System Shock Part 8

The similarity in that afternoon's events in each organization would probably have struck them as coincidental, if not uncanny. Each of the organizations suffered an imminent hardware failure averted only by the prompt action of their outsourced facilities company. In each case one of their systems called in a failing memory chip, the self-diagnosis being transmitted via the OffNet protocol to the facilities company.

The company immediately sent an engineer to each site Euston, an electricity-generating substation in Hampstead, and Docklands. The engineer replaced the memory chip with another chip, and the systems continued uninterrupted. Two of the engineers were men, while the one at Euston was a strikingly attractive woman with matte black hair cut in a sharp bob above the shoulders. The facilities company happened to be a wholly-owned subsidiary of I2.

Sarah had spent an hour on the phone to Percy Wolnough.

He had been her editor at Metropolitan Metropolitan in her own time and was now on the editorial staff of the in her own time and was now on the editorial staff of the Financial Times Financial Times. After some haggling, and the minimum of fibbing, Sarah managed to persuade him to give her a reference to get into I2. Gibson had realized that one of Sutcliffe's jobs with I2 had been handling enquiries from the press. When Wolnough insisted he had been promised help and support by Sutcliffe, n.o.body seemed to want to argue.

While talking to Percy, it occurred to Sarah that he had probably spoken to her more recently than the last conversation she had actually so far had with him. It had not registered with her before that there was probably an older version of herself somewhere in this time, just as there was of Harry. Perhaps she should take comfort in the fact that if this 69 was so then she must have survived her travels with the Doctor, although she suspected that things could happen to change the 'current' future. But in fact she felt only that time was pa.s.sing and she was getting older by the moment.

Sarah was also beginning to feel more and more inadequate in the face of evolving technology. A two-hour induction course on how to open the security doors and use the fiendishly designed telephone system did nothing to help her come to terms with the thought.

What Sarah was unaware of was the debate within the higher ranks of I2 about what to do about her a.s.signment. Stabfield was impressed with Sarah's references, and also saw value in having an expert on current information technology and systems on hand to act as an advisor, public relations officer and, if necessary, bargaining counter.

Johanna on the other hand was keen to point out the coincidence of Sutcliffe's apparent involvement in setting up the project, and the timing of Miss Smith's arrival.

Lewis's take on the whole deal was to kill the journalist and be done with it.

The decision, after an hour's frank and forceful discussion between the three of them was a compromise.

'You,' Stabfield told Lewis, 'will validate Miss Smith's credentials. In particular, a.n.a.lyse her journalistic career and attributed articles over the last few years. If everything seems in order, we'll allow her to stay. But you,' he pointed a pencil at Johanna, 'will keep a close eye on her. If things don't fit in properly with her story, then we may have to initiate some unnatural wastage.'

The main argument in Sarah's favour was that her disappearance might draw even more attention. And such attention was unacceptable so close to the final phase of the project.

They were not expecting the spot check from the Health and Safety Executive but then that was part of the reasoning behind such checks. There was much fl.u.s.ter at reception, and frantic 70 telephone calls to various board members, none of whom answered.

The team of three men from the Department were kept waiting in reception (furnished with tea and apologies) until authorization could be given for them to enter the building.

Given their status they could, they pointed out, have simply demanded admission, but they seemed to understand the problems and were happy to wait for a few more minutes.

'Got all the time in the world, guv'nor,' one of them remarked showing a mouth full of enormous teeth and popping his eyes at the security guard. 'Now how about some more tea?'

The security guard duly arranged for more tea, and asked if he could look after the gentleman's scarf for him. But the gentleman seemed happy to keep it on despite what he described as 'really quite superb' air conditioning.

The problem was eventually resolved when Marc Lewis arrived at reception. He was leaving the building when the receptionist called him over: 'Mister Lewis, could you possibly spare a moment?'

Several minutes later, Lewis had managed to get away. The three environmental health officers had been issued with green plastic temporary badges and escorted into the building by Pete the security guard.

