The Logic Bomb

By Paul Wordsworth

Amsterdam 2054: Damen van Hool is working on just another job: directing the vid story of how, three decades before, gravity wave signals were detected from another intelligence. His work takes him inside the datasystems of Kittcorps, the international corporation set up to exploit the new science and technologies arising from the alien contact. But he stumbles across something that Kittcorps would rather keep secret; something which puts him in mortal peril...

• Language: English
• Publisher: AUK Authors
• Release date: Dec 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781849898843

Book preview

Title Page

THE LOGIC BOMB

By

Paul Wordsworth

Publisher Information

The Logic Bomb published in 2011 by

Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

Copyright © Paul Wordsworth

The right of Paul Wordsworth to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Dedication

to Jeanette…

Introduction

Amsterdam 2054: Damen van Hool is working on just another job: directing the vid story of how, three decades before, gravity wave signals were detected from another intelligence. His work takes him inside the datasystems of Kittcorps, the international corporation set up to exploit the new science and technologies arising from the alien contact. But he stumbles across something that Kittcorps would rather keep secret; something which puts him in mortal peril...

Chapter One

20 October 2054

Amsterdam, Holland

Damen rested a moment, breathing heavily. Trudi sighed and held him closely, possessively, for a minute before he rolled to the side and lay on his back in the soft comfortable double bed. A gentle amber autumnal light filtered in past the green foliage of the houseplants in the window. After a whileTrudi spoke.

‘It’s gone eight, Damen. I’ve got to be in by nine thirty. Time we were getting up. Didn’t you say you had a meeting this morning?’

‘Oh hell, yes,’ Damen yawned, ‘The Kittcorps job. With their head of publicity. I connect at ten, I think. Suppose you’re right. Still, nice start to the day. ‘

‘Yes it was,’ Trudi replied, leaning over to kiss him quickly before throwing back the cover. ‘It’s nice in the morning sometimes. Trouble is, I’m always looking at the time if I ‘ve got to be somewhere. ‘

She sat on the edge of the bed, stretched out her arms and got up to go to the bathroom. Damen pulled the cover back over himself, unwilling to leave the warmth of the bed just yet. He looked at her as she stretched and yawned, her curly brown hair falling down over her shoulders, her arched back, her sensuous curves. She quietly and gracefully left the room; then he lapsed into thinking about the day ahead. First a long breakfast to wake him up, then the linkup with his client. He hated business linkups. It was the people he had to deal with; corporate types with no art, no imagination, all business and money and hassle and agendas. Still, without them there was no business, no money, no nice luxury apartment in Amsterdam, no work. He resolved to be a bit firmer with Kittcorps’ publicity head today. He was well-known now after all, critically acclaimed, even a minor celebrity after the string of well-received infodramas and TVD shows he had composed and directed over the last five years, so he no longer needed to kowtow to these corporate types. He yawned, heaved himself out of bed, pulled on his trousers, went over to the window, and opened it.

The air was crisp, still, and sharp; the view across the canal tranquil and picturesque. The trees with the last of their golden leaves were reflected in the limpid water. Barges and water buses glided along, their electric engines purring almost inaudibly. There were the sounds of street trams, the occasional voices, and the background bustle of the busy city. The tall ancient houses, tastefully presented, carefully modernised and perfectly maintained, curved away along the canal banks in either direction. He had been here with Trudi just over two years but on mornings like this he still felt the exhilaration he had first experienced when they moved to one of the most beautiful and expensive areas of one of the most beautiful and expensive cities in the world. Thirty four, fit and healthy, successful, and the world was his for the taking.

He went to the kitchen to get breakfast, speaking as he entered.

‘Coffee, breakfast mix, white. Croissants with Parma ham. Orange conserve after.’

The housecom responded in a low, gentle male voice.

‘Order confirmed. Eight minutes. ‘

‘Music medium low vol,’ Damen continued, ‘Monteverdi or Scarlatti will be fine.

The disembodied voice again replied, ‘Confirmed. Extracts from Il Ballo Della Ingrate by Monteverdi. ‘

The gentle operatic music filled the kitchen and a few minutes later the coffee and breakfast arrived. A panel in the wall units slid open and Damen took out the contents. As he was halfway through his first coffee, Trudi came in, now dressed for work in a blouse and business suit. She ordered her breakfast; camomile tea, soft scrambled eggs, toast and marmalade, and sat down to complete her dressing and makeup until it arrived.

‘Will you be at the Health Centre all day,’ Damen asked.

‘No. Until three or so.’ Trudi replied as she carefully applied just a little eye makeup.

‘Interviews for two new doctors today, then the equipment budget predictions to two thousand fifty eight. Louis Gaston, he’s the regional manager now, he’ll be there so I don’t want to be late. Do you need the car today?’

‘Yes, I want to go to Hilversum. I can always do my linkup by Pcom. ‘

‘Oh no, not really,’ Trudi looked sternly up at him over her mirror. ‘You can’t use your portable for such an important client, can you? It would look insulting. Whatever would they think of you?’

