Déjà Vu: A Technothriller (4 page)

She lay prone along one flank of the storage device. She trained her rifle on the doorway. In the relative brightness of the room she saw little of the corridor.

The glow became brighter. Everything was silent. She wondered if the research centre had ghosts.

She called, “Stop. Identify yourself.”

A man emerged and stood on the threshold. In his leading hand he held a flat object, which she guessed was an infra-red camera. “I said halt,” she repeated. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?”

“I asked first.”

“Professor David Proctor. I’ve just come from McWhirter. He’s dead.”

“I told you to wait at the scene.”

“And I continued to my old laboratory to find you here. There, summarized.”

She regarded him blankly. He was an unremarkable, middle-aged man. He was exhausted and dusty but impressed with himself. He had been issued with standard equipment and even wore a hard-hat, albeit at a foppish angle. His appearance and his story were credible. “Throw me your ID,” she said.

“Where’s the man I talked to?”

“You’re looking at him. Throw it.”

David pulled out his wallet. He slid it across the floor.

“Nice gun,” he said, as she scrutinised the ID. “Who are you going to shoot in a deserted tomb like this?”

She smiled and threw the wallet back. He caught it awkwardly. “You, maybe.”

David forced a laugh and stepped into the room. He pulled his eyes from the gun and gazed at the familiar-unfamiliar laboratory. This had been his workplace for a number of years. From here, he and his research partner, Bruce Shimoda, had programmed the software that took advantage of the massive computing capabilities of the storage device. Three doorways led from the room. One went to the corridor, one to a computer suite and one to overnight living quarters.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? We used to call it the fish tank.”

“I told you to stop where you are. I want to ask you some questions. You don’t seem too concerned about the colonel’s death.”

“Neither do you, young lady,” he snapped.

“Did you kill him?”

He noticed that the gun was tracking him. “Absolutely not. He died when the ceiling caved in. A tricky way to murder someone, wouldn’t you agree?”

She didn’t lower the gun. “Yes, it would be tricky.”

“Young woman, please move aside. I have work to do.”

She lowered her rifle and watched as he walked into the living quarters.

He used Ego to view the room and remained near the doorway. McWhirter’s death had made him cautious. Not scared, exactly; not yet. But he checked the ceiling and walls.

The room was comparatively tidy. Most of its furniture had been destroyed by fire. There were pipes that terminated in a filthy sink, a torn mattress, blackened plastic chairs and some unidentifiable debris. The walls were crumbling and the interior partitions, which had divided the area into a dining room, bedroom and bathroom, were gone. David held his light on a shape in the corner. He felt the guard enter the room.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself,” she said. “I’m Caroline.”

“Hello, Caroline. Call me David. Never Dave.” They shook hands and David had the fleeting impression of participating in something utterly absurd. “Shine your torch over here.”

He knelt alongside the mattress and tugged carefully at the zip of a sleeping bag. When the zip was open he flung back the fabric to reveal a body.

“And this,” he said, “is Doctor Bruce Shimoda.”

Though David had not seen that face in the flesh for twenty years, he recognised his old friend immediately. Bruce appeared to be dead. His oriental, sunken face was lifeless and curiously lopsided. He wore two or three jumpers, a scarf, and there was a blanket around the legs. Nevertheless, his body looked small and vulnerable. His hands were drawn against the chest, little more than claws. Two rolls of fabric, which cushioned his head, aroused David’s interest. They had been placed either side of a device that resembled a neck brace. David checked between the rolls and saw, sure enough, the wet-wire connection. He sighed.

“Is he breathing?” asked Caroline.

“Yes, he’s alive. But barely.” David ripped open the Velcro cover of his first-aid kit. “Couldn’t you have done something for him?”

“I’ve only been here a few hours. McWhirter couldn’t get a medic down. It was too dangerous. I thought you were a medical doctor.”

“Like I told the colonel, that was a long time ago,” he said, but he examined Bruce thoroughly. He had lost a great deal of fluid from bedsores. They were badly infected. “He’s been inside for two or three days, I’d guess.”

“Inside what?”