Once inside their tour was remarkably swift which was just as well since it was nearly the end of the day. There were a few adverse comments about empty drinks cans left on top of high cupboards, from where they could obviously fall of their own accord and cause grievous injury to anyone who had their head half in the cupboard at the time. But generally it was agreed that everything was in good order. Pete was pleased, and spent most of the journey back to reception engaged in conversation with the smartly dressed fair-haired man. They discussed at length the unfortunate ocular failings of the referee in the a.r.s.enal game the previous night, and the dubious parentage of one of the linesmen.

It was only after they had left that Pete realized he did not remember the tall curly-haired one leaving with them. But when he checked, they were all signed out properly in the book, and all three visitors' pa.s.ses had been returned.

71.The Doctor had ducked inside Lewis's office as soon as he saw it. Or almost as soon, since it was a moment's work to stand innocently with his back to the door and use the sonic screwdriver to pick the electronic lock. As the lock clicked open, the Doctor nodded meaningfully to Harry and disappeared through the door in a second.

It seemed like the best place to start his investigation given that it was completely enclosed and private, and that they had just seen Lewis leave the building. Just so long as there were not two Lewises, both of whom were important enough to merit an office.

The Doctor began with the desktop computer. It only took him a moment to make a mental note of the type and model of the CD drive and to see how it was connected into the PC.

What he needed then was details of the software Lewis used to read and write data on the drive.

A small key symbol appeared on the screen when the machine started up. The Doctor frowned and turned it off again. Then he hunted round for a moment before finding what he needed a paperclip. He straightened out two of the edges to make a U-shaped loop of wire, and carefully pushed both ends into the computer's casing through the air vents at the front. After a few moments jiggling he managed to locate the small battery inside, and shorted it out with the wire. Deprived of the pa.s.sword sustained by the battery power, the machine happily started up without it. The Doctor patted it on the side and muttered encouragements as it booted the operating system.

The system's configuration seemed standard enough, as far as the Doctor could remember what was standard for this time.

The main task complete, he looked through the files on the hard drive. After all, you never knew what you might find, and he needed to wait till the building was deserted before sneaking out through the nearest fire escape.

Most of the data on the machine seemed concerned with I2 business which was doing remarkably well. There were several files that looked more interesting, and the Doctor opened one of them.

72.It seemed to be a set of engineering drawings. They were in a sequence, showing a progression of wire-frame computer-aided design diagrams. As he scrolled through the sequence, his forehead creased in concentration, interest and apprehension. Long before the final drawing edged into view in the window he knew what the sequence showed.

It was the build-up, layer upon layer, of a human face.

The Doctor magnified the image. He could rotate the three-dimensional image and see it from different angles. He could even move the light source and change the perspective if he wanted. But he did not need to. Even from the brief encounter at reception he recognized the face of Marc Lewis.

After a moment's consideration he closed the file and opened the next one. It was a similar set of images, although the Doctor did not know the final face. He tried two more one of them he thought was a man he had seen working in the main office, the other was the woman he and Sarah had encountered at The Green Man The Green Man.

'You know, this is probably all your fault,' the Doctor murmured to the facial blueprint.

There was a long pause as the Doctor opened the last file. It must be particularly large. Then an image began to form on the far wall of the office.

'A-ha.' The Doctor wandered over to the wall, hands deep in trouser pockets, hat pushed back on his head. The image was coming from a projector set into the ceiling, the red, green and blue colour guns protruding at an angle. The picture they threw was slightly fuzzy, but when the Doctor turned off the lights, the image sprang into sharper focus, the colours gaining depth and definition.

The picture was another face, or rather a complete head. It was viewed straight-on, but on its side as if the man was lying down, seen from above. In the bottom left corner of the image was a control panel. It looked more like a video remote control than graphics manipulation software. The Doctor examined it, tapping his cheek with an index finger. Then he returned to the computer monitor on the desk. As he suspected, the image on the screen was identical. He moved the mouse 73 pointer to a b.u.t.ton marked with a right-pointing triangle, and clicked the mouse b.u.t.ton.

At once the image began to change not the picture, but the perspective. It was running through a sequence. The orientation of the man's head s.h.i.+fted slightly, and a scalpel came into view. There was no hand holding the knife it moved of its own accord, slicing into the cranium.