‘Then I‘ll drop by the cafe and use their room,’ Damen replied, irked. ‘I also want to talk to Karl about rowing tomorrow. He’s usually there first thing. Then I suppose I better earn some money and do some composing this afternoon. ‘

‘Don’t forget we’re going to Francis and Jan’s tonight for dinner. It’ll take us at least an hour to get there at that time in the evening’ Trudi said, finishing her makeup. ‘Must go in ten minutes. You going to get dressed now, dear?’

Damen rose and went to the bathroom. The light turned on and brightened as he entered. He looked into the mirror. Need a haircut soon, he thought, looking at his straight brown hair hanging lankly at collar length. The top right corner of the mirror displayed a number in glowing green letters: his weight today. Eighty five kilos. Just right for his height of a little over one metre nine hundred. Steady for three weeks. Just as well with the rowing competition in a week’s time; must be at the optimum weight for that. He brushed his teeth with the electric brush, shaved, and stepped into the shower. A fine mist of soapy water sprayed on to him from the neck down.

‘Five degrees colder,’ he called out.

‘Confirmed. Cooling now,’ the housecom’s voice replied, and the shower spray temperature dropped accordingly.

By the time he was dressed and ready Trudi was getting impatient, and they left the apartment with her leading the way briskly to the lift. Outside, their car came to life as they approached, the whine of the electric motors rising to the operating level hum as they got in. It was a small model, since there was a strict size restriction on those cars allowed into central Amsterdam; indeed they were fortunate to have a permit for one at all. About one and a half metres long, one and a half high, with the streamlined plasmetal body finished in a one-off retro deco design in green, gold and white. Trudi spoke the destination and the autonav flashed the least-congested route. They set off into the morning traffic to the Health Centre where Trudi worked. Damen as he drove along had his mind on which of the three TVDs he was working on at present was the most urgent and which could wait. His reverie was interrupted by Trudi turning on the car’s newsvid.

‘ . .and there has been a further restructuring of the Asean debt by the World Bank which should result in the stabilisation of the Far East economy within three years. President Ricci of the UAS has announced a fifty trillion dollar investment program in the new hydrokinetic power storage technology. Speaking at the Convention of the four major economic powers in Lvov yesterday, President Ricci said that HPS was one of the most important new developments so far to come from the Kralien initiative. It promised to revolutionise the technology of energy storage and revitalise the world economy. Local news now, and in Den Haag a man was killed following an attempted raid on the Allied com production facility earlier today. Marty van den Hoegarten has the details. . . ‘

After dropping Trudi at work Damen returned to central Amsterdam and stopped at his usual cafe, the Rialto. About ten or so people were inside reading, talking and drinking coffee. Norbert the manager greeted him as he entered.

‘Good morning, Damen. Anna dropped in earlier looking for you. Nothing urgent, just a hello. Karl’s over there making a call.’

Damen thanked him, ordered a coffee, and went to sit down near the window. He knew why Anna didn’t like to call him at home: she hated Trudi. And with good reason, because three years ago it was with Anna and not Trudi he was considering setting up home. He still felt bad about that even now, but he told himself it was all for the best, and he and Anna remained good friends. But however well he got on with Anna, the chemistry wasn’t quite there, and it had taken Trudi’s arrival on the scene to make him realise this. He wished Anna had found someone else since, though.

A tall bronzed blond man, good looking and well-dressed with cropped hair, and aquiline nose and a square protruding jaw interrupted Damen’s musing by sitting next to him.

‘Good morning, Damen,’ he said with a slight German accent, ‘You still all right to row tomorrow morning?’

‘Ah, hello Karl,’ Damen looked up. ‘Yes, sure. About a couple of hours OK? I think we should make this our last long session before the race next week. By the way, are you going to Jan and Frances’ tonight?’

‘No we’re not. That’ll leave you free to talk shop with Jan about vids and backdrops and comstudios and so forth,’ Karl replied. ‘About ten tomorrow at the boathouse? Yes, I think we need one good workout, then maybe a few light sessions next week. I‘ll have to go now though. I’m on duty this morning. See you tomorrow. ‘

He got up and left, heading in the direction of Central Station. Deputy Inspector Karl Landmann - why on earth had he joined the police? At University twelve years ago he was the one always drinking, dropping, fornicating, getting into scrapes with the authorities. It had been Damen who had worked and studied the harder. Mind you, he had had to. A double doctorate in Cultural History and Computing Technology was a difficult mix, but the only one possible for Damen. But he just loved making vids, and that’s what it took to do it properly.

