Videodrome: Days of O'Blivion

by Lee McGeorge

of your Veraceo technology. He believes that Veraceo could be used to enhance the prospects of North America greatly and as such, I’m very interested to speak with you. I look forward to meeting you in person very soon.”

  The recording ended with a replay of the animated logo. “I need to have a car like this one day,” Barry said. “I want a chauffeur driven car with a TV.”

  The limo took them to an industrial park on the outskirts of the city where a helicopter was already waiting. White and tan in colour, the Bell Jetranger had a Consec logo on the side. “Limousines and private helicopters,” Barry whispered. “They’re not short of money.”

  “Or secrets,” Brian whispered back.

  The flight took almost an hour. They descended towards a non-descript grey building by a lake. “Do you see what I see?” Brian asked.

  “I see it,” Barry said. His expression switched from gleeful to concern. Men were on the landing platform wearing grey security uniforms; they looked like the policemen of a fascist dystopia. They carried Remington, pistol-grip shotguns.

  Brian and Barry got out of the helicopter and ducked low as they ran to the side. “Mister Conway,” a man yelled over the noise.

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Cue Ball; I’m here to take you through security. Follow me.” He took them inside, the bluster and noise of the chopper dying as the door closed behind them.

  “I’m sorry, but did you say your name was Cue Ball?”

  He nodded. “My security name is Cue Ball. Within Consec we have security names that are used during meetings. In the minutes of the meetings your special name will be recorded, not your real name. Sometimes sensitive matters are discussed and you may wish to keep your real life and Consec life separate. Security names have been designated for you, too.” He brought out two plastic security badges to be clipped to their jackets. “Barry, your security name is Convex; the name was designated based on your expertise.”

  Barry laughed. “I began my career as a lens grinder.”

  “Well, within this building you’re now known as Barry Convex.”

  “What about me?” Brian asked.

  “Your security name is Spectrometer. For all Consec matters you will be recorded as Brian Spectrometer.” Brian looked at his name badge. It had a picture of him that looked recent that was taken in the street. A spy shot. “There’s a formality to go through of fingerprinting and photographing, then we can proceed to your meeting.”

  Barry was back to grinning. He looked like a kid enjoying his secret-agent game. “After you, Mister Spectrometer.” He held his hand out to gesture the way but Brian was not so comfortable. This was wrong. There were too many unanswered questions. He didn’t even know where they where or how to get back to civilisation. They were in a strange concrete building, surrounded by men with guns, in a world where fake names were the norm.

  ----- X -----

  The Consec building was a barren landscape of smooth concrete walls and red carpets. Their meeting room was a grey, Orwellian cell with a surveillance camera above the door. The only effort to brighten the place was a large plant in the corner of the windowless room. Cue Ball introduced the people at the table. “This is Marilyn Bricks, financier, Steven Watercolour, operations and Mister Harpoon of security.”

  “Nice to meet you, gentlemen.” Harpoon said.

  “Likewise,” Brian mumbled.

  “I suppose we should start by laying some cards on the table,” Harpoon began. “My role within Consec is to look at future threats from emerging technology and we believe that your Veraceo project represents a substantial threat to North America.”

  “A threat?” Barry quizzed. “How is it a threat? It’s an advertising tool.”

  “It influences decisions,” Harpoon replied. “It could, for example, swing an election. What’s to stop someone embedding a Veraceo signal into a political broadcast? What if a foreign state, a rogue state, used Veraceo technology to subvert a democratic vote? If abused, Veraceo could influence the opinion of North Americans against their government and that makes it a credible threat.”

  “Those things won’t happen,” Barry said dismissively.

  “But it could happen,” Cue Ball replied. “The threat potential is significant.”

  Steven Watercolour spoke next. “Our fear is of Veraceo, or related technologies, slipping behind the iron curtain. Right now, legislation is being prepared in America and Canada to classify Veraceo as a munition and subject to military export restrictions.”

  “What the fuck?” Barry stood up. “Seriously?”

  “This new legislation will be completed before your thirty-day lockout ends.”

