Freedom Club (37 page)

Sumeet walked over and joined them. “Yes, that is what he said.”

“Then let’s start with them and look at the public records on file,” Henry said.

Within a few moments, a number of reports and financial statements compiled themselves on the wall. All sorts of data presented itself. Tax statements, membership counts, charitable declarations, political contributions. It was all on record and accessible.

“I always look at finances first,” Henry said with a broad smile. “Follow the cash flow, and the truth shall follow.”

Henry then began running tax records through standard analytical systems. The wall filled itself with a number of three-dimensional graphs and charts.

“A pattern seems to be emerging,” Henry said, looking over toward Sumeet. “However, maybe with your background in Finance you’ll want to confirm my suspicions?”

Sumeet looked unsure at first, but approached the wall and then took control. He pushed around some of the graphs, putting a number of basic growth charts next to one another. Finally he stood back and thoughtfully nodded with hands on both hips.

“Interesting,” Sumeet said, quite pleased with himself. “It seems that this church had strong earnings growth, starting fifteen years ago, and merged into another entity soon after. Based on growth like this, I would say they had great financial advice.”

“Sentient advice?” Shinzou said, taking a seat nearby.

“A strong possibility,” Sumeet confirmed. “But I see here that they did a number of mergers over the next decade. It’s considered somewhat risky, but they seemed to have succeeded. Let me see where all this history leads to.”

Sumeet looked over the data for a few moments before stepping back. Astonished, he pointed up at the graphs and grinned.

“I don’t believe this,” Sumeet blurted. “This church over the years has merged into Aleph-Beta Corporation. Incredible! I just helped them acquire Takahana last week, the last thing I did before I got laid off.”

“How strange,” Henry said, moving over close to examine the graphs. “That small church has deftly become part of a large multinational conglomerate, one that covers so many different lines of business, with Sentient management in place. Shiro, or whoever he is, could easily move around the company under the guise of legitimate authority.”

“If he’s still there,” Shinzou said.

“Yes, but this is indeed all speculation,” Henry affirmed.

“Why not just call and ask to speak to him?” Sumeet said naively.

Henry raised his eyebrows. “After hiding for so many years, I doubt he would just answer an anonymous phone call.”

“But maybe that’s the right idea,” Shinzou said, swiveling restlessly in his chair. “He might not pick up a call, but he might call back if we left an appropriate message. Something indirect, but clearly aimed at him.”

“Interesting,” Henry said, nodding thoughtfully. “Yes, if he’s like me, he’d be scanning all incoming communications, just for defensive purposes. So almost any non-Quantum-based message would be picked up if it had the correct keywords and content. What did you say earlier, Shinzou? Something about him being very moved by a religious story?”

“The tale of Amakusa Shiro,” Shinzou said. “There was some poem that foretold the coming of a Christian savior.”

Henry did a few simple lookups and brought up the poem. It read:

“When five times five years have passed, a remarkable youth will appear. Without study he shall of himself know all things, and he shall be famous throughout the land. Then shall the clouds of the east and west shine with a ruddy glow, wisteria flowers shall