Armageddon Heights (a thriller) (27 page)

‘Yet it started to get people thinking. If these so-called sentient algorithms really did think they were human, acted like humans, and felt everything as a human does, were they not another form of humanity? It’s life, Jim, but not as we know it… And if so, was to kill them tantamount to murder? It raised all sorts of philosophical questions. A pressure group soon emerged called the Campaign for Sentient Liberties – or CSL for short – which tried to force just this issue. They gathered quite a few supporters to their cause, which worried Lindegaard Software, because the very game could be in jeopardy. When CSL started to accuse the organisation of murdering Sentients – which was greeted initially by scorn and derision by the organisation – it had a serious effect on its shares, and gamers started to drop out as people began to digest the argument. When does computer programming end and sentience – actually being human – begin? The meaning of life has troubled philosophers for centuries, but now there seemed to be real evidence being gathered by CSL that perhaps the question would be answered once and for all. CSL organised mass protests, calling for a ban to the game and recognition of Sentient liberties, the right to life. When their campaign didn’t seem to be making inroads fast enough, a small number of them resorted to targeting the Mindgames’ offices, smashing windows, graffiti on the walls, that kind of thing. Nothing major, but it showed the levels of frustration creeping in. But on the whole, opinion was gradually moving in CSL’s favour.

‘Then something happened that changed the political landscape in Lindegaard Software’s favour. One of the two brothers, Jeremy Lindegaard, the head of the organisation at the time, and his daughter Melissa, were both brutally attacked by gunmen. He was killed outright, so was his driver, and Melissa was injured so much that she was never to lead a normal life ever again. The tide of opinion now turned immediately against CSL. They were blamed for the act and revealed to be nothing more than a terrorist group reliant upon violent methods to get their views heard. Further investigations even linked key members to terrorist cells elsewhere. Their leaders were duly taken and charged with murder and swiftly convicted after evidence was found strongly implicating them. Their organisation was disbanded and their assets sequestrated. That was the end of CSL, and everyone got back to ignoring the sentience issue and back to their beloved gaming, free from their niggling consciences. Or so they thought,’ she said.

She paused as more shadows temporarily blocked the light, and there were sounds of shuffling from outside in the corridor.

‘Look, while all this is very interesting, what the hell has it to do with me?’ Wade demanded emphatically, taking advantage of the break in her concentration.

‘Everything,’ she returned. ‘Bear with me. So everyone thought CSL were out of the picture. Business as usual. But something stank to high heaven about the murder. It came to light that CSL were having secret talks with Jeremy Lindegaard, with his daughter acting as the intermediary. Some kind of settlement was in the air, an extraordinary meeting of the top brass at Lindegaard Software was called and it was pretty clear Jeremy Lindegaard had something important to announce at it. He never got that far. He was gunned down at the gates of his brother’s house.’

Wade shrugged. ‘Maybe CSL were pissed off, didn’t like what he was going to announce,’ he said. ‘I know such extremists. They start off with small, minor violent acts, vandalism, beatings, intimidation, and when nobody still wants to listen to their ranting they throw aggressive tantrums, with devastating effect.’

‘What if I told you I had proof that CSL might be innocent?’ she said.

‘I don’t fucking care! I just want out of here!’ He let out a long, heartfelt sigh. ‘Christ, this is madness,’ he said. ‘Lady, if I’m drugged up with this tremethelene stuff, give me the bloody antidote, wake me up, do whatever you have to, but I can’t stay here any longer…’

‘You have to listen,’ she demanded. ‘It’s important. So Lindegaard Software, now headed by Jeremy’s brother Dale Lindegaard, got on with business as usual, like I said. But CSL didn’t die. It rose from the ashes. Only this time with a new leader called Charlie Sharland, and as an underground organisation with a subtly different focus. Sharland found the expertise to develop software that allowed them to enter Armageddon Heights illegally, literally borrowing avatars and equipment for their own use, something Lindegaard Software thought impossible – the only entry into the Heights, they thought, was through their own heavily protected systems. Their first thought was that if an outsider had the ability to synthesise tremethelene, scale their software firewalls and wander the Heights at will then others would follow. Their profits would be significantly undermined by illegal use and their market dominance threatened by competitors.

