quiet corner of a restaurant near Benedict’s apartment.
“So,” said Benedict. “What can I do for you?”
“It was a very interesting presentation that you gave at the agency, Mr. Benedict. I’m sure everyone found it most informative.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” said Benedict cautiously.
“Yes, most enlightening… though do you realize of course that the whole thing was nothing more than a very elaborate charade?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A charade, a pantomime, with yourself as one of the leading characters. I hate to be the one to break it to you but you have been played, Mr. Benedict, played like a fish. Quite expertly, I might add. Tell me, all those people who attended the presentation… did you ever wonder about who they might be?”
“I never gave it much thought. Government, military, space agency obviously…”
“A very reasonable assumption. In actual fact, two of them were members of a government select committee, and the lady in the grey suit was chief of the security branch of the Space Agency. Though I was the only one in uniform there was another serviceman present; you may remember he expressed an interest in religious instruction?”
“He was in the military?”
“Oh yes, the sort that says his prayers both before and after he slays his enemies. I believe he thinks it will save his soul, though I can’t imagine why. Personally, I take the view that one way or another we are all accountable for our deeds, whether in this world or the next.”
“There were six altogether. Who was the last person?”
“Ah, that’s the most intriguing part. Would it interest you to know that he is on the board at Comtec?”
Benedict fairly choked on his dinner. “He’s what?!”
“On the board at Comtec,” he repeated brightly. “Though that is a something that both he and Comtec keep very quiet. What isn’t a secret is that he also occupies a rather high position within the government and more importantly, has the ear of the Space Agency.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I imagine that at first glance this might seem a little unlikely, but if you’ll bear with me for a while perhaps you’ll agree that it makes sense. Now, how do you imagine your project got off the ground in the first place? Who do you think suggested your name to Millington and why do you think so many resources were directed into your project with so little accountability? Think about it, Mr. Benedict.”
“Are you telling me that Comtec was involved from the start?”
“Oh, very much so.”
“But why?”
“Ah, therein lies the crux of the matter.”
“It would mean… Wait, are you suggesting that Comtec wanted me to build another core?”
“Very good! And why might they want you to do that, Mr. Benedict?”
Why indeed, thought Benedict. Then it dawned on him. “They wanted me to endorse it. They wanted me to vouch for its reliability!”
“Precisely.”
“But why? What did they have to gain?”
“Time, mostly. They were concerned that the government would insist they open their doors to a technical inspection team.”
“But Millington told me that the government was powerless to–”
“Millington is a smashing chap and very good at his job but alas, no politician. It was only a matter of time before the government had their way. Comtec knew it and they also knew that once they opened their doors their technology would leak out and one way or another, the lead that they had would be lost. So, they used you as a diversion. Instead of allowing a government inspection, they suggested that you could be manipulated into working for the agency. They figured it would take you a year or so to produce any meaningful results, and they also knew that any results you did come up with could be buried away within the agency.
“So here we are, Comtec’s secrets are still safe and they have gained yet another year over their rivals. A year which they have used to good effect, I might add. And just to add the icing to the cake, they’ve also had you working for them for nothing. I imagine they are well pleased with the results. Oh, don’t look so downhearted, Mr. Benedict. We are all pawns in someone’s game. Look on the bright side; I hear Millington is terribly pleased with your efforts so I’m sure the agency will find plenty of work for you to do in the future.”
“Actually, there is still a lot of work that needs to be carried out on the core. I’m reasonably certain that it is immune to conventional attack but there are some other possibilities that I want to investigate.”
“Then I have some bad news for you, Mr. Benedict. The project is to be terminated and the core destroyed.”
“But why?”
“All I know is that the orders came from very high up, probably from the same person that started it all off in the first place. Doesn’t take a lot of working out, does it?”
“I suppose not.” said Benedict with a sigh. “If you don’t mind me asking, exactly how do you fit into all this, Mr...?”