Damen finished his coffee and went to the cafe’s small private communications room for his linkup with Kittcorps’ publicity head, who was in Seattle. He was making an edudoc for them about the Kralien contact. The meeting opened with a few formal pleasantries, then moved quickly on to the usual stuff: When would the work be ready for the first edit deadline? Was Friday possible, because they wanted to review it at a board meeting on Saturday? Was the TVD positive enough? Would it appeal to school kids? Did it stress the excitement of the contact sufficiently? Did it put forward the benefits of Kittcorps’ work strongly enough? Damen responded with a few queries of his own. Where was the fee instalment he was due? What about the access code to the Kittcorps’ databank he had so as to include some of their new products in the spiel - when did it expire? What about the copyright split- had they spoken to his lawyer yet? Was the distribution deal European or global? Were Fox involved – he wouldn’t work with them on ethical grounds – it was in his contract with them, he pointed out.

After about twenty minutes the tedious conference was over and Damen returned to the cafe proper. He decided to have an early lunch there before returning to the flat to work. Lambert was there - Lambert Spookje, the cafe layabout; small, dark, and fast-talking. Not well off, he earned what little money he had in various occasional casual and even illegal activities; but he was educated and interesting, with the offbeat view on life and events which comes to those with only a marginal involvement in such mundane activities as working or making money. Damen bought him lunch and they talked about old film stars, Lambert’s special area of interest which Damen also shared. Afterwards Damen returned to the flat. He had work to do now - the Kittcorps TVD wouldn’t wait. Just an afternoon’s work, Damen thought. But one that would change his life and change the world.

Chapter Two

20 October 2054

Amsterdam, Holland

‘Switch on,’ Damen spoke to the wall in his studio as he entered. The screens which comprised all of the walls and the ceiling came alive with his current favourite backdrop: the South Pole. It was so clean and bright, spacious and minimal. It was also one of the last places on earth with natural snow cover. He was surrounded by an intense blue whiteness as the polar scene was imaged around him and the moaning of the Antarctic wind filled the small room. The temperature in the studio dropped a refreshing five degrees.

‘Open diary,’ he said and a part of the central wall imaged a frame about a metre square in which various icons and information could be read in clear distinct print.

Tuesday 20 October 2054. Current engagements: Dinner with Jan and Francis tonight. He entered the rowing appointment at ten with Karl tomorrow at the boathouse on the Ij. Wednesday: Linkup with Philson entertainment tendering group about the development of the docudrama on the Far East financial crash of 2036 and the riots that followed: ‘The Taipei Meltdown’. Thursday, meeting with Laura about back scenes for the TVD crime series; ‘Wicked World.’ And so down to Friday: he entered the first edit deadline for ‘The Kralien Contact’. That was the one he had to spend most of his time working on; that was what he had to get on with today. He needed to make progress. He would watch the news, then get on with an edit of the first part, now almost complete.

‘News,’ he said and the screen displayed an intricately-structured menu of news items, tailored to his interests and disposition. He selected four items and watched their previews.

‘From Katanga we have the latest on the Central African War. Fierce fighting has again broken out. . . . . . ‘

‘The Central European Bank announced a reduction in interest rates to two point two five percent earlier today. . . . ‘

‘. .and in sport, Feyenoord were relegated to the second division after a defeat by Ajax ... ‘

‘. . . . . and leading com composer Harry Won died peacefully at his home in San Fransisco earlier today. Best known for his pioneering work in combining new acting with sophisticated com remodelling, he developed. . . ‘

After a few minutes Damen paused the newscast.

‘Ah well, this isn’t paying the rent. To work I suppose. Close cast. Kittcorps Adverdoc folder,’ Damen said distinctly, and the screen box dissolved and changed to show a list of titles and commentary.

‘Open file ‘The Kralien Contact’. Latest version. Review mode, real time. Run. ‘

The screen dissolved into a neutral grey, then to a vast star-studded blackness. A large animated fiery title grew slowly and elaborately from a central dot until it filled the centre screen. It read: ‘The Kralien Story. First Contact. 2026’ and was accompanied by stirring orchestral music which rose to a crescendo and then subsided into a background accompaniment to a warm and sultry female voiceover. The commentary began as the image panned slowly across the starscape until a large full moon came into view. It zoomed in, then panned out again to show a huge and intricate space platform in close orbit around the moon, consisting of an enormous latticework dish twinned with a huge bulbous structure: an immense nuclear reactor shell. The two were joined by an intricate web of solid and lattice steelwork. The whole platform slowly and majestically swept over the bleak, bright lunar surface whilst the dish remained locked on some fixed point in the firmament.

‘The story of the Kralien contact starts back in the early years of the millennium in Britain at Cambridge University. The Hawking-Saunders gravity wave theory of two thousand eighteen took the scientific world by storm by predicting that a type of gravity wave known as a gravitrino should travel almost instantaneously across vast distances,’ the voiceover purred mellifluously. ‘It does this by travelling through the curled up dimensions defined in M String Theory, in which the entire universe is only a few light minutes across, rather than the eighty billion light years it is in our three expanded dimensions. The tiny size of the universe in these curled dimensions was also found to account for the gravitational effect which had been known as dark matter and dark energy, since in these dimensions, which are known as Mspace, everything is so close to everything else that it casts a gravitational shadow on our own world by means of these gravitrinos. But it was not until two thousand and twenty three that the European Schengen States, the Central Asian Federation and the United American States set up a modest joint research project to map the heavens for gravitrinos. During this project in two thousand twenty six an astonishing discovery was made by Doctor Dean Raynerman of the research team at Palo Alto. ‘

The image faded to one of a middle-aged bearded man in a cluttered and untidy library piled with coms, screens, prints, disks and even some old books, who spoke in a strong southern American accent.