  “You fucking conned us... Didn’t you?” Barry paced the room. “You already had this twisted idea in your head when you offered the lockout money. Well, fuck you. We’ll take the project to Europe and develop it there if we have to. Hell, I’d take it to China, we’ll work out of Hong Kong if we have to, but understand, there is no way in hell you’re going to stop us from earning our ticket on this.”

  “Mister Convex,” the woman said. “Please, this meeting is going to be in your favour. I promise. You won’t be angry when you hear what we would like to offer you.”

  The room went still as they waited for Barry to return to his seat. “Go on,” he said. “Impress me.”

  “We would like you to continue developing Veraceo. We can offer you an unparalleled level of support and financing. Our concern is not that you don’t work on Veraceo, quite the opposite, we want you to work on it and we expect you to earn everything that you would have done had you gone to the private sector. Our concern is for the security of our continent and we need to ensure that Veraceo never ends up in the hands of our enemies. Or if it does, that we have robust countermeasures against it.”

  Barry didn’t say anything but his face was screwed like he’d bit into a lemon.

  Brian asked, “What are you proposing?”

  “We would like to offer you, Barry, and your company Spectacular Optical, a humanitarian contract worth twenty two million dollars American. This money is from a United Nations grant towards developing affordable eye-glasses for the Third World. From that you can take at least a sixty percent profit margin.”

  Barry rubbed his eyes between thumb and finger. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

  Miss Bricks repeated herself. “We’d like to give you twenty two million dollars this year, there will be more in the future, but for this financial year we can give you twenty two and at least half is for you personally. The other half is for your company to develop cheap glasses.”

  “Uh-huh. Twenty two million. Do I have to share that with Brian?”

  “Mister Spectrometer, we would like to offer you and your company a thirty million dollar, one year contract to upgrade a missile defence system currently in production with Raytheon.”

  “I don’t know anything about missiles,” Brian said.

  Steven Watercolour spoke again. “You don’t have to know anything. It’s just cover. What we want is that you to continuing developing Veraceo, for Consec.”

  “Wait,” Barry said. “Are you being serious now? Are you telling me that you want to give us over fifty million dollars to make cheap glasses and a missile defence system?”

  “And Veraceo,” Cue Ball said. “We want you to develop Veraceo.”

  The room went silent again. Barry and Brian looked to one another. Barry’s eyes drifted to the surveillance camera above the door. “I would like to discuss this alone with my colleague. Away from surveillance, please.”

  Cue Ball opened the door and gestured the way. “No problem, Barry. Let me take you outside.”

  ----- X -----

  They walked the grounds of the Consec building on the opposite side to the helicopter pad. There was a gravel pathway leading to what Cue Ball affectionately called The Rose Garden. Sunken into the grounds, it was more gravel than roses, with fine stone pathways that led down to the lake.

&nb
sp; “Are we safe to talk?” Brian mumbled. “Are we under surveillance?”

  “Maybe,” Barry responded. “Treat this conversation as though we are… But I don’t think it matters. If they’re serious, if they deliver the money up front and can prove a future revenue stream then it’s everything we could want.”

  Brian put his hands on his hips to look out across the water. The sky was grey and the water of the lake was the colour of lead. “It’s the lack of choice that concerns me. I think we’re about to become owned by a faceless corporation.”

  Barry nodded. “For fifty million dollars, I think we can stomach that.”

  “I don’t like it. I don’t like what they’ve said about passing laws to prevent the sale of Veraceo. They’re looking for a total lockdown of the technology.”

  Barry strolled to stand beside his friend and look out over the lifeless lake. “We were short-sighted in thinking of Veraceo solely for advertising. We never thought about it being used to sell a political concept. We never thought about it in the hands of a political party, or an entity wishing to reshape the population. Politics is power and Veraceo is the king-maker.”

  “Then it’s worth more than fifty million in contracts,” Brian said. “We could charge the moon for this.”

  Barry folded his arms and stared down at the floor as he considered his next thought. “The fear is they’ll just take it. If we disagree and turn them down. If you don’t sell them your expertise, they’ll either steal it, or just