by Ian Williams
Within minutes they were both hurtling along in a Mag-Lev car, heading toward their first job. By now most of the traffic had gone, leaving them with a clear and mostly unbroken view of the city as they raced along at over 150mph. Only a small number of cars travelling the other way interrupted them.
As the morning sun blinked away behind passing buildings, it caught Graham off guard when it returned. He closed his eyes after feeling them begin to water from the sudden brightness. Almost a second later – and a moment too late – the window polarised to lessen the shine.
“Can I ask you something?” Graham said.
Elliot turned away from his own view of the city. “Sure, what’s up?”
“What do we do?” When his partner returned a confused look, Graham continued. “Our job, I mean. What is it, exactly?”
“We’re repair men, I guess. What’s going on in that big, stupid head of yours?”
“Nothing, it’s just something Alex asked me this morning. I didn’t know how to answer her. She asked if we kill bad computers. Can you believe that?” Graham laughed, but was surprised to see Elliot had not joined in.
“We do.” It was an unusually serious answer from Elliot. Graham had expected some form of wise-crack in response, not a straight answer. “The things we kill aren’t just computers though, are they?” Elliot continued. “They’re more than that.”
“They’re only corruptions.”
“We may call them that, but are they really?”
“You know what? Forget I asked,” Graham said. He turned back to his own window and decided to ignore his friend’s strange comments.
They had had a similar conversation before, about the MARCs. What they were destroying were dangerous things that caused nothing but harm to the system, and sometimes people. Yet Elliot had questioned this before, saying that he saw something odd about them. If they were just random occurrences then why were they all so similar? The whole conversation had started with a drink and it had ended with even more drinks. Elliot’s wife, Ruth – Graham’s sister – had been dragged into it too, and she had surprised Graham with how much she understood. He could never really be sure if it was Elliot’s opinion or Ruth’s. His sister had a greater influence on Elliot than anyone else did.
His motivation for asking had been to find out how Elliot defined their job, he certainly had no interest in an early afternoon rerun of the same debate. “How’s Ruth, anyway?” he asked, changing the subject with little finesse.
“Yeah, she’s fine. Oh, she wants you and Jane to come over for dinner sometime soon. She wants to try out a new recipe.”
“Great, we’re the guinea-pigs are we?” Graham was glad to see a smile in return. They knew each other well enough to know when to drop something.
Once they arrived at their first job they wasted no time in getting it done. Each of them walked along underneath the Mag-Lev track with their clear plastic tablets raised up and pointing to the underside of the track. Thick cables ran along the Mag-Lev routes that carried large amounts of data and power. The cabling also transported the processing capabilities of the Simova system to every part of the city. Their job was to check the flow that ran through these cables and on to the wireless power relays, which sent the power and data on to the connected devices.
Looking back the way he had already come, Graham made sure his partner had actually started doing his job and not decided to take another of his unscheduled rests. When he saw Elliot walking along with his head arched back, he was satisfied and returned to his own inspection. He held his tablet up and once again a virtual overlay appeared, giving him visual feedback on the cabling’s efficiency. Everything was glowing a healthy green and the speed drops were minimal, or at least within tolerances; too slow and someone somewhere in the city would encounter a delay, too fast and that unlucky someone could be fried while they waited instead.
The job was over before it had even started, just Simova being paranoid again about an unexpected loss of service. The one thing he knew for certain his employer hated more than anything else, was this. Never mind a crash on the Mag-Lev system due to an apparent miscalculation, or an incident with the water systems that caused two streets to flood. A delay represented the devil incarnate. Customers had almost screwed the company in the past and today they did everything to prevent even the suggestion of inefficiency. Graham had heard mention of Simova expanding into other territories overseas. At the time his immediate reaction had been: Great! More work for me. Since then he had realised it really meant more relay check-ups.
Today’s job was just an excuse to get up-to-date feedback from the system. It had once been a monthly tradition. Yet in the last month alone they had done the same thing four times. And each time he was struck by how odd it felt to be walking along a road with all of the traffic shooting past overhead rather than around him.
Because the Mag-Lev system took advantage of the old routes, no-one had seen the point in removing the decades-old tarmac. All of the white lines remained and were heavily worn. In places, the tarmac had long ago given way to tufts of sprouting plants that now had been joined by others. People still walked these streets, and at this level, though most simply did so to reach the nearest Mag-Lev station.
After nothing interesting had come up for them to tackle, they moved on to their next task. This time they were due at an office block to restart a faulty alarm system. For some reason it had stopped replying to Simova’s requests for a test and they were unable to do anything at their end. It, therefore, fell upon Graham and Elliot to sort it out. There was no mention of any possible corruptions, but of course they knew well enough to expect them anywhere.
Back in a Mag-Lev car and trundling along, Graham could finally see the world through clear eyes. He had not realised something for the first time, it was just that his mild – and totally unfair – hang-over had passed. Although with it came the sudden sensation of an empty stomach. He had forgotten to eat again, and a quick look to the time ticking away on his wrist screen told him breakfast time had already passed. Lunch was now his sole concern.