‘I was analysing the latest gravitrino data from the Reticulum constellation in the southern hemisphere when I noticed something very odd. There appeared to be a very faint but regular pulsed signal. It was coming in a specific direction from what seemed like empty space near to the star Kappa Reticulum. Now we had never encountered anything quite like this before. We’d detected regular gravitrino pulses before from pulsars and collapsars, but this was completely different. It came in short very small pulses with different time intervals between them. Well, we just kept our dish on this source but we couldn’t make out what was making it at all. So we passed the results over to Professor Timmerman at Leyden to see what she could make of them. ‘

The image faded and cut to an angular white-haired woman seated in a university comroom. She spoke animatedly.

‘I analysed the Kappa Reticulum pattern and found the most amazing thing I could ever have imagined. The pattern resembled a very complex binary code of some sort, which repeated over a period of ninety four minutes. It seemed to carry an awful lot of information. When this was analysed we could make no sense of any of it except for two very small segments. One appeared to give all the Fibonnacci Series numbers in correct ascending order. Another appeared to give the number of protons and neutrons in each shell of all the elements and known isotopes of the periodic table. We were very excited by the discovery. It could not be a natural source. So we were left with only one conclusion. It had to be a message from an intelligence of some kind. ‘

The scene faded again and cut to a vast galactic starscape, then zoomed to a small insignificant star. A superimposition appeared showing the binary code pattern pulses as an animated red and green bar graph. The commentary continued.

‘For two years the transmission was monitored whilst the scientific world debated. The world media at first hailed this as the biggest event in history: first contact with an alien intelligence. The intelligence was named the Kappa Reticulum Alien Source, which rapidly became shortened to the ‘Kraliens’. Newsvids reacted by giving extensive coverage to what the Kraliens would be like, although of course this was pure speculation at this stage, and based more on old Sci-Fi dramas than on modern science. ‘

Cut to newsvid extracts flying towards the viewer, with headlines such as, ‘Alien Intelligence Confirmed!’, ‘Martians Really Do Exist’, and, ‘Kralien Invasion Not Likely, Say Boffins’, and even, ‘What Do YOU Think The Kraliens Look Like? Enter Our Monster Competition!’ Cut back to view of stars in empty space.

‘But when there was no further news or pictures the story rapidly died out in the popular imagination. Only in the scientific community was there discussion about what the next steps should be. Could we reply? Should we reply?’

The image faded and cut to large hall in which scientific conference is taking place. Delegates huddle in knots in heated discussions. The commentary continued evenly.

‘The possibility of any physical contact with whoever or whatever was sending out the signal was rapidly discounted by the scientists. The source of the signal appeared to be over seven hundred light years away from earth for one thing, and the laws of science as we understand them mean that to send even one very small spacecraft would take thousands of years and require enormous amounts of energy and material. ‘

An image of a small intricate spacecraft hurtling through empty space towards a distant nebula appeared.

‘Popular science fiction, or more accurately science fantasy, has often supposed some sort of fancy hyperdrive capable of taking us to the stars within a human lifespan, either through space itself or via a black hole or M string dimension shortcut. But this theory has never had any justification whatsoever in the laws of physics. In fact, on the contrary, these laws specifically forbid the possibility of faster than light travel for any kind of material object, or travel through a black hole, or indeed any way of getting to the stars within any kind of feasible timescale. ‘

Fade to image of vast sun with luminous trail of matter being sucked out and spiralling into a nearby black hole.

‘So the reality is that the unimaginably vast distances between the stars, and the consequent problems of the massive accelerations, endless timespans, and huge gravitational forces that would have to be overcome to get to even the nearest stars, has led scientists to wholly discount interstellar travel as a serious scientific proposition. So any meaningful two way contact between intelligent lifeforms across the gulfs of space could only be achieved by using gravitrino pulses through the M string dimensions like those of the signals from Kappa Reticulum. Professor Raynerman explains how. ‘

Cut back to the American professor’s head, this time backed by schematic of stars and planets connected by visualised gravitrino pulses. The backdrop animates to illustrate the points he makes.

