SUSPICIONS
@ Security General Headquarters.
In the middle, stands a crystal table illuminated by spotlights that concentrate their beams on the central inlay of a golden snake. C573Y raises his head from the desk. A message has appeared in his visual field. Red, throbbing, so intrusive that it covers almost the whole of the views:
WIDMAN AND YUNG KILLED
WIDMAN’S CAR BLOWN UP 3.45 P.M.
Right after his assistant’s face materializes. “The explosion happened in the Space Agency parking lot. Widman was killed outright, the woman while getting her to hospital. There are no injured. A team of ours is on the spot.”
“What about the inquiry?” asks C573Y.
“The bug has confirmed they were the informers. Eve Dirac contacted them to introduce a friend of hers. This last entered the information system of the Agency…”
“Did he reach the files of the Alpha Centauri Projects?”
“He was clever at canceling his traces. We are looking for them.”
“When is the brain digitization beginning?”
“Within ten minutes. The forensic department confirmed me.”
C573Y is pensive. “Did you find out the motive?”
“The two didn’t know. But Widman was worried, very worried. Once I heard him speaking about terrorism. Only suspicions.”
“What about a virus?”
“I had the software of the Caravels checked. No anomaly so far.” The virtual being pauses. “Last Saturday Widman flew to the Wonderful Islands. I had him followed. He went into the Overseas Bank, to withdraw a money transfer from a company that belonged to Nihil fifty years ago.”
“The Head of the Elects!” shouts C573Y.
“He is Eve Dirac’s partner.”
It seems like yesterday when the collective suicides happened. A sensational case that kept an audience of forty billion glued to their screens for over a month. On which Security concentrated its investigative force. Every day new deaths were discovered, scattered all over the world: America, Europe and Asia. At the end more than one thousand corpses were counted. All of them headless. Brain digitization, clearly.
An unprecedented hunt started in Net. They arrested most of them, but when the operation seemed to be ending with a complete success, the few still free vanished. A mystery, as well as the reason of their transfer.
“Nihil has reappeared in a sensational way. To begin a new phase of his plan, I fear,” adds C573Y.
His assistant has a perplexed air. “I asked the Defense about Eve Dirac. I had to threaten them with talking to the President, to obtain an answer: she belonged to the Red Helmets!”
The Special Forces of the Army. Perfect training. Unequalled technology. Great successes. The best in the solar system.
HELL
His face is framed by dark curls and a pointed beard; his eyes are as black as coal. Nihil walks back and forth in the room, then sits down at a table and drums his fingers on the glass surface. Someone knocks at the door. A young woman enters with her head lowered, sets a drink on the table and goes away without making a noise.
Nihil receives a message:
WITNESSES KILLED – TRACES REMOVED.
He runs downstairs and goes out. Walking along a path lined with age-old trees, he passes by ten or so followers intent on praying aloud on a lawn. Two children come out from behind a hedge shouting with joy, whirl around him and disappear into the green. He continues along a winding path that climbs a hill.
"In a few weeks, it will be all over."
He admires his reflection in the surface of a pond. His misshapen countenance and limping gait are distant memories, problems he got rid of when entering Net. He smiles. In front of him, the perfect features of an android.
Suddenly he flies into a rage, because of his parents who hadn’t hidden their disappointment at having a child disabled from birth. Also because of his playmates who mocked him in such a cruel way that they gave him a nickname that in Latin means nothing. He has kept it, because reminding him of his old pain, would always keep alive his wish for revenge.
Growing up, he returned their spite, and to his great surprise he found that he took enormous pleasure in the pain of others. It was an irresistible temptation, which progressively led him to extend his outrages to the innocent as well. At the same time his desire for power grew out of all proportion. He used to spend all night dreaming about dominating people.
He had to satisfy his obsession. He needed allies, but he knew that with his hostile and vindictive behavior, he would make life impossible for himself. To achieve his objective, he had to learn the techniques to dominate impulses and subdue minds.
This opportunity turned up at last, when he met the head of a little community: an elderly man with a lot of charisma. He gained his confidence, pretending to be a person of sound principles and promoting several philanthropic initiatives. Soon he became his trusted man, and studying the old man’s behavior, he learnt to be as skilful as him. After the man’s death, Nihil took over the guidance of the community.
He raises his head towards the top of the hill.
"At that moment I started my plan."
They entered Net through a collective suicide. It wasn’t an easy life, because they had to live in anonymity, but a bearable one, since the virtual world was subject only to scanty controls. A few years later however, repression became so harsh that the community risked being decimated. Only he and a few others escaped capture.
To carry out his project, he needed his companions' unconditional cooperation. He knew he was running a risk, but there was no choice. Therefore he revealed his plan, pointing out the noblest aspects and carefully hiding the ultimate purpose. The followers agreed with enthusiasm and started working promptly towards its realization. However, Security repression was getting so violent, it endangered even the survival of the small and determined community. They needed innovative technologies, but they didn’t know how to get and still less develop them. Fortunately he met Eve Dirac. She created such revolutionary software, which rendered Security harmless for all practical purposes.
