by Eliza Green
‘Do they know you’re doing that?’
He shook his head. ‘I mask my trail. Only others who understand what I do would even know to check the activity.’
‘What about the sentient programs? Do they monitor your activity?’
Callum huffed. ‘Everybody relies on the programs to tell them what to do. If you fool the programs you can do what the hell you want.’
‘Anything?’ said Laura. ‘How does that work?’
‘Well, I show them what I want them to see and then I do something else. They’re intelligent, but they still operate within parameters. The sentients are restricted by their base code. Manipulate that and you can run the entire system. It’s complicated though. The sentients sometimes figure out what you’re up to before you’ve got full access.’
‘Is this all theory or have you tested it out?’
‘Only on the Light Box at home. I programmed an avatar with complex emotions and tried to see if I could fool its program.’
‘And did you?’
‘Almost. It caught me on the last pass. I had to make up some excuse that I was running diagnostics or something. The sentient learns each time you make a mistake. It becomes sharper. If you admit you’re trying to fool it, it’ll watch everything you do. So you have to learn not to make any mistakes.’
‘Okay, I need you to listen to me,’ said Laura, ‘and this conversation is strictly between us.’
Callum nodded.
‘I need you to do a couple of things for me. Are you up for it?’
The teenager nodded again.
‘I need you to check the World Government employee list. I’m looking for a pilot, preferably someone up for some undercover work. Look for issues on their employment record—dismissals, rogue behaviour—that stuff. Can you do that?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Shit, for a minute I thought you were going to give me a challenge. When do you want it?’
‘As soon as you can. If you could fit it in tomorrow during your morning training session, we could meet again here at three in the afternoon.’
‘Shouldn’t be a problem. Sounds easy enough.’
‘Please be careful.’ Laura tried to dampen the boy’s enthusiasm. ‘What I’m asking you to do is extremely dangerous for both of us. Don’t get caught.’
Callum’s eyes grew large.
Good. Laura needed him scared.
‘Let’s leave separately,’ she said. ‘I don’t want us to be seen together for the rest of today. See you tomorrow at three—and good luck.’
She left Callum inside the room and crept back to the Energy Creation room. She hooked herself up to one of the treadmills and ran for ten minutes. It surprised her at how devious she’d become in a short time.
☼
The following morning, Laura watched as Callum and a group of five teenagers headed to the ESC training programme. Why had Daphne Gilchrist singled these kids out for attention? The ESC had no official training programme, and none for non-employees. It made her wonder what other plans were afoot.
At 3pm sharp, Laura waited for Callum in the disused room. He bounded into the room and crashed straight into her. Laura staggered backwards. The table stopped her.
‘Shit, sorry,’ he said. ‘I was trying to avoid the camera outside.’
She straightened up and rubbed the pain out of her arm.
‘Sorry.’ He blushed. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Did you find what I asked you to?’
‘Easily enough.’ He pulled out his DPad and turned it on.
While she waited for him to get the information, she asked, ‘How did you get into computers anyway?’
‘Ever heard of H. Edward Roberts?’ Laura shook her head. ‘He was known as the “father of the personal computer”. Everything we have now stems from design in one era—the twentieth century.’
‘You’re quite young to know that. Kids your age are more into virtual tech.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Virtual tech is interesting, but you can’t do very much with it other than interact, insert programming here or there, that sort of thing. What I like is the architecture behind computer programming. If you know how to get in there, you have full control.’ He handed the DPad to Laura.
‘If anyone asks, say you’re doing a project for your training programme.’ Laura turned the DPad round to face her. She ran her finger down a list of names that Callum had downloaded. ‘Please tell me you covered your tracks?’ She glanced up at him.
He gave her a look that implied her question was unnecessary. ‘I wrote a short program to disguise the content of the download. The computer thinks I was looking at the training schedule for the coming week. If anyone bothers to check, my timetable should pop up.’
Laura studied the downloaded material that contained a list of former World Government employees, the dates they stopped work for the government and the reasons for their dismissal. There were thousands of names, all people whose work contracts had been terminated within the last six months. She was surprised the list was so long. ‘How do I narrow the search?’
Callum stood by her shoulder. ‘What are you looking for exactly?’
‘Recently fired pilots, or those with a healthy grudge against the government will do.’
He took the DPad from her and with a few finger strokes, considerably narrowed the list. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it back. Only ten names remained.
‘You’re pretty good at this stuff.’ Laura’s own knowledge of DPads, other than the basics, was poor enough.
‘Narrowing a search is easy. There’s so much more to computers than interfaces and digital files. The data on one of these’—he pointed to the DPad—‘can be manipulated easily because it’s being sent from a remote location. Changing the original information into something else is where the real challenge lies because the sentient programs control that part of it. But we can learn how to predict the behaviour of sentient programs because they’re all modelled on us. We thrive on, and are defined by, patterns in our behaviour. The sentients operate the same way. No matter how intelligent, there’s always a pattern. We’ve been using programs like this for years. It’s how the National Security Agency operated in the twenty-first century when it used semi-sentient programs to scan emails and phone conversations.’