‘Now all bodies with mass such as stars and planets generate, or more accurately have as a property, a gravity gradient in space. Usually this is a static field which diminishes rapidly as you move away from the body itself. But sometimes this steady gravity field can pulse; for example in a large, uneven and rapidly-rotating body such as a pulsar, which is an unstable collapsing star, or a black hole for that matter. Now these Gravitrino Pulses as they are known are not like normal electromagnetic waves like visible light or X rays. They don’t travel through space in the same way at all. More accurately, they alternately stretch and compress the fabric of space itself by a very, very small amount, often only by a few thousandths of a micro-millimetre. But, - and this is important - it is almost instantaneous according to the theory, and as we now know by observation, because it also acts through the curled M string dimensions of Mspace, as well as the three space dimensions that light moves in. That means that although the light from the Kappa Reticulum system has taken over seven hundred years to get here, and remember that light can travel the equivalent of seven times the earth’s circumference in a single second, the gravitrino pulse is transmitted and received in a fraction of a second or so across the tiny amount of Mspace between us and the aliens. ‘

The head of the professor faded out and was replaced by a picture of a starfield in space: the image zoomed to a particular star, and a point in space nearby was shown by a glowing yellow arrow. The professor’s head reappeared superimposed on the backdrop and spoke.

‘That explained to us why the Kralien pulse appeared to originate in empty space. It was not from where we could see the star Kappa Reticulum, because we can only see where it was seven hundred years ago when the light set out on its long journey. It was where that star would be now, if we could see it so. But there was one thing which still bothered us. It was the strength of the gravitrino signal. To transmit such a signal suggested either a vast amount of energy was being used, or that we had been targeted by a narrow gravitrino pulse, rather like a laser beam. In either case it suggested very strongly that we were dealing with an intelligence more technologically advanced than we are; maybe by thousands, even millions of years. ‘

The whole image dissolved to a picture of old United Nations building, then to a meeting within. The commentary continued.

‘Whether we should try to construct our own gravitrino transmitter to reply was discussed at length around the world and at the United Nations. Politicians argued, and religious leaders stated their positions. The Pope said it was essential to take the message of the Gospel to the Kraliens. The Islamic world was split between those who thought that it was Allah’s will and that they had therefore nothing to fear by the contact, and those who considered it could pollute the message of Islam in an already divided world. The Dalai Lama thought that if we made the contact only out of desire for the material benefits, we could be seduced and enslaved by evil karmic spirits. The United Protestants wanted to find out if the Kraliens had a Saviour too. Others such as some ultra-orthodox Hindus predicted that the end of the world; the end of time and progress as we know it, would ensue from contact.’

Damen blinked and formed a thought in his mind; and a red marker reading, ‘Edit 1’ appeared on the screen for three seconds. The commentary continued.

‘But in the end it was the political reality of a divided world which led to the decision to try to establish contact. Military leaders advised the politicians that a successful contact could eventually lead to the transfer of entirely new technologies with wide military and security implications. The temptation to be the first to establish contact and benefit from the new technologies would be irresistible to many blocs’ political-economic-military establishments. The threat of being left behind and dominated by other blocs’ new technologies would be so great they would feel forced to develop their own strategies for contact. It would be virtually impossible for the world agencies or governments to effectively enforce an embargo on making contact with the Kraliens. Therefore we had to make contact, worldwide and collectively. So the biggest irony of whether we should contact the Kraliens was that it had nothing to do with humanity acting as a whole and everything to do with humanity still being divided in competing political, economic, and cultural groups. ‘

Damen formed a thought again. ‘Edit 2’ appeared in red for three seconds on the screen. The scene faded and cut to space again. Orbiting around the moon, the vast space station seen earlier is under construction. Spacecraft come and go, bringing components and materials both from the earth and the moon. The commentary started again.

‘And so Kittcorps came into being; an international corporation answerable to the United Nations and owned equally by the four superstates who provided the huge resources needed to build and run it. Kittcorps: the Kralien Information and Technology Transfer Corporation. The European Schengen States, the United American States, the Central Asian Federation, and the Asean Co-prosperity Group together set up a large team of top scientists, technologists, linguists, logicians, and military strategists to establish and develop two way contact with the Kraliens. ‘

The image zoomed in to the Kittcorps logo of two blue globes joined by a red lightning bolt, on the side of the space platform, then panned to the large bulbous structure of the space platform, then resolved as a graphic illustrating its components and how they work. The commentary continued.

‘The basis for the contact would be the experimental ProFission energy generator already developed by the UAS and built in lunar orbit, which alone was capable of generating the huge amount of energy necessary to make even a very tiny gravitrino pulse. Pro Fission antimatter generators had been banned from earth or earth orbit after the cataclysmic Sao Paolo Disaster of two thousand twenty eight where over three thousand square miles was laid waste by the explosion of this volatile yet enormously-powerful energy source. Even so, there was doubt whether our gravitrino signal, less than one thousandth of the estimated power of the Kralien beacon, would be anything like strong enough to be detectable even by a very advanced civilisation.

The transmitter itself works using a small singularity or black hole. A singularity is made of matter compressed to the point of almost infinite density and occupying only a point in space. It generates its own small but intense gravity well which distorts the fabric of space. It is held in position by very strong magnetic fields. By directing huge pulses of pure energy towards and into the singularity, the gravity field can be made to pulse very slightly. So to transmit a gravitrino signal, a normal binary electromagnetic signal like that used in coms and TVDs is amplified and boosted to a massive energy level and then blasted into the singularity, which then creates a microscopic gravitrino pulse.

