The Noise Within

by Ian Whates

  He had no real idea of what to expect from The Death Wish, so perhaps anything would have come as a surprise. Certainly what awaited him did.

  In place of his living room a darker, dingier place appeared. Philip had to admit, this was one of the most convincing examples of CGR - Computer Generated Reality - he'd ever seen. He was familiar with the principle and knew that the program was using his own systems to produce a virtual setting, one which now overlay the real-world room that still existed beneath it. The real test of such things was how well the program coped with the varying topographies of the solid rooms which it covered, while maintaining the illusion for each and every participant that they were interacting within the same, consistent virtual environment.

  He stepped forward, a little warily; not only because of the unfamiliar surroundings but also for fear of bumping into a piece of his own furniture now hidden beneath this all-too convincing illusion. The room seemed considerably wider than his lounge, disappearing to his right into dimly lit corners. Figures were to be seen, their features indistinct due to the deep shadows and the partitions which conveniently sectioned off small booths of seating; leaving more the impression of people rather than an actual presence. Dark wood predominated - even the ceiling was panelled with the stuff. On the polished bar top it shone with the deep, rich russet of rosewood, but elsewhere a slightly menacing dimness prevailed, courtesy of the wood's sombre influence and some tastefully subdued lighting.

  Taking a deep breath, he continued into the room.

  Not quite everybody looked up as he entered, though enough did to make him feel even more self-conscious than he already did.

  Discounting the shadowy lurkers in distant corners - whom Philip tended to dismiss as embellishments of the program - the place was still pretty busy; though it hardly deserved the term 'heaving' as described by Mal. Nearest him, sitting at a table which he was fairly confident coincided with the position of his own, sat an unlikely looking pair of drinking companions: one appeared to be a large, shaggy-haired bear, sporting a red neckerchief and a bandolier of outlandishly large bullets slung over one shoulder, the other a fearsome Amazonian warrior, with bulging biceps and bare breasts, the nipples of which had been stained gold and pierced. He tried not to stare as he walked past, though they clearly possessed no such qualms and seemed perfectly happy to stare at him.

  He squeezed past a bare-torsoed man of delicate, boyish frame who boasted a mane of orange and yellow flecked hair sprouting from just above the waist and growing in length and thickness as it climbed his back, to form a tall, proud crest on his head, and, as he continued towards the bar, saw a knight in full black body armour, a space warrior with garish ray gun, a stick-thin woman with bulging multifaceted eyes, a red-cowled monk from under whose habit jutted the pommel of a sword, an angular, bulk-bodied robot of a design which could only ever work in fiction, a green-tailed dragon lady, at least two horned demons of similar type but differing detail, and a man who appeared to be built out of cabbages.

  So the androgynous individual standing by the bar whose face and hands looked to consist of silvered fish scales - where they showed beyond the neck and cuffs of an iridescent grey suit - came as no surprise at all.

  The fish man glanced at him with mild interest. Philip nodded greeting, and then caught sight of himself in the long mirror behind the bar, its edges decorated with mock scrolls either painted onto the glass or stuck on, while in one corner a cartoon caricature blonde with fishnet legs and unlikely cleavage held out a bottle of beer, a brand he had never heard of. Staring back at him from the mirror itself was a classical pirate, no less a caricature than the mirror-bound blonde.

  His face was unrecognisable. Long and thin, with a waxed moustache and prominent nose, the whole framed by a tumble of black-haired ringlets - far darker than his own natural brown - which fell to his shoulders from beneath a quite startling hat.

  At least there was no eye patch.

  Looking at his avatar and comparing it to the others present, he realised that he stood out like a sore thumb. While everyone else appeared to be exotic and highly individual, totally at home in their assumed personas, he wore his with an awkwardness that shouted of inexperience. Nothing about him suggested this was anything other than a clichéd and uninspired off-the-peg avatar chosen in haste; which, of course, it was.