“See the cable?” He pointed at the wet-wire connection that led away from Bruce’s head. “This plugs into his brain stem. The connection leads to the computer. The computer is running a virtual universe. As far as Bruce is concerned, he’s now inside that universe.”

Caroline smiled. “Weird.”

“Weird and, as it happens, fatal,” David said sharply. “The connection can’t be removed.”

“Why not?”

“We were never sure. When we unplugged the rats, they died. Same with the chimps. Apart from one. He had a series of strokes and slipped into a permanent coma.”

“Well, then,” she reasoned, “just cut it.”

“That had the same effect.”

“Or turn off the computer.”

“That too.”

“Oh.” Caroline stared at the sleeping face and the room around them. She waited while David applied fresh dressings. She said, “It’s funny.”

“What is?” said David, not looking up.

“The lights are off, even though this section has power. How did he connect himself in the dark? He doesn’t have a torch. There was no fire. Do you think there’s someone else down here? Someone who turned off the lights after?”

David’s hands froze. “He did it in darkness – the same way he did everything in life. He’s been blind since the age of ten.”

“Oh.” She watched as he opened Bruce’s eyes and cupped his hand over each. “What are you doing?”

“He’s had a minor stroke already. He’s got two more days left, maybe three.” David took a syringe from the first-aid kit, attached a needle, drew some liquid from an ampoule and injected the sleeping form. “I’ve just given him some antibiotics. Help me set up a drip. He needs fluid.”

He went about his work efficiently and calmly. A saline drip in one arm. An antibiotic drip in the other. But it was impossible not to think of former, better times. They had been best friends. Impossible not to think of Bruce living like a rat in the darkness, preparing his nest, preparing to die. David was coping well until he found a note in his trouser pocket. It read:

Well well well after all these years! I’m looking forward to seeing an old friend. Come into my parlour and let me take a look at you...

“Aw, shit,” he said. Then he sat back, hugged his knees and wept. Caroline nearly touched his shoulder. A moment later, she left.

David emerged after fifteen minutes. Caroline was watching the patterns inside the liquid storage device. She felt him stop behind her. Instinctively, though she couldn’t be sure why, she cradled her rifle.

“Hypnotic,” he murmured, as though hypnotized himself.

“Mmm.”

“Tell me,” he said cheerfully, settling beside her on the cold floor, “how are we going to get out of here? The cave-in that killed McWhirter blocked the main passage.”

“Yes, I checked thoroughly. There is no way out. The radios aren’t powerful enough to get through to the team in the hotel.”

David laughed. He wanted to sound coolly detached, but his laughter was shrill. “So we’re up to our necks in the bad stuff. I hope you’ve brought an extra suicide pill.”

Caroline got up and walked to the corner of the room. For the first time, David noticed a strange-looking device in the shadows. It had a keyboard and a chunky, orange exterior. It looked like a ‘black box’ flight recorder She reached down and tore a strip of paper from the top.

“This is an Extremely Low Frequency transmitter,” Caroline said. “It can transmit and receive through solid rock. While you were with Bruce I managed to send a message and get one back, but now they’re not responding.”

“What was the message?”

“I told them McWhirter was dead, you were alive, had made contact with me, and all exits are blocked.”

David nodded. He wondered how deep they were. “And what did they say to that?”

She handed him the paper. It read:

TESTACEGIKMOQSUWYTEST###YRMSGRCVD#EVAC#2 (TWO)HOURS#RPT#2(TWO)HOURS#FNDCVR##END

“How moving. What does it mean?”

“The first part’s a test pattern. Then: ‘Your message received. Evacuation in two hours, repeat, two hours. Find cover. Message ends.’”

David’s eyes widened. “They’re not going to blast their way down, surely? They’ll bury us all.”

“Relax,” she said, taking the paper from his hand. “The demolitions expert is a friend of mine. He’s good.”

He examined his watch. “So at 7:30 p.m. we’ll be busted out. But why so soon? We can last down here a while. There are things I need to do.”

Caroline crouched and looked into his eyes. She was attempting a very serious moment, but David, who was old enough to be her father, noticed that her eyes were very, very green. “McWhirter didn’t tell you, did he? About the air.”

“What air?”

Caroline said nothing.