In two thousand thirty three, after an intense four year construction period, the transmitter was ready to be switched on. The Kittcorps linguistic and logic team had come up with a binary code sequence four minutes long which they hoped would be understood by the Kraliens. On April the fourth two thousand thirty four, the signal was beamed out towards Kappa Reticulum. ‘

Fade to picture of transmitter control room with spacesuited staff moving around, reading dials and screens and setting controls. They wait tensely. Then scenes of astonishment, then wild excitement. The commentary continues.

‘The earth signal had been transmitted for only eight minutes before the most remarkable event of all occurred. The Kralien signal abruptly stopped. After the second repeat of our signal the Kralien signal resumed, much more powerfully and with a different pattern. Recognition by an alien intelligence was finally and incontrovertibly established. The Golden Age of Earth - Kralien dialogue had begun’.

The sound of heroic orchestral music rose to a climax. The Kittcorps logo of twin blue globes linked by a red lightning bolt grew from a dot in space until it filled the screen. The commentary voice changed to a low, resonant male bass.

‘It was over ten years since that first historic contact before we worked out a language to talk with the Kraliens. Communicating at first only in binary code, basic scientific concepts were transmitted and received until we understood each other a little. Then the language based on mathematics and physics was slowly, ever so slowly developed as Man and Kralien learned to talk together. Then new concepts, new philosophies, new sciences were first glimpsed, then understood and applied as they flowed across the void between worlds. And still the new wonder technologies come thick and fast. Molecular data memory. Cold fusion. Multilayer processors. Herculaneum. Genetic rejuvenation. And strangest and most marvellous of all, atomic water engineering. The most dramatic Informational and Technological advances in the history of Man. And Kittcorps has been working ceaselessly ever since to bring these I .T . benefits to everyone, everywhere, throughout the world. ‘

A pause, the logo reappeared, then the deep voice rolled, ‘Kittcorps. All the I T you’ll ever need!’

The music swelled to a crescendo of baroque magnificence then faded to the background as title credits rolled across the screen. The final credit rolled: ‘Composed and Directed by Damen van Hool’.

Damen sat back as the credits ended.

‘Coffee. ‘ he called; and in thirty seconds a panel in the wall behind him opened. There was in it a plastic cup of coffee and a small biscuit. He swivelled round in his chair, picked up the coffee, drunk a little of it, and spoke again.

‘Go to Edit one’. The screen lit up with the United Nations discussion and the voiceover saying, ‘. . .with humanity still being divided in competing political and military organisations. ‘

Damen spoke. ‘Back ten. Stop. Indicate source for following. ‘

A box appeared beside the main screen with ‘Doctor Herzog Rosenfeld. Professor of History University of Tel Aviv 2032 - 2053’.

‘Image of professor,’ Damen ordered. A picture of a young-looking man dressed in a gaudy printed shirt appeared.

‘Too loud. No gravitas. More sober,’ Damen muttered, then spoke loudly, ‘Wardrobe. ‘

A succession of clothing images appeared and a list accompanied. With a thought Damen selected a suit and tie from the list. The professor appeared again, this time dressed in the suit.

‘Too young. More authority,’ Damen muttered again and with a few more rapid menus, flashes of grey appeared at the professor’s temples, the face became a little more lined.

‘Yes. That’s about it,’ Damen muttered again. ‘These neural transmitters sure are worth it. Save hours with these menu choices. Now where were we? Professor speaks. Continue from edit stop. ‘

Instead of the commentary, this time the professor’s purposefully-aged head spoke atop his reclad body. ‘In the end it was pragmatism which led to. . . ‘

‘Stop! ‘ Damen called again. ‘Edit voice. Age timbre up three. Accent Amerisraeli point four. Back three. Reconfigure to new. Run. ‘

The professor now spoke with a slight shake in his voice and with a more pronounced accent. ‘In the end it was pragmatism which led. .‘

‘Stop! New backdrop. Library, twenty-first techno-military. ‘ Images of armoured cars, tanks, strangely-clad troopers, and aircraft. It took Damen more than twenty minutes to cycle through the almost endless video library and configure a thirty second collage of military manoeuvres. Eventually he said, ‘Reconfigure to new minus two. Run to Edit two then revert. Run. ‘ The voiceover began again.

‘. . .and progress as we know it, would ensue from the contact. ‘ The United Nations scene faded and was replaced by the modified image of the Israeli professor against a backdrop of military machines on the move. The professor spoke, ‘In the end it was the pragmatism. .‘

Damen continued for another hour until he was editing the final sequence. The deep male voiceover was announcing the new wonder technologies. ‘.

Molecular data memory. Cold fusion. Zzzzzzzzzzzzz. Herculaneum. Genetic rejuvenation. And strangest. . . . ‘

‘Stop!’ Damen called out again in a tired voice. ‘Back five. Run.’

The burst of interference after ‘cold fusion’ was still there.

‘Stop. Back two. Show code. File information. Forward, stop!’

There! An erasure? There was a whole section of null code in the middle of what should have been his list. What was it? He hadn’t put it there he was sure.