‘So Lindegaard created ever more sophisticated firewalls to prevent unauthorised access; they also designed systems for spotting and tracking unauthorised incursions. But CSL managed to outwit them at every turn, because of a mole they had placed within the heart of Lindegaard Software who provided them with vital information on developments and upgrades, and helping to hide CSL incursions into the Heights.’

‘I don’t get it. So what are CSL doing there –
here
– anyhow? Playing games?’ Wade asked. ‘Hardly likely to aid their cause, is it?’

‘It’s a very risky business, because they don’t have expiration inhibitors…’

‘Expiration inhibitors?’

‘You can’t have gamers getting shot through the heart in the Heights and dying in real life, so there’s a failsafe in place called an expiration inhibitor. They suffer some pain, but wake up automatically. For CSL that’s not the case. The expiration inhibitor has proved very difficult to replicate, because Lindegaard changes its settings too regularly to be mimicked. So when CSL members go into the Heights they run the risk of dying for real. If their avatar gets killed, they die with it. So, no, they’re not playing games, far from it.’

‘What are they doing, exactly?’

‘They have a very small team that regularly go in, no more than three trusted people, four including Sharland himself. I’m one of them. The aim is to target known or suspected Sentients from the weak but erratic traces they leave in cyberspace, their aim being to rescue them and take them to safety.’

He laughed hollowly. ‘Safety? Here?’

‘The game has been going on for so long, expanding all the time, with new environments being created every year – like I said, the virtual land is now equivalent to the size of Canada – there are now certain sections that are no longer used, have gotten forgotten, left behind, like the hidden and fragmented data on a computer hard drive that just sits there, idle, never even noticed. CSL located one of these off-the-radar dead zones and that’s where we take the Sentients. We’ve secured these with firewalls that effectively make them invisible to all but us. Within this data dead zone we are able to hide the Sentients until we can get their right as living human beings fully recognised. It’s actually quite a decent place, by Armageddon Heights’ standards. We call it Erewhon, after the novel by Samuel Butler.’

‘Never heard of it.’

‘That figures. Erewhon is a fictional place, an anagram of nowhere.’

‘Great, so you’re headed nowhere…’

‘That’s about the size of it.’

‘So let me get this story straight – you’re a CSL operative using a borrowed avatar and you’re here to rescue some kind of Sentient and take it to this place called Erewhon.’

She nodded. ‘That’s right, except it’s not an “
it
”.’

‘Say I believe that, I still don’t see what that has to do with me.’

‘It has everything to do with you, Sam. You’re the Sentient I’m here to rescue…’ she said.  

There was a thin film of sweat on Adrian Levoir’s forehead, giving his skin the appearance of plastic. He had a headache coming on, the pain sitting behind his eyes and threatening to erupt into a full-blown migraine. And he was exhausted. But as he stared at the computer screen the tiredness fell quickly away, and his mouth hung open. The three men who shared his cramped windowless room, their desks crammed full of electronic gadgetry, stared at him expectantly.

‘We’ve got it,’ Levoir chimed triumphantly, rising from his seat. The last few pieces of data from the damaged hard drives had been deciphered, and it was up there on the screen for him to see. ‘We’ve got it!’ he repeated. ‘Well done, well done!’ he praised his small team. He hit print and went over to the printer, snapping the sheet of paper out of the machine’s jaws as soon as it spat it out. He read the text, although he’d read it already twice over on the screen, hardly believing what he saw. He felt a small glow of satisfaction as he lifted a phone. ‘Mr Villiers, I have it. I have Cobalt’s identity and where you’ll find Charlie Sharland.’

Villiers’ response was measured, unhurried. ‘Bring it up for me,’ he said.

Adrian Levoir was escorted from the room where he’d laboured for many long hours, and at one point thought he’d never be able to achieve it, but with his team of experts brought in by Villiers, they’d managed it. He was feeling very pleased with himself. But when he reached the door, the burly security guard at his side ushering him out before him, he caught a glance from his new-found colleagues. It unnerved him. Was that sorrow on their faces? No, not sorrow. Pity, perhaps.