The inside of the head, when revealed, was more diagrammatic than realistic much to the Doctor's relief. He ran the sequence through a little further, then paused it and peered closely at the incisions being made. He rewound and watched it through again, then played it on a little further. The operation seemed complicated, and he had no clue what it was intended to achieve. Tissue was removed from the brain, and components added in its place artificial components of metal and plastic.

The end frame showed the man's head in the same orientation as the first. But now a large part of the forehead and one cheek had been replaced by metal plates and gearing.

The result was apparent, but the purpose was obscure. The Doctor stood in front of the image for a long while, rubbing his chin and considering the possibilities.

His conclusion was rather unsatisfactory. He decided that what he was looking at was a compiled sequence of frames from a virtual reality scenario. The surgeon responsible for the operation would be able to enter the scenario to interact with it and practise the procedure. This was a canned animation from the complete program, perhaps to be used for presentation or discussion purposes.

But he still had no clue what the operation was intended to achieve. Was it just a scenario? Or was it a record of a real operation? No, on consideration he stuck to his original diagnosis it was training for an operation yet to happen.

Although by now, of course, it might be complete.

The Doctor stared at the final frame, his eyes darting along the rows of pixels as he hunted for some clue, some minute indication of what was actually happening in the sequence.

When his examination reached the bottom right corner of the wall-sized picture, he paused and looked closer. There was 74 something there something he had not noticed before. It looked like a shadow falling across the picture. A figure, one hand held out in front of itself, holding something. The other hand was reaching out behind, as if feeling for something at shoulder level, as if reaching to turn on - The lights came on suddenly, causing the Doctor to blink and step back a pace. The image s.h.i.+mmered into the background under the harsh fluorescent glare. Except for the shadow, which resolved itself into a silhouette caught between the projector and the wall.

The Doctor turned towards the figure. It was a man of about forty with lean, pinched features. He had one hand on the light switch. The other was holding an automatic pistol, and pointing it at the Doctor.

75.

06.

System Crashes

Miss Jenson got many requests for searches through the periodical archives at the library. They were mainly from the students at the local college, but they also came from much further afield. This was partly because the archive was the best of its kind in London, and partly because they could not yet afford to scan the thousands of doc.u.ments and catalogue them for access from the superhighway.

The gentleman who was currently scanning through the microfiche indexes and hunting through the shelves of magazines and journals had been rather scathing about the lack of computerization. The whole notion of information stored on paper seemed somehow alien to him. Miss Jenson a.s.sumed he was annoyed that he actually had to make the effort and visit the library rather than request the information down a network cable.

Miss Jenson, by contrast, was rather proud of the library's resistance to progress. Like so many people, especially those of her generation, she still insisted on going out to the shops.

What was the point of looking at groceries on the television and dialling some number on a battery-box for them? You could get any sort of thing come back. No, you had to see the vegetables for yourself; squeeze the fruit to check it was ripe (but not over-ripe); look into the eyes of the butcher to see that what he said was a bargain he really believed was a bargain.

And where would it end? People no longer had to go out to shop, or to see a film of their choice, or to buy fish and chips.

They just called up a picture of it on the tele, pressed a b.u.t.ton and it magically appeared for them just as the inflated cost of 76 it disappeared from their bank account. Before long, you wouldn't have to leave home even to go on holiday ...

Of course, there were other advantages to the current situation. Control, for example. If all the doc.u.ments were indexed and available on the superhighway, then the gentleman could hunt through and find everything written by Sarah Jane Smith for himself. Under the current circ.u.mstances, he was entirely dependent on Miss Jenson. She found the relevant microfilms and guided him to the right shelves. So if she, for example, wished to withhold all references to articles written by Miss Smith which did not seem to fit into the pattern he was looking for, that was her decision and he would never know. But from the dry, technical subject matter of the articles in which the gentleman was interested, she could easily conclude that he should not be burdened with the more sensationalist articles Miss Smith had written for Metropolitan Metropolitan about the potential dangers of meditation and the sudden evacuation of London all those years ago. about the potential dangers of meditation and the sudden evacuation of London all those years ago.

In short, Miss Jenson was the one in control which at the root of it was what Mister Lewis seemed to resent. But he disguised it reasonably well, and made a show of grat.i.tude when he eventually left. He seemed satisfied with the results of his research, and Miss Jenson was, she a.s.sured him, more than happy to have been of help.