Laura listened, impressed by the teenager’s skills. She checked the ten names on the list, most of whom had been fired for mundane enough reasons. Career change topped the list. But she didn’t want just anyone. They had to be someone with a grievance against their employer and with no objection to getting involved in something illegal.
One name stood out with no reason given for the pilot’s change of employment. Laura clicked on the link. The description said: Jenny Waterston. Grade 4 pilot. Date of birth: 02-11-2088 (75 yrs old). Twenty years service. Last employer: World Government subsidiary, Calypso Couriers. The pilot’s age and experience explained why she’d been fired. Her termination was probably not by mutual agreement either. She smiled.
‘Did you find what you wanted?’ said Callum.
‘Yes. This is exactly it.’ She thought of something else—a possible solution to another problem. ‘You said you could fool a sentient into thinking it’s looking at something else entirely.’
‘Yeah, it’s quite simple really. You just—’
Laura put her hand up. ‘I’m a user, not a programmer. I need you to do one other thing for me, if you’re up for it—strictly confidential.’
‘Sure, if I can.’
‘In a few days, my mother is going to take a turn for the worse.’
Callum’s eyes bugged.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to hurt her,’ added Laura. ‘It’s just a trick.’
He visibly relaxed.
‘Very soon I’ll request time off to look after her, but the truth is I’ll be somewhere else. I need you to make my mother’s injury look genuine, and to verify that I’m with her. I don’t want them sending someone ou
t to her apartment only to see her moving about. Can you do that for me?’
Callum paused in thought. ‘Yeah, I should be able to do that.’
‘Great. How long will you need to set it up?’
‘Not long—a day or two. But I’ll need details, like a start date for the injury and an end date for your time off.’
That detail would be hard to pin down without speaking to Bill first. She agreed to meet the teen again at the end of the week, when she hoped to have more information for him.
Callum left the room first. She waited until she heard a door open and close in the distance before following. Creeping along the dark corridor, she listened out for the distinctive low hum of the roving cameras. Hearing nothing, she entered the open space and hurried towards the same door. A shiny orb caught her eye.
‘Shit.’
She stumbled to a stop and wiped her face clean of emotion. The golden orb moved from its stationary location towards her.
‘Attention! You in the running gear,’ said an artificial sounding voice. ‘You have been seen in this area a number of times. Explain yourself.’
Laura made big eyes at the camera. ‘I needed a walk. The Energy Creation room has been a little packed as of late. I just needed space. Why, have I done something wrong?’
‘You have been very active in this area during the past week.’
Laura’s heart hammered against her ribs. ‘I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder. Sometimes I need a change of scenery. I’ve no control over how I’m going to feel on any given day.’ A bead of sweat trickled down her back.
‘An intern called Callum Preston has also been flagged in this area. Do you know him?’
Laura considered denying any knowledge of the boy, but if they’d been seen together she’d be caught out in a lie. Her cheeks grew hot. She used her embarrassment to her advantage. ‘He has a crush on me. You know how teenagers can get.’
‘How well do you know each other?’
Several replies ran through her head. ‘What are you implying?’
It continued to hover. ‘I asked how well you know each other.’
‘I’m too old for him if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘How well do you and Callum Preston know each other? I won’t ask again.’
Laura rushed to think of a different tack to take. ‘Not very well, if you must know. He’s a kid I see around with a thing for me. He likes to follow me around. That’s all.’
The camera moved in closer. Laura’s reflection grew large in its shimmery exterior. Her panic swelled.
‘Look, he did nothing wrong. Punish me, if you have to.’ She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
The camera hovered close to her face for a few seconds. When it spoke again, she thought she detected a change in tone. ‘Laura O’Halloran, we’re watching you. We know what you’ve been up to. We’ll be watching you even closer from now on.’
The camera backed off when another camera arrived on the scene. As the second one flew past, the one in front of her said, ‘You are in a restricted area. Get back to your workstation.’
Her eyes followed the two cameras as they whizzed out of sight together.
Shit, shit, shit. She ran back to the empty room and retrieved the DPad and communication device from their hiding place in the wall. She’d have to think of another place to call Bill from.
Was that a threat from the first camera? So what—she knew how to fake emotions for them. Deceit was beyond their understanding.
But the change in its tone worried her—almost imperceptible and maybe she’d imagined it. It was as if someone had been speaking to her.
10
An ear-splitting noise sounded, similar to when the Surface Creatures had first detonated their bombs. The noise of the explosion ripped through his mind. Rocks tumbled around him, trapping him.
The dimly lit space obscured his sight that worked better in the dark. Panic swelled inside him when a sporadic light source teased his vision, then pulled away. He could sense it. Something stronger and more powerful lay just beyond his line of sight.
The same light source caught his eye—a glowing ember that split into a beautiful prism of colours. Corner-of-the-eye phenomena played games with him. He tried to pin down the movement, but everything was out of reach.