  He dragged his attention away from his face to what he was wearing: off-white almost ivory shirt with puffed sleeves, over which sat a waistcoat of an indeterminate colour which he settled on as being aubergine. The garment boasted some elaborate embroidery and overlarge buttons, none of which were done up. The look was completed by a sash belt, jauntily tied to one side... and that hat. Philip toyed with the idea of taking the latter off, but decided that was a ridiculous notion; after all, it came with the persona. Part of him did wonder, though, how the simulation would cope if he attempted to.

  "You're new here." The barman stepped across, blocking his self-inspection. His words did little to improve Philip's confidence. The man was bald and large, with no apparent neck, just a domed head emerging from improbably broad shoulders like some over-ripe pimple. Philip wondered whether he was part of the simulation, a fellow member of the site, or even one of the people who owned the place. Now there was a thought.

  "You drinking?"

  Philip remembered Mal saying that wishits could be used to buy drinks. How far did this simulation go? "Beer, please."

  With a grunt, the barman lifted a glass to a wall tap and proceeded to fill it with a suspiciously dark liquid before placing it on the counter before him. Definitely an avatar, Philip decided. The man's upper arm bulged with muscles and looked to be broader than some girls' waists he could think of.

  Philip reached for the beer, half-expecting his hand to travel straight through, but it didn't, instead encountering what felt like a solid, chilled glass.

  Beneath the illusion this was his living room, and no matter how complex the programs running The Death Wish were they were being channelled through his systems. He had no idea they were capable of producing something like this. He was supposed to be an expert at such things and being presented with this evidence of his own ignorance was annoying, not to mention embarrassing.

  "That's one wishit," the barman said. "You got a name?"

  He passed over a gleaming, solid-feeling coin. "Seeker2."

  Silver Scales looked up sharply at that. "Seeker2, huh?"

  Philip did his best to look nonchalant, wisely deciding that menacing was beyond him at present. "What about it?"

  "Oh, nothing. Permit me to introduce myself: the name's Seeker."

  Now that was what 'nonchalant' really sounded like. Philip blinked, searching for words and coming up with, "Really?" What were the chances of that, for goodness sake?

  The other laughed, shaking his head. "I knew it wouldn't take you long. Seeker2... I should have guessed."

  Philip was feeling increasingly uneasy and out of his depth here. "I'm sorry."

  "It's Mal, Philip."

  Seeker. Of course it was Mal. Who else would call himself Seeker?

  "I've been waiting for you," the fish man continued.

  "Lucky me."

  "Glad to see you remembered your wishits."

  "Yes... thank you." Damn it! Showing gratitude to this lingering afterthought was the last thing he wanted to do. Lately, he seemed to be doing nothing but.

  "Nice tri-corner."

  "Pardon?"

  "The hat; it's a tri-corner."

  "Oh, right. Came with the persona; glad you like it." There was no way he was going to say 'thank you' again.

  "And you can take it off if you want. Seeing as you're inside now."

  Philip simply stared. Then asked, quietly, "Do I look as out of place as I feel?"

  "Pretty much." Mal was clearly enjoying himself. "But I shouldn't worry about that. They all do - the newbies I mean. You'll soon get used to the place. After a couple of visits you'll simply blend in like
the rest of us."

  "There aren't going to be any more visits. This is a one-off."

  "Right; of course it is."

  Even here, in these bizarrest of surroundings, the man had smugness down to a fine art.

  Philip looked at the silver-scaled being beside him. "So, where is this notice board anyway?" There seemed little point in beating around the bush. They both knew why he was there.

  "I thought you'd never ask. It's the other side of the bar." Mal nodded in the appropriate direction.

  Philip grunted and sauntered over that way, Mal keeping pace.