The Mag-Lev’s dashboard screen, positioned in front of Graham’s seat, suddenly flashed up. To his and Elliot’s surprise their favourite grumpy person, Aaron, appeared before them. His face was his normal shade of sickly white, but his eyes were more focused than usual.
“What’s up, Aaron?” Graham asked.
“Your next job has been given to Steve and Eric,” Aaron replied, unsurprisingly with little in the way of a greeting.
“What, why?” Elliot said.
“Let me finish. You’re both to go to a warehouse near to your current position. I’ve sent you the location.”
Graham lent in toward the screen, placing his arm on the dashboard for support. “What’s the job?”
“Details are sketchy at the moment. It appears we may have a bunch of MARCs creating havoc inside a warehouse. Police went in and arrested a handful of–”
“Sorry, what? The police?” Elliot instantly jumped into a more excited state and bobbed about in his seat at the mention of the law. “Today’s not going to be dull after all.”
“Yes, the police. Look, are you going to keep interrupting me or can I finish a bloody sentence?’ Aaron snapped at them. When neither Graham nor Elliot responded – other than with an almost perfectly synchronised shaking of the head – Aaron continued. He lent in closer to the screen, giving Graham an unbroken view straight up his nose. “The police arrested a load of D-Stim scumbags who were messing with some equipment inside the warehouse. The police didn’t recognise the set-up, so they called us.”
“So what makes you think there’s MARCs in there,” Graham said. He soon remembered what Aaron had said only moments earlier about having little to no information at all. “Sorry, carry on,” he said, raising his hands up in acknowledgment.
“The one thing the police could tell us was that there’s large screens inside, all showing some weird scrolling code and moving shapes.
Now I know that’s vague, but we still have to go and take a look.”
“You mean we do,” Elliot said as he sat back.
“What was that?” Aaron asked.
“Oh nothing. Can’t wait to take a look.”
“Good.” Aaron cut the connection without another word spoken.
Graham turned to Elliot and was amused to see the child-like excitement in his partner’s eyes. “I need to call Jane. I said I’d be home by five. If there’s MARCs there then I definitely won’t make it back in time.”
“That’s a good point. I should call my girlfriend, Stacy.”
Without even thinking, Graham punched Elliot on the shoulder and then set about contacting Jane. “Funny. I’ll be sure to mention her to your wife, Ruth.” As he waited for his own wife’s face to appear on the wrap-around screen on his arm he continued to joke with Elliot. “I should tell my sister – your wife – about these jokes of yours. One day someone might find them hilarious.”
As soon as he warned Jane that he could be stuck at work, she threw her jet-black hair back and tried once more to contain its frizzy shape with a purple hair band. This was a sign of held-in anger and usually his cue to cut things short. She understood his problem in the end, and with grace, as was her nature. Still, her disappointment had been obvious to him.
At the end of the call, Graham had tried his best to make it clear he could be done quickly if it turned out to be nothing. Though she had taken that on board, she remained close to jettisoning it straight off again and going into another rant of how often he was kept away from home by his job. Unfortunately, by the very nature of his employment, he could be needed at almost any time of the day. Especially if something urgent arose – such as this new job.
For what had begun to feel like most of his afternoon, Graham once again found himself locked inside a speeding pod with the worst comedian ever. They shared a few nervous laughs between them as the chance to show their worth was fast approaching. They had never dealt with the police in such a way, making the whole situation something of a first for them both.
Except one detail had Graham feeling hesitant about what might be waiting for them inside the warehouse. It was not so much fear of the MARCs, but fear of how much damage he and Elliot may have to cause to deal with them. Their last job had resulted in a man’s home being burnt, broken and generally trashed, when only one had been present. If there were in fact a bunch of MARCs inside, then he could only guess at how violent they may become. The last thing he wanted was to bring down the surrounding network. That would definitely land them both in some very hot water.
At such a crucial stage in Simova’s expansion plans, he knew they would not hesitate to kick them both to the curb if there was any trouble. For now at least only one of them really appreciated this. Elliot sat idly staring at the birds overhead while scratching his right ear. Graham decided for now to keep it to himself. Once at the scene he would have a quiet word with his partner and tell him to be extra careful today.
As their pod slowed to pull into the lay-by lane, Elliot had already gotten to his feet and was readying himself to exit the moment the doors opened. Graham instead remained seated as the scene came into view. It was not a small police operation at all. What surrounded the warehouse appeared more akin to an entire taskforce, with at least twenty armed officers as well as barriers to keep a curious crowd at bay.
Once out and down the stairs of the Mag-Lev station they walked toward the barrier, where two officers stood blocking anyone from entering, their faces stern and questioning. To the side of these officers were large flashing lights; the equivalent of the ‘blues and twos’ of the earlier part of the century. So too were these officers armed, and the lights that bounced off of them highlighted their weapons, in all of their menacing glory.