He shakes his head. "Then the difficulties began.”
First the followers challenged some of his decisions. When he imposed his will, they accused him of being intolerant. Opposition grew quickly and during a heated discussion, they forced him to accept the creation of the Council. Apparently, Nihil absorbed the blow well, but actually he felt betrayed.
He picks up a stone and throws it far away. "There was nothing left than revenge."
He turns back, he has already gone a long way. Now the followers are nothing but dots on the lawn. This is his new community, created in the real world to avoid any interference, destined to replace the Elects. He starts climbing again and in a few minutes reaches the top. His hands on his hips, he admires the villa at the bottom.
Unfortunately it was not possible to abandon the Elects all of a sudden. He needed them to carry out his project. So, for a few months, he skillfully hid his anger, obtaining all their availability, exploiting all their knowledge. Then, at the right moment, he disappeared. His work was perfect in all details, obviously.
On the way back, while he is close by the lawn again, he sees his assistant appearing round the corner. “We have caught a novice in your room!”
They quicken their steps. At last at home, they run upstairs, into the meeting room. The young man is in the middle, with a frightened face, surrounded by five followers. Nihil points at two of them, the most trustworthy ones. “You stay here. The others must leave.”
When the door closes, he looks daggers at the novice. “What were you doing?”
The other keeps silent.
“If you don’t tell me all the truth, you will regret it. So what?”
Now the novice gazes into space.
Then Nihil addresses his assistant: “Go and get today’s recordings.”
The follower returns after a few minutes with a projector, that he put
s on the table. He starts it playing. The man is seen entering Nihil’s room, rummaging in his drawers... He is really a spy!
“Hold him tightly!” cries the Head of the Elects while going behind him.
He seizes the novice’s arm and wrings it behind the back. Then, with a single blow, Nihil rotates it upward. The novice screams, bends sideways. His keepers work hard to straighten him.
Nihil goes to the window and stares outside. The sky is clear, but sudden gusts cut into the thin jet of the fountain in the middle of the square. He turns. “Fetch me the traitor's possessions.”
His assistant goes out and when a few minutes later he comes back, he has a sack under his arm. Nihil scatters the contents onto the table, searches frenetically.
“A micro memory!” He unloads the e-mails and cross checks the addresses against the Elects’ ones. The name of a councilor appears in his visual field. Purple in the face, he turns towards the followers. “I’ll be back soon.”
He goes downstairs and outside, slamming the door. He rushes into a path. A child runs up to him, but he pushes him away.
Excited shouts. Three mothers are gathering up their children scattered over the lawn. A little red hat flies away, pushed by a blast of wind. From the mountains, a boiling front of black clouds is approaching fast.
Nihil stops between two hedges. "The novice works for Wing. Maybe he has transmitted some information. I will get rid of both!"
He contacts a killer, provides him with the councilor’s personal details and agrees the price. Then he orders his company of the Wonderful Islands to make the fund transfer. Everything in a few minutes.
"Now I must do the novice in."
He steps into the room. The youth is lying stark naked, surrounded by his torturers. White as a grub.
“Have you succeeded in forcing his neural chip open?”
“He withstood even torture.”
“Make him kneel.”
They seize the spy by the arms.
“This is the last time I will ask you,” says Nihil staring at the bruises on his face. “Who has sent you?”
But the other keeps silent. Then he gets near with a mocking smile. “It doesn’t matter. I already know him.”
The young man’s eyes become moist with tears. The Head of the Elects places himself behind him. He caresses his neck, takes the novice’s head gently between his hands. He stands still for a second. Then he tightens the grip. The head smashes like a ripe melon.
Nihil addresses his followers: “Burn him and don’t speak about it to anyone if you don’t want to come to the same end!”
He runs down the stairs. Large drops are pounding the windows of the landing. From the gutters, a deafening roar.
He flings open a glass door, and enters a hall adorned with garlands. Busy people. Smiling faces.
“How are preparations going?”
WONDERFUL ISLANDS
@
“The Wonderful Islands are among the most enchanting places in Net. The luxuriant vegetation covering a large part of the country, is interrupted at intervals by yellow, red and dark blue expanses. Here flowers of all sizes spread even across the beaches, inside the villages and towns, so that the whole country is perfumed. The coastline is indented with uncountable inlets where the whitest beaches alternate with rocks striated with black and ochre. The sea is populated by a world of corals and colored fish. No wonder these islands are an exclusive holiday resort. The bungalows, hidden in the green, offer exactly the comfort and privacy the most exigent customers demand. The capital is on the largest island, around a wide bay from which the skyscrapers rise like crystals from a geode.
Since the independence of the country fifty years ago, its government has introduced tax regulations in favor of foreign investors, passing laws which allow the setting up and management of bank accounts and companies in total anonymity. These opportunities have attracted the most important corporations in the Solar System, as well as small firms and private investors.