David took Ego from his wallet and said, “Ego, check the atmosphere.”

“It will take ten seconds,” said Ego. Caroline narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t hear Ego, but she could read David’s expression.

“Nice,” she said. “I’ve never seen a model so advanced.”

“You wouldn’t have,” he replied. “Ego is a prototype. This test is designed for travelling businessmen worried about air pollution.”

“Businesspeople. Who designed it?”

“Designed her. Me.”

“Atmospheric analysis complete,” said a little voice in his ear. “Though gaseous elements are at their normal proportions, the air contains a significant amount of dust. The dust particles are dangerously radioactive. Exposure is not recommended for longer than one hour.”

He checked his watch. When rescue came, they would have been underground for two hours. He was suddenly not so sad that McWhirter had died. An army man to the last. “It is recommended,” continued Ego, “that you log these data with an independent server for pollution liability.”

“The air,” Caroline said. “Is it still radioactive?”

David put Ego away. “Yes. We haven’t got long,” he said. “Come with me.”

“What is it?” she asked. She played her torch over the sand. The light made rainbows in the glass.

“Technology that is twenty years old, but still far in advance of anything commercially available. We called it an immersion chamber. There are two more. It’s linked to the computer.” He crouched and wiped some dirt from the glass. “You seem very interested in the technology.”

“I’m naturally curious,” she replied. Her gun was leaning against the liquid storage device in the other room, forgotten.

“You see the stuff at the bottom of the chamber? It looks like sand, but take one of those grains and look at it under a microscope and you’ll see a little robot. They look like metal bumblebees. There are billions of them. When the chamber is active, they engulf the user in a cloud. They work in unison. If the user steps forward, they will form a hard surface under each foot and allow him to move as though walking. By becoming immovable, or charging into the user, they can mimic any surface in the same way, and mimic any consistency – liquid, gas, solid – and, through vibration, temperature.”

There was a pause. In the distance, some concrete settled. “What about a knife blade?”

David shook his head. “You don’t even try to get away from that military stereotype, do you?”

“I suppose I’m a fatalist. How are you going to breathe in there?”

“There’s a mask. It’ll cover my face.” He looked at his watch. “There’s an hour and fifty minutes left.”

He took off his hat, coat and one of his jumpers. When he undid his trousers, Caroline stepped back.

“Relax,” he said. “The user goes naked. That’s what the microbots – those little robots – are configured for. When I appear in the computer, I’ll be given clothes automatically. Virtual clothes.”

David kicked off his boots and removed his coat. He removed his shirt and jeans. Disconcertingly, Caroline did not look away. “Look,” he said, “Something may go wrong. The emergency release for the chamber is that big red handle over there.” He pointed across the room. Carole shone her torch obligingly. “If you see me make two claps above my head like this –” he demonstrated – “then pull the handle. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

David smiled crookedly and entered the immersion chamber. It was the size of a coffin. When the door closed and the rest of the dark laboratory became an indistinct blur, he said, “Go,” and the dust storm began. A mask descended and he attached it to his face. The seal was airtight. By now the tiny particles were flying about him in a rage, and on the interior of the mask, a picture began to form.

Saskia felt the sweat run down her back. It itched. Her foray into the building’s security records had come to nothing. The records were blank. Somebody had erased them. From her desk, the picture of Simon stared. Saskia was not in the photograph. She scowled and rubbed her back against the chair.

“Computer,” she said. “I...” Her voice trailed away. She looked into the corners of the ceiling. Tiny cameras followed her movements.

“I beg your pardon, Saskia?”

“Computer, you use those cameras to help disambiguate spoken commands. Do you record the footage?”

“Yes. The footage is kept for one week, to use as a statistical aid for difficult utterances.”

Saskia tapped her blotter. It became reflective then changed to display a graphical user interface. “Show me on my desktop.”

“Certainly. It will take a moment.”

Another icon appeared on the blotter. She tapped it and turned around to face the window. “Play it on the window.”

The window darkened as the liquid crystal elements arranged themselves into a display with four equal sections. Each showed the view from one of the four cameras in the main office. They held Saskia’s face in extreme close-up. The computer had no cameras in the bathroom or kitchen.