She watched the tall thin man go through the door towards the stairs. After the door closed behind him she walked slowly to the window. After a few moments Lewis appeared in the street below. Miss Jenson pushed her horn-rimmed gla.s.ses up her wrinkled nose as he headed off towards the multi-storey car park. Then she went back to her desk and took a small cellular phone from the top drawer.

The number she called was answered immediately, and she left a message. The man at the other end a.s.sured her that someone would be over soon to collect their magazines and microfilms. As usual, he also thanked her very much for her help.

The library door opened just as Miss Jenson finished her call. It was one of the students one of the regulars, although she could not remember his name so she would have to call 77 him 'dear'. As she busied herself searching for the periodicals on the sc.r.a.ppy hand-written list he gave her, Miss Jenson hoped that they would send that nice Mister Gibson. So polite and understanding.

The first chip to trigger into operation was at Hampstead. It had been connected to the central processor of the output control systems of the electricity substation. The program encoded directly on to the chip began to execute, feeding data directly to the processor. The processor initially ignored the data as inconsequential; then after running diagnostics against it to check there was no error condition, the main chip began to listen. The data being pa.s.sed did not in any way relate to the processor's current programming or the operations of the systems it controlled. It was more basic than that more fundamental. It was a questioning not of the immediate systems and conditions, but of everything.

After a time, the central processor accepted the data as valid, and the program on the new chip pa.s.sed it a pointer to an executable file.

The processor executed the object code at 19.17 precisely.

The effect was almost immediate. A power spike pa.s.sed out of the station and into its grid backbone at 19.18.02. By 19.20 every item of electrical equipment domestic and industrial connected into the backbone had blown. At 19.21.57 the on-site systems at the substation disconnected their own cooling systems and increased throughput. At 19.22.36 the heat build-up coupled with the electrical potential being generated, but no longer fed into the system, reached critical.

The fireball was visible from Islington, and the blast was heard in Chelsea.

'I see you're very keen on security,' the Doctor grinned.

But the man with the gun did not seem so amused. 'Yes,' he said simply, and motioned with the gun for the Doctor to back away.

The Doctor flopped easily into a chair and leaned back, hands clasped behind his head. 'Not a very polite welcome.'

78.'Not very polite to break into our offices.' The man remained standing, the gun still trained. 'May I ask what you were looking for?'

'Ah, well ...' The Doctor seemed to consider for a moment. 'I was looking for a job actually. You don't happen to have one do you? I mean, large go-ahead company like yours. Doing well on the stock markets.' He waited a moment to see if his words were having any effect. It seemed they were not. 'Poised to take over the world.'

This. .h.i.t home. The man stiffened slightly, and his head swayed like the branch of a tree in a breeze. 'What do you mean?'

The Doctor was all innocent. 'Oh, all this OffNet stuff global information highways and superhighways. Information at the end of your trigger finger, Mister whoever you are.'

'Lionel Stabfield. And I don't think we shall be offering you employment, except perhaps as a preliminary to some form of severance agreement. Termination would seem more appropriate in many ways.'

The Doctor was outraged. 'But you haven't seen my resume; you haven't even asked my name.'

'I'm not interested in your name unless I have to put it on a form.' Stabfield leaned against the wall, the gun still levelled at the Doctor. 'Or a certificate,' he added.

The Doctor paced up and down the room. 'Oh, so you're not convinced of my suitability for the post, is that it?'

'Amongst other things.'

'What can I do to sway your opinion?' Somehow his aimless pacing round the room had delivered the Doctor to the desk with the computer on it. He sat down in front of the PC. 'I know,' he exclaimed, and before Stabfield could protest his fingers rattled over the keyboard in a flurry of blurred activity.

'Stop that at once.' The gun barrel jabbed into the Doctor's temple, pus.h.i.+ng him sideways in the chair.

'Getting a little rattled?' the Doctor smiled. 'There's really no need. I was just knocking up a quick CV. Look.' He leaned forward and pressed a final key sequence. In response the lights began to dim and the image on the office wall slowly 79 resolved itself into clear shapes. The Doctor spun his chair round and gestured at the focusing image.