‘Edit code. Time and origin,’ he ordered, but he found there was no time and no origination for the code. Very odd. Not impossible, just very odd. What was there before the static? He sat and thought back to his first version. He called up the backup file. It was the same, just the buzz after cold fusion. He called up all the other backups and archives made by his comsystem since he recorded it two days previously; the same. Only one memory bank left to check to solve the mystery, his own mind’s. He thought back to when he was composing this piece. He had a technique for these kinds of lists which he’d often use in adVDs. The cadence of three, twice. Molecular data memory, cold fusion, something. Herculaneum, genetic rejuvenation, and so forth. Now what was the one which was missing? Yes! Multilayer something or other, that was it. Yes, now he remembered. Multilayer processors. He had wanted some new technology in his list to whet the appertite for what was still to come, not just a recap of what everyone already knew about. So he had taken that one from the Kittcorps product database he had access to. But what had happened to it? How had it been erased? Was it a fault? Who but he had access to his own comstudio systems otherwise?

He was disturbed in his musing by the insistent buzzing of a small icon on the screen, which grew steadily louder as the image grew and resolved itself into Trudi’s picture. Annoyed at the interruption, he flashed a thought at the icon and Trudi’s image appeared full size in front of him.

‘At last!,’ she said, ‘ We’ll be late for Jan and Francis unless you pack that in now and get ready. Are you coming then?’

‘Allright, allright I’m coming now,’ Damen replied. He was tired anyway: time to stop. He would have to sort out the mystery of the vanishing menu item tomorrow.

‘Switch off. ‘ he said, going to the door and leaving the studio. The screens darkened and the door locked as he left the room.

Chapter Three

20 October 2054

Amsterdam, Holland

There were six at Jan and Francis’ dinner party; the other two were a couple Damen and Trudi casually knew called Thomas and Elaine who had driven up from Europoort. The conversation was informed but predictable, and Damen contributed little. Work, investments, current affairs, music, fashion, food; the usual gamut of affluent urban middle class dinner talk. Thomas and Elaine left at ten as they had babysitters to relieve. Over a late coffee, whilst Trudi chatted with Frances, Damen told Jan about his edit problem earlier in the day.

Damen and Jan had originally met about eight years previously in the course of business and had struck up a lasting friendship. Jan was a small, round, fast-talking man in his late forties; who earned his living as a com technology security consultant. He had installed Damen’s first comstudio facility, and they had worked and socialised together ever since. Jan was professionally intrigued by the glitch in Damen’s program, and after a few minutes they had left the women and had gone off to Jan’s own lavishly-equipped comstudio to try and find out what the problem could be. In any case Jan always relished the opportunity of demonstrating his fine com equipment to anyone with the patience or interest. First Jan connected through to Damen’s comstudio and Damen downloaded his Kralien contact file to Jan’s system; then they analysed the code together.

‘Where did you get the original data for that bit from then,’ Jan asked, And can you get it again now?’

‘Kittcorps product databank. I’ve got an access code,’ Damen replied. ‘I can connect now if you want.’

‘Oo! Yes please!’ Jan replied, ‘Never been in Kittcorps’ product bank before. Often wanted to though. You can really get us in there? They must think what you’re doing’s important to let you in there. Any restrictions?’

‘Just the usual confidentiality stuff. But don’t tell anyone you were here too or they’ll sue me, knowing Kittcorps. Humourless bunch of bastards.’

Damen connected with Kittcorps and opened their databank on new technology. Scanning down the menu list, Damen soon found what he was looking for.

‘There. As I told you. Multilayer processors. Want to see what it’s about? I’m not really supposed to go any further in but I don’t see why not. You say you haven’t heard about this then Jan?’

‘Not as such, but I have heard that Kittcorps are working on something very big and very secret to do with a new processor chip. Maybe this is it. What is it exactly? What does it do?’ said Jan, intrigued, as they opened the file, ‘Look. It’s not available yet commercially; it’s still under beta evaluation. That means Kittcorps themselves are probably using them. Look, here’s the outline spec.’

A moment’s silence whilst they scan-read the specification on the screen before Jan spoke again.

‘Can’t be right. It’s either a misprint or it’s a really fantastic piece of kit. A single cluster can take three thousand gigabytes and get to any item within a nanosecond? Planck time processing speeds? They’re kidding. This file isn’t dated April the first is it Damen?

‘No, it’s a new product they’re working on, that’s all I know,’ Damen replied, ‘besides which Kittcorps don’t have any sense of humour, so it can’t be a prank. They take themselves too seriously.’

‘Look at the structure!’ Jan exclaimed, ‘That’s fantastic. It’ll revolutionise everything in data handling. Everything else will be instantly obsolete. You see, the data’s mobile, it moves around, and the routes are mapped at these points here. So at any one time all the points’ route maps are within a tenth of a nanosecond of access to their particular bits. Then these route maps are configured in the same way...’