His face steeled. Or it could be jealousy. After all, he was the one who’d get the credit. He was the one destined to capitalise on the work by being offered a lucrative and exalted position within the organisation Villiers worked for. To hell with Lindegaard. He was headed nowhere fast working for Lindegaard Software, with years ahead of him as Napier’s lackey at the very best. Now he had a chance to really prove himself and improve his career prospects. And if that meant overlooking the murder he witnessed then so be it. In this world it’s all about looking after yourself, he thought, the two men now headed towards a lift that carried them swiftly up a few flights.

He’d still no idea where the hell he was. It looked to be some kind of corporate building, but empty of people, the few doors that were open revealing a large expanse of bare cream walls, a sea of carpet and little else. A brief glimpse through one of the windows told him he was still in London somewhere. But the guard hurried him on so that he didn’t have time to take in any great detail of exactly where. But for now that didn’t matter, he thought as he clutched the piece of paper to his chest as if it were a precious object. One day soon he’d have a suite of similar rooms all to himself.

The guard knocked at a plain mahogany door on which was a brass name plate awaiting the engraving of its occupant’s name. They entered on Villiers’ command, and Levoir marched confidently up to the slender man who was standing by the window looking out, hands behind his back. The first time he’d met Dale Lindegaard he was doing the same. Was Villiers aping his master? Levoir heard the door close behind him, and he turned to see Jungius turn the key in the lock and stand before the door, arms folded. A shiver of fear trickled through Levoir, but he shrugged it away and continued to approach Villiers.

‘Here it is,’ he said, holding out the paper.

But Villiers didn’t turn immediately. He let Levoir stand there, looking and feeling faintly foolish. At length he turned round and held out his hand. ‘Let me see it,’ he said, and Levoir proudly handed it over.

‘You’ll never believe it…’ he said.

Villiers held up his hand to silence Levoir, and the man’s lips clamped shut. Villiers read the document, a thin smile breaking the severity of his expression. ‘Well, well, well…’ he said. ‘Now isn’t that a turn up for the books?’ He looked sharply up at Levoir. ‘Is that everything? No more info on the hard drives?’

Levoir shook his head. ‘We’ve extracted everything we can. The rest is lost. But that’s more than enough.  You’ve got everything you wanted, and more.’

Villiers agreed with a gentle nod. ‘Well done, Adrian. I knew you could do it.’

Levoir’s smug grin dropped. ‘Now it’s time for your part of the deal.’

‘You’re certain there’s nothing more can be gleaned from the hard drives?’ said Villiers. ‘Every last piece of information sucked out of them?’

‘I told you. It’s a miracle I managed to get what I did out of that mess. What’s wrong, is that still not good enough for you?’ His tone revealed his underlying dislike of the man before him despite his best efforts to submerge them.

Villiers looked up from the piece of paper, his eyelids rising almost sleepily as he regarded Levoir. ‘Yes, of course, my part of the deal.’ He nodded. A thin, insubstantial affair that might easily be mistaken for a nervous twitch.

It was too late Levoir realised the full meaning of the movement. He turned on his heel, or tried to, for Jungius had silently swept across the carpet and wrapped a thin wire around his neck, yanking him backwards. Levoir’s hands went instinctively to the garrotte, one of his fingers becoming trapped beneath it as he sought to tear it away. But Jungius’ grip was iron-tight, and he gave a sharp tug on the wire and it sliced through the tip of Levoir’s finger, bone and all. Levoir screamed when the pain and terror cascaded in on him, but it was cut short as the wire sliced through the flesh of his neck and into the artery beneath, a scarlet gush of blood falling hot onto his hands. And beyond the mist of agony, the knowledge that his life was being drained from him filled his mind with black horror. He kicked and thrashed, but his protestations soon fell butterfly-weak and stopped altogether. The last thing he saw before oblivion folded over him was Villiers’ ghostly face swimming in a lake of darkness.

Jungius let Levoir’s body slip to the floor, the wire still embedded deep inside his neck, the blood flowing out more slowly as the beating of Levoir’s heart came to a stop.

‘Get the team in to clean this mess up,’ Villiers ordered, sidestepping the body without looking at it. ‘And then come with me. We have a rat to catch before it deserts the sinking ship.’