Each of those weapons was capable of firing twenty rounds of highly debilitating electric-shock bullets, made of non-Newtonian – or Dilatant – fluids. Such a fluid becomes rigid under stress, but turns back to a liquid when left alone. Graham had seen these many times on news feeds and he knew what it looked like at least when someone was shot with one. At first they were pushed back by the kinetic energy transfer. Then as soon as the fluid had returned to its naturally paste-like state, the electric charge contained within would escape. After this the victim was usually left writhing around on the floor and doing their best not to piss themselves.
With the mental image of himself doing a dance on the floor from having sustained an electric-shock bullet, he approached the officers. In reality he had never encountered such a fate, yet the sight of guns around him left him feeling even more nervous than before. If the police’s presence was supposed to ease his mind, they were failing miserably.
“Step back please, sir,” The officer on the right said, his hand sliding toward the gun in his hand as he raised the other.
Graham swallowed hard. He considered showing his pass, except it was in his inside pocket. Reaching for it could be misconstrued as a threatening act, he thought, don’t do it.
“I said step back,” the officer continued.
“We’re from Simova. You called us, remember?” Elliot said, pinching the Simova logo stitched on his shirt to prove it.
The officer’s eyes assessed Elliot a couple of times, up and down. He then took a dominant step forward. Being spoken to in such a derisive way had instantly put his back up. Underneath his police helmet his eyes slowly squinted as he finally made his judgement. Then with little warning he laughed and stepped back again. “Fine, through you go.”
As Graham walked ahead he heard the officer speak into his communicator. “Sir, we’ve just let the Simova goons through. Should be with you in a second.”
The reply that came back was simply: “About fucking time.”
If the next part of their job was as nerve shredding as getting through the barrier, then Graham doubted he would have it in him to complete it. At least Elliot had avoided giving in to worry. If anything, this situation perfectly matched Elliot’s hectic nature. He would thrive while Graham withered.
At least for now he was back in his own world of trapping, removing and destroying corruptions. If there were MARCs inside, then they were in for a rough ride. Or two or more streets were in for some fireworks. Either way, things were about to get interesting.
Chapter 3
The warehouse
Within seconds of being let through the police barrier and the crowd of spectators that were keeping them busy, Graham and Elliot were met by the officer in charge. He hastily introduced himself as Chief Superintendent Jackson before leading them straight through the various teams at the scene. By the looks of things the police had gone through quite a few different departments before deciding it was beyond anything they understood. At which point they had called Simova for help.
When they were shown the entrance to the warehouse it became abundantly clear to Graham that something very strange had been happening inside. An overwhelming warmth met them at the door that told him to expect something new. The temperature difference was stark, like he walked straight into an oven. Then came a faint smell of burning plastic and the sound of air flowing through a collection of small fans. Something inside needed cooling.
Graham knew very well that the everyday devices people used never required cooling, they were beyond such old fashioned concerns. The wrist screen he wore was clear plastic, with no moving or visible parts. Hidden inside were nanometre scale wires that were built into the very plastic the device consisted of. It contained nothing that could become hot from overuse. The same went for any peripheral device in the city that ran on the Simova network – which was all of them. Even the police officer’s guns took advantage of this connectivity and regularly received upgrades to add to their efficiency, and capability.
“As you can see, these individuals have been quite busy. We originally suspected this place was a D-Stim lab. We were wrong,” Chief Superintendent Jackson said.
It soon
became clear why the man had been so eager to show them the inside of the building. Stepping through the entrance and into the main floor of the warehouse, Graham was astounded by what he saw. A ten foot high wall of flashing and whirling boxes ran the length of the room, all linked up by a tangle of cables that hung like vines in a jungle. The noise had become much louder now that the system was standing in front of him. It came not from a handful of fans as he first thought, but instead a full orchestra of them. Each one sounded close to breaking-point.
“What the….” Graham said under his breath. He dropped his bag and walked over to the wall of computers. He stood there staring, while wondering just why someone would be using such an archaic set-up. “This stuff’s got to be at least thirty years old. That’s weird, it looks like it was all put together fairly recently,” he said after noticing its clean appearance.
Elliot joined him and became equally as confused. His eyes jutted about from one machine to another, unable to settle on any one in particular. The whole system was made up of, Graham guessed, about fifty of them, all connected up to each other.
“So, what is it?” Chief Superintendent Jackson asked.
“My best guess is it’s some sort of hacker network. Although why they’d be in the city and only connected to each other is beyond me.” Graham placed his hand on the nearest one and felt the vibrations coming from the inefficient cooling system. He removed it as soon as it became too hot.
“Hackers, hey? That would explain why the group we apprehended are all D-Stim users. They’re used to living in the shadows. Only natural they’d all be drug addicts too.”