  If anything, the board came as a disappointment. It was simply that. A board. An oblong piece of spongy wood, or perhaps even cork, fixed to the wall. Secured to it by coloured plastic-ended pins were scraps of paper, with names hand written or rather scrawled upon them. His was cast with red ink in blocky, untidy letters. There were pins skewering three corners of the paper, one white, two yellow. The bottom left corner hung free and lifted slightly from the board. Philip didn't recognise the other three names.

  He shook his head.

  "What?" Mal asked beside him.

  "I don't know, I just expected this to be..."

  "Grander? More dramatic?"

  "I suppose so. This just seems such a sorry, squalid way to have your life ended."

  "Then make sure this isn't how it ends. I take it you know who posted this?"

  "I've a fair idea, yes."

  "Have you decided what you're going to do about it yet?"

  "More or less." Mal could fish for information all he wanted - a thought perhaps inspired by his choice of avatar - Philip had no intention of elaborating.

  "Well, much as I'd love to hang around..."

  "... you've got things to do," Mal finished for him.

  "Precisely."

  Only when he had left The Death Wish and seen his home return to normal did Philip realise that he had never even checked the amount being offered for his head. He'd been vaguely aware of further scraps of tattered paper at the bottom of the board, but hadn't thought to glance at them. He almost succumbed to the temptation of returning to the virtual bar, but determined not to, reasoning that Mal might still be there, and he had suffered enough of the partial's company for the time being.

  So instead he concentrated on finding the best way to get his name off that wretched board as swiftly as possible.

  Philip composed himself, rehearsed what he intended to say for one final time in his head, and then said, "All right, Phil, make the call."

  There was a noticeable delay, and he could imagine Phil making his case, and doing so as well as he could have done it himself. Whatever the partial said must have worked, because after a few uncertain minutes, his calm voice announced, "Mr McGovern."

  Pelloy McGovern was a bloated goat of a man, at least to judge by the image that appeared before Philip at that moment, and he couldn't imagine that anyone would choose to disguise themselves by looking like that. In fact, Philip wondered why the man hadn't resorted to reduction work in order to avoid looking like that. Which was hardly the most important issue at that particular time.

  Philip attempted to combine his most disarming smile with his steely 'I'll brook no nonsense' stare.

  "Mr McGovern, thank you for sparing me the time."

  "I nearly didn't, but curiosity got the better of me."

  Nothing like being honest; Philip decided to employ the same policy. "Mr McGovern, I don't have any more wish to speak to you than you do to me, but I do have something to say which I know you'll want to hear. You see, last night, while pursuing a... hobby of mine, I stumbled upon some information regarding a certain individual. Sensitive information, you might say - the sort of thing which the person concerned would not want to see in the public domain. Now, personally, being a great believer in the principle of 'live and let live', I could not care less about any of the things I found, but I can understand why someone might want to keep this sort of thing private.

  "Interestingly, since this incident, my name has appeared on a notice board in a place called The Death Wish, and do you know what, it seems that people are trying to kill me. There has already been one inept attempt."

  The big man was doing an excellent impression of looking bored. "Fascinating, no doubt, but what does it have to do with me?"

  "Bear with me, please. Obviously I can't allow this situation to continue. I sincerely wish that I could turn the clock back and 'unsee' what I saw, but failing that, I've taken steps to protect myself. The information in question has been recorded and stored in a very safe place. And, if you know who I am, you'll understand why I say that with confidence. It will stay in that place, undisturbed, until the day I die. As I say, I have no interest whatsoever in the material in question. However, in the event of my death, a copy of all this information will appear at every law enforcement office and media centre on the planet, and quite a few beyond.

  "Doubtless the individual this information relates to has influence in many of these places, but I guarantee not all of them. Now clearly I have a vested interest in living a long life and for this information to never see the light of day, but for that to stand any chance of happening, my name would need to disappear pretty quickly from that wall in The Death Wish and not reappear."

  McGovern's stare had grown ever more stony. "It seems to me," he said, very quietly, "that the poor schlep whose information you ran off with is in one hell of a bind, with the threat of exposure hanging over him forever and his having to rely on both your honesty and your continued good health."