Where was this place? Why couldn’t he remember how he got here?
He concentrated on the light source—a possible way out of the blackness. Water-logged voices came and went. Drawing nearer to him, their fear and panic sent a shiver down his spine. He opened his mouth to speak. No words came. The group of humans stood over him, their eyes bright and pained. Their mumbles sounded like nonsense. New noises peaked and dipped, and he tried to isolate individual sounds. But a new fog descended, causing his head to spin.
The humans blocked the source of light. He concentrated on their blurry outlines that changed colour with their emotions—strong reds and yellows turned to cold greyish-green. Their movements appeared as soft as their outlines, as if they were a dream.
Then they came closer. His senses sharpened. Someone thrust a mask at his face. He couldn’t breathe, but it wasn’t because of the mask. They poked and sliced him. A blinding white heat shot up his leg from their latest cut. The pain lessened as the wound knit closed.
Their mumblings became clearer. He heard them repeat a question to him. He tried to get up, but something heavy pinned him down. Dizziness and shock washed over him.
Their questions bordered on ridiculous. ‘Are you all right?’ one asked.
Of course I’m not, he wanted to say. But he left them without an answer.
‘Cut him. He’ll heal,’ said another.
‘I can’t,’ said a female. The primrose yellow glow around her confirmed her indecision.
The humans continued to invade his space, pulling the mask back. His lungs struggled to draw in air. His arms and legs refused to budge. To conserve energy, he slowed down his breathing. The humans’ colours intensified, switching from reds and greys to blues and greens.
A light source appeared, its heat finding his face. The light vanished, returned and vanished again. With his voice out of action he tried to communicate with his eyes, but the humans showed too much interest in his injuries to notice.
A fresh pain caught hold of him. What were they doing? He opened his mouth to scream at them, Stop! The pain in his throat became unbearable. His eyes shot open. This is it. This is my end.
He made one last effort to get through to them. Stop what you’re doing. You’re killing me. But they didn’t. Why won’t you listen?
The pressure on his throat subsided and he drew in a lungful of air. But he gained no relief from it. He sucked in another mouthful. A slow burn began inside him, a charring he recognised.
Contaminated air.
A mask covered his nose and mouth again. He couldn’t see whose hand held it, only that the colour around them was strong. The burn eased long enough for him to draw air and for the pressure on his lungs to ease.
I want to leave. Let me go...
‘Stay with us,’ someone said. ‘You’re almost free.’
I can’t. I won’t.
He slipped to a place in his mind where they couldn’t reach him.
☼
Stephen bolted upright in bed. He touched his freezing skin that was covered in a cold layer of sweat. Awake and out of his dream, he took a minute to attune to his surroundings. A few items came into focus—the human 3D digital recorder and the mirror that he’d used to perfect his human movements. The equations he’d daubed on the wall a few years ago when an idea hit him became clear. The rust-red paint was but a faint image on the wall now. The light of the double moons filtered down the light shaft from the surface to his ceiling and bathed his private quarters in a calming blue.
His atomic timepiece was propped against the wall. He counted the rotations of the small hand at the bottom of the timepiece—eighteen hours. Almost a day lost. How did that h
appen? His heart raced in time with the shake in his hands.
The dreams that had become too frequent terrified him. The first, on board the passenger ship as he returned from Earth, was too vague that he hadn’t given it much thought. But they’d intensified since his return home. He thought of Anton.
Was his friend contacting him through a dream? Was Stephen experiencing the same pain and confusion he felt? Nothing else could explain the vividness of the imagery he saw or experienced. And the emotions, so raw—it had to be Anton attempting to communicate with him.
But the Indigenes could not communicate over distance; telepathic communication only worked when they were in close proximity. And he’d heard no one speak of dream-induced telepathy, let alone telepathy between Indigenes on two planets.
He got up and paced his room. The second he started to move, his head throbbed.
Anton, missing for ten weeks, was still alive. Stephen had felt—no, experienced—his pain.
A more sinister thought forced him to face reality. Physical wounds healed in Indigenes, but psychological trauma? Well, that affected each of them differently. How long could Anton survive psychological torture?
He took several deep breaths to reduce the burning guilt he still felt for abandoning his friend. Sure, it was better the humans had only caught one of them, but that didn’t make it easier. A few days earlier, Pierre had tried to talk some sense into him.
‘You can’t hold on to the guilt forever. You’re not to blame,’ he’d said. ‘You did what was necessary to protect the Indigenes—your home. We needed one of you to return so you could tell us what was going on.’
‘I just can’t forgive myself—not yet. Not until I know he’s safe.’
‘You must, for the sake of your own well-being, Stephen. We don’t know when we’ll be able to rescue Anton.’
Stephen, Pierre and Leon had deliberated for days over a plan to rescue Anton. But as time went on, only one course of action looked open to them: remove him by force. Pierre had quickly ruled out the idea when Leon volunteered to go alone. An angry father on a suicide mission would bring more trouble; they needed to find a better way to get Anton back.