‘You’ve lost me there, Jan,’ Damen said. ‘And I still don’t understand how its name disappeared from my program code.’

‘Well, if it is a water silicon valency gel which is what it looks like it may be, it acts a bit like human memory does,’ Jan replied, ‘But cubed, if you follow. It’s much, much faster. As for your code loss I suppose it’s so sensitive they’ve put a security lock on it for now. As I said, I heard rumours that Kittcorps were going to reveal some fantastic new gizmo and start selling it as a New Year publicity stunt. I can see why...’

‘But Jan, explain to me how they can erase it from my program,’ Damen interrupted.

‘Oh, some kind of viruscode I suppose linked in with the name,’ Jan replied easily. ‘You download the name and take the viruscode as well as a sort of uninvited guest, which erases the name, then itself. I didn’t know they were that good, or that paranoid.’

‘Can’t be. I’ve got a viruslock on all the time. You installed it, remember? State of the art you told me. Are you telling me now they’ve got round your lock?’ Damen snapped back. ‘Anyway, it didn’t just erase the name on the current copy. It cut out every iteration of the name in every archive and backup too.’

Yeah, I must admit that’s pretty damn good,’ Jan replied, still concentrating on the screen, ‘But not impossible. You must have taken a whole linked file with you when you downloaded the name for it to do all that.’

‘No, I didn’t, I’m sure,’ Damen replied, ‘I would have noticed the length...’

Another part of the screen lit up with the images of Frances and Trudi.

‘There you both are!’ Frances exclaimed in mock surprise. ‘Whatever are you up to? Working during a dinner party?’

Trudi spoke. ‘Time to go soon Damen. I’ve got an early start tomorow I’m afraid dear.’

Damen and Jan looked wearily at each other.

‘We’ll talk about this tomorrow then,’ Damen said, ‘So now I’ve got to break contact with Kittcorps databank I’m afraid, Jan. There. Tell me more about this tomorrow.’

Damen and Trudi left soon after, and drove back through the quiet Amsterdam suburbs. Trudi was not at all interested when Damen started to tell her what he and Jan had been up to, so he dropped the subject and they drove in silence. It was nearly midnight when they got back, and they went to bed almost immediately.

20 October 2054

Seattle, UAS

Half a world away in Seattle, Hara Green sat in her executive penthouse office behind an enormous lacquered desk. Mid forties, very chic, with short dark hair, beautiful but with a brusque, somewhat cold manner. Outside the late afternoon sun glinted on the ocean beyond. But Hara wasn’t contemplating the view, magnificent though it was. A message on her comscreen was what held her attention, as she regarded it with pursed lips. Presently she spoke.

‘Instruction to executive Captain Howard, Europe security. Investigate and remedy level zee data breach, two instances, Holland, traced to subcontractor van Hool. Priority over other current activities until concluded. End.’

The comscreen acknowledged the message sent as Hara got up to go to her three o’clock board meeting.

21 October 2054

Amsterdam, Holland

The following morning both Damen and Trudi got up about eight. Damen went for his customary early morning look out of the window. The weather was blustery, with blue sky flecked with high white cirrus and heavier cumulus clouds with ragged edges. Not ideal for rowing, he thought; too much wind would make the water choppy. Around was the usual bustle of a city waking up and getting to work. Down on the roadway next to the canal there was a telcomm van with three men unloading equipment. The van had fenced Damen’s car in, so he called down to them to move it. They looked up, startled, then one of them acknowledged and moved the van along a few metres.

Breakfast was soon over and Damen drove Trudi to work before going on to the rowing club on the banks of the Ij. He would be early so he could have a leisurely coffee there, then a light workout before he and Karl were due to take to the water. When he had dropped off Trudi he turned on the car’s newsvid as usual.

‘..Was going to make a strong recovery. Local news just in, and there has been an horrific double murder in Haarlem last night according to a report just in. Police were called to affluent Groenstrasse at six o’clock this morning after neighbours heard a disturbance and screaming coming from one of the houses. Police officers broke in and found the mutilated bodies of the occupants, believed to be Mr Jan Timmerman and his wife Francis. Police are investigating but there appears to have been no robbery and no obvious motive for the attack...’

Damen became aware of car horns sounding. He had stopped in the middle of the carriageway, stunned by the news item. He collected himself and drove off to the rowing club which was only a little further on. In the car park he sat for a while thinking furiously, then called Trudi at her work.

‘Trudi, are you alone? Can you talk? It’s serious,’ Damen began when he was connected. No she couldn’t; she was in a meeting now and couldn’t it wait? Damen insisted and she left to find a private office.

‘This had better be good...’ she started but Damen broke in.

‘It’s Jan and Francis. They’ve been murdered. Yes, murdered! Yes I am sure. It was on the news just now. About six this morning they said. No they don’t know who did it or why. Mutilated bodies they said. Perhaps you can find out something from the path lab at Haarlem. I’ll talk to Karl to see whether we should go to the police. We may have been the last people to see them alive. No I know we’re not suspects. The security cameras in the lobby to our flats will have