  Philip shrugged. "What can I say? I intend to live for a long, long time and as for my honesty, I know full well that if I ever did reveal what I know, I wouldn't live to enjoy whatever satisfaction that might bring me. I'll behave myself. There's nothing like a glimpse of your own mortality to keep a man honest." That was the stick, revealed and extravagantly brandished; now it was time for the carrot. "Having said that, I do recognise the misfortune this individual has suffered and the part I've played in it, so I was thinking of offering him something to soothe his hurt... And this is where I was hoping you might help me."

  "Go on."

  "Well, knowing you to be a man of experience in the business world, I was seeking some advice. Do you think a quarter of a million Universal Standards would be suitable recompense for the situation?"

  "Well, there's a question. It's difficult to put a price on this sort of thing, of course, but I would have thought a half a million US might be nearer the mark."

  "Half a million?" Philip feigned dismay. "I hear what you're saying, but I really do want to sort this out as soon as possible and I couldn't lay my hands on that sort of sum immediately. I could probably scrape together 400,000 if I needed to... Do you think that would be enough to make my case?"

  McGovern stared for long seconds before saying, "I think for 400,000 US, any man would have to take your sincerity very seriously indeed."

  Philip smiled as guilelessly as he could manage. "That's a relief. I knew you were the right man to ask. Thank you so much for your time, you've been a great help."

  The man's smile was even more chilling than his stare. "My pleasure."

  "I really appreciate this, and don't worry, I won't trouble you again. In fact, if you ever do hear from me after this, it will most likely be from beyond the grave."

  Philip cut the connection.

  Well, that had been intense. 400,000 US: painful, but manageable. He'd expected to have to go to half a million, so when viewed from that perspective he was ahead of the game.

  Philip gave it an hour before he ventured into The Death Wish again. When he did so, there was no sign of Mal. More importantly, his name had vanished from the infamous board.

  He went to bed feeling extremely pleased with himself.

  "We have an intruder." Phil's voice was calm and softly spoken, but still managed to convey a sense of urgency.

  "Wha...?" Philip's voice on the other hand seemed dist
ant and confused, even to his own ears, as he surfaced from the oblivion of sleep.

  "Coming in through the lounge."

  He hauled his body into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, toes curling into the warm carpet while he stretched his shoulders and neck, which ached spitefully. The meaning of the partial's words began to percolate through the muzziness, but not quickly enough.

  "Give me a shot of number one, Phil," he said, lifting a reluctant arm and pressing his wrist against the dispenser built into the bed's headboard.

  There was a slight tingling as the micro-spray permeated his skin, while he took a deep breath, waiting for the stimulant to kick in.

  He could almost feel the woolliness lifting from his mind. "All right, show me."

  An image appeared in the air a metre or two in front of him. He recognised his own front room, looking out towards the panoramic window. A dark shape could vaguely be seen beyond that window. It seemed to be in the process of cutting a large circle in the glass, using a laser, the brightness of which effectively masked the wielder. Philip squinted, trying to make out more detail.

  "What the hell is that thing?"

  "Initial readings suggest it to be a remote-controlled shell," Phil told him. "I'll be able to tell more once it gets inside."

  "Sophisticated enough to bypass the alarm, by the look of it."

  "Granted. And whoever's directing it knows enough to come in through the lounge rather than the bedroom." The apartment boasted heavier night time defences in the master bedroom than anywhere else, since that was where Philip slept and so where he was at his most vulnerable.

  The circle was almost complete. "Another assassination attempt, I presume." Philip sighed. That was the problem with this 'Death Wish' system: how could you tell people who had already seen the notice that the contract had been cancelled? How could you even know who they were? He wondered whether McGovern would still pay out should the assassin prove successful. Probably.

  He was feeling fully awake now, the stimulant doing the job it had been designed to do. "The police?" he wondered.