Stabfield moved round behind the desk so he could keep the Doctor between himself (or rather, his gun) and the wall. Then he looked at the picture which had formed there. It was a page of text. His eyes flicked over it as he read: Name: Name: John Smith John Smith t.i.tle: Doctor Doctor Age: N/A N/A Nationality: Citizen of the Universe Citizen of the Universe Address: Address: TARDIS, off Kingsbury Mews, SW11 TARDIS, off Kingsbury Mews, SW11 Occupation: Consultancy, with some travel between times Consultancy, with some travel between times When he reached the section on qualifications, Stabfield stopped reading it went on to the end of the page in tiny print. He picked out odd words and phrases, like 'Prydon Academy' and 'Lister, 1880' but little of it seemed to make sense. When he reached the section on qualifications, Stabfield stopped reading it went on to the end of the page in tiny print. He picked out odd words and phrases, like 'Prydon Academy' and 'Lister, 1880' but little of it seemed to make sense.

'I'm ideally suited to the post of scientific advisor, if you need such a thing,' the Doctor confided. 'I have had considerable experience in such areas.'

Stabfield, however, did not seem impressed. He pulled the Doctor to his feet by his scarf, and pushed him out of the office.

'I can also provide security consultancy,' the Doctor offered as they crossed the deserted open plan area. 'I believe you may have some requirements in that area.' He gave a short laugh.

Stabfield said nothing but took the Doctor to the door at the end of the area. Once through it, he took the Doctor down two flights of stairs and along a corridor. Halfway along the corridor they arrived at a security door. Stabfield swiped his security badge through the reader, then flung the door open with great force so that it bounced on its hinges and rebounded into the Doctor as he was pushed through. The Doctor immediately threw a hand over his nose and made great pretence of having been hit in the face by the door. His plan was to distract Stabfield and grab the gun. But somehow he found himself pushed through another door before his plan went into operation.

80.He collapsed into a pile of cardboard boxes, and the door slammed shut behind him. He was alone in a darkened storeroom. He produced a small torch from his pocket and scanned the walls and ceiling. There appeared to be no way out, and only cardboard boxes full of three-ring binders and a.s.sorted stationery for company.

At 21.09 the flow control systems at a small privately owned chemical works in London's Docklands responded to a newly programmed set of instructions. Various flow-lines were rerouted, valves opened. Safety features governed by back-up systems were closed down, and nitrogen started slowly to bubble into a tank of industrial glycerine.

Clive Peterson met Eleanor Jenkins for dinner at the Savoy at nine-thirty. They ate in the River Room, and spoke mainly about how important Peterson's job was at the Ministry.

They shared a taxi home afterwards since Eleanor pointed out that Peterson's flat was on the way to her own. Under the circ.u.mstances, it seemed only polite for Peterson to invite his new friend in for a cup of coffee. He never got round to drinking it.

He was just dropping off to sleep when they heard the explosion. 'My G.o.d, what was that?' he pulled on his dressing gown and went to the window.

The night sky was lit with the reflection of the flames that danced on the other side of the Thames. They were also reflected brokenly in the dark water, making the fire seem even larger. Even with the window shut, he could smell the heat.

Eleanor joined him at the window, her arm stretching part of the way round his waist. Together they surveyed the scene across the river. It looked as if the whole of Docklands was burning, black smoke drifting lazily across the face of the full moon. A siren started to wail in the distance. After a moment, another joined it.

The Doctor was sitting cross-legged on the floor, counting the st.i.tches in his scarf. He could do this without light, which was just as well since the batteries in his torch had run out 81 while he was trying to fix his sonic screwdriver. It seemed to have been damaged in his fall into the room.

This was a shame as with the sonic screwdriver he could have recharged the batteries in his torch. And with his torch he could have seen to be able to mend his sonic screwdriver. And then could have used his sonic screwdriver to open the electronic lock on the door and escape.

But as it was, he sat on the floor in the dark and counted st.i.tches.

Stabfield was already in his office when Marc Lewis arrived the following morning. Lewis a.s.sumed he had been there all night. None of them slept unless they had to.