“That’s right, I haven’t introduced myself properly, have I? Let me see… You could call me Smith if you wish, or perhaps Jones? Best to keep it simple, I think.”
“I see,” said Benedict, not really seeing at all. “So, Mr… Smith, what is your part in all this?”
“Me? Well if this were the movies, it would be the point where I’d tell you that I’m attached to some top secret branch of military intelligence with an obscure name like ‘Section 8’, or ‘Directorate 12’, or some such nonsense.”
“And having told me, I suppose you’d have to kill me?”
“Licensed to kill? Oh, I don’t need a license to kill people, Mr. Benedict, though there are an awful lot of forms that we have to fill out afterwards which makes the whole thing a rather tiresome exercise and I do so hate pen pushing. In any case, at this moment in time you are the very last person I want to see dead,” he added with a smile.
“So… why bother telling me all of this?”
“Because you aren’t the only person that Comtec has played for a fool, Mr. Benedict. They have played quite a lot of people for fools, and some of them are rather prominent people who are extremely annoyed about it all. To cut a long story short, they feel that Comtec needs taking down a peg or two.”
“Well I’m all for that. How do you plan to go about it?”
“I believe you said that you wanted to investigate other ways of attacking the core.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t look like I’ll get the chance now, does it?”
“But if there were some way in which you could continue your research on the core, do you think you could find some way to compromise it?”
“I think so. I believe it might be possible to prejudice its logic functions.”
“Logic functions? In what way?”
“To alter the core’s perception of values and the way it makes judgments. To compromise its principles, if you like.”
“How long would you need?”
“With full access to the core, a couple of months, maybe. How long do I have before it’s destroyed?”
“A few days, perhaps. As long as it takes for the orders to filter down.”
“Not enough.”
“No,” said Smith. “But the good news is that by a fortunate quirk of fate, my department has been tasked with its destruction. If, by some chance the core manages to survive, would you be interested in continuing your work?”
“That’s a very–”
“Before you answer, I must impress on you that this would be outside of your work at the agency and classed several levels higher than top secret.�
�� Smith looked Benedict straight in the eye. “Any violations would be dealt with very severely. I must assure you that we are not playing games here, Mr. Benedict.”
Benedict put down his knife and fork and considered the idea, at the same time trying to weigh up his host. If the mysterious Mr. Smith was telling the truth – and everything he’d said did seem to fit – the opportunity to put one over on Comtec was very, very appealing. On the other hand, the story about being manipulated by Comtec might just be a ruse to put him in a position where he could be manipulated yet again. How much trust could he safely put in Mr. Smith? The man seemed sincere enough, but reminded him of Tipper, a Scottish terrier that his family had kept many years ago. Tipper had been notorious for playfully licking your face one minute and then biting a chunk out of your behind the next. Like Tipper, Mr. Smith seemed to have a pedigree but he quite plainly had a dangerous side too. Benedict was tempted to politely decline but in the end he accepted Mr. Smith’s offer, partly because he felt that he still had a score to settle with his former employers, and partly, he realized with surprise, because he was afraid to refuse.
A few days later, on a gunnery range out in the desert, a small group of individuals watched a collection of plastic, aluminum and assorted electronic components disappear with a flash and a very satisfying bang. The officer in charge of the proceedings kept everyone at a distance until the area was declared safe, after which one of the spectators ambled over to the site of the explosion and began kicking around in the dirt. He eventually found something that appeared to interest him, picked it up and slipped it into his pocket. The officer, whose name was neither Smith nor Jones, couldn’t help but chuckle as the spectator, whose expensive shoes were now liberally covered in soot, then made a short telephone call. The officer didn’t need to bug the phone to know that the call had been to Comtec, and went something like, ‘Core destroyed in controlled explosion. Confirmation to follow after analysis of sample.’ The scorched and twisted component in his pocket was indeed a fragment of Benedict’s core, but that had been prepared the day before, and had then been carefully placed in the small crater after the blast had died down but before the smoke had cleared.
The Blunt End of the Service Page 5