But a few years ago, crime started infiltrating the institutions. Since then the country has undergone dramatic changes: the offer has been extended to money laundering and illicit trades, but what is worse, the immense wealth flowing in from abroad has become a blackmail tool.
When the Confederation asked the Wonderful Islands to sign a transparency protocol, it received a definite refusal. It put forward other proposals, all of them wrecked. Attitudes became soured, but even threats and commercial sanctions didn’t have any effect. Today the situation is dominated by the calm before the storm. The President has stopped giving ultimatums, maintains that only an invasion can unblock the situation and masses troops on the borders. It seems that Special Forces units have infiltrated the enemy network...”
The Solar System Chronicles, February 5th 2300, “Beyond tax heavens”.
A STRANGE PERSON
@
A woman is swimming some meters above the coral reef, towards the white sandy shore. A shoal disperses at her arrival, while a moray peeps out from its hiding-place.
She rises from the sea showing her athletic shoulders and a shapely pair of legs, walks gracefully across the beach. Her ivory complexion and platinum blond hair make her look like an angel, but her eyes are icy. Halfway, she turns round. In the crystal clear water, turquoise and dark blue spots follow one another. Against the horizon, thin clouds stand out.
The woman makes her way along a path winding through orchid bushes. She passes through a palm grove and arrives at a lawn with a spotless bungalow in the middle. In the shade of a porch, she lies down on a deckchair and half-closes her eyes, enjoying the background of Caribbean music. A waiter dressed in white lays a fruit cocktail on a small bamboo table.
She is satisfied indeed with having bought this virtual atoll, so perfect in every detail it seems real. A few years before, when she ran into the offer for sale, she wanted to visit the island at once and remained so dazzled, that she unhesitatingly paid out an exorbitant sum for it.
But now the time has come to work. She calls her secretary. A smiling face appears.
“Did instructions arrive?” asks the woman.
“Here they are. Do you need anything else?”
The woman has a look at the contents. “For now that’s all, thank you.”
When the small figure has vanished, she examines the request, and then starts working out a plan. She, an artist in her own field, must produce an original work, able to excite the admiration even of sworn enemies. After several attempts, she conceives a satisfying idea. This time she will surpass herself, creating a real masterpiece. In order to realize such a perfect work, she must take care of every detail. The woman enters the bungalow and goes to the living room.
“Show me some period costumes!” she orders the computer.
“What era?”
“18th century dress.”
Clothes for men and women appear in mid-air. She turns around flared skirts and examines a few lace-edged corsets. "I wonder how they could get in…"
Then she stops in front of a black costume with an austere cut. “Put it aside.”
An invisible hand moves it to a corner.
“Since you have chosen a suit,” points out the computer, “I imagine you want to change your appearance too.”
Various looks materialize: young and old, blond and dark. She casts a scornful glance at the nearest ones. “I don’t like those. Take them away!”
They disappear at once. She rummages about for a few minutes and finally stops in front of a tall man. “What magnificent raven hair!”
She runs her hand through his hair. “I want this.”
The male figure walks as meekly as a lamb, next to the suit.
“Do you need anything else?” asks the computer.
“You can go.”
The woman admires her choices.
"Now I must get ready."
She reaches for a mirror and taking a scalpel, puts it to her forehead and starts cutting downwar
ds through the skin. She continues across her face, down to the pubis. She seizes the borders just below her breast and tears them up, making a luminous mist appear. She continues till all the covering has been slipped off. She draws her new features up and lets them spread all over her body. Finally, she puts on the suit.
Now the transformation is complete. In the room, stands a man with a dark complexion and well-kept beard, wearing a black cloak and a cocked hat. He wraps himself up in the cloak and disappears in a flash.
He reappears in a distant place of Net, in the middle of an alley lined with narrow medieval houses. Flaking walls, clothes hanging from the windows. Thick fog, insinuating itself into the cracks of the time-worn building in front. A brackish smell, a sharp cold. He holds the cloak tightly and massages his shoulders vigorously, then makes his way whistling a cheerful tune.
A minute later he emerges into a paved street running alongside a channel. He makes for the main door of a marble palace, with slender windows ending in spires. He stops in front of it. Few pedestrians pass by. A carriage hauled by two pawing black horses, enters rattling.
Slowly the glimmer of the fog weakens. From the windows, the first lights shine out. Silence, broken only by the water lapping against the banks and from time to time by the shouts of boatmen announcing their arrival. Muffled voices.
Suddenly, just in the middle of the waterway, a dim light looms out of the fog, followed by a lonely figure standing on a boat and intent on pushing his single oar.
INVESTIGATIONS
A gala dinner. Large round tables covered with dark blue tablecloths, and on them goblets, china and cutlery, all with the Confederation symbol, four golden stars on a turquoise background, as many as the inhabited worlds of the solar system. Crystal chandeliers, whose ruby color matches perfectly with the red damask tapestry. Swarms of waiters in white livery.
In front of the Confederation flag, there is a long table with a decoration of pink peonies. The President is in the middle, surrounded by his executive. C573Y is among them, busy discussing with a senator through the neural chip, for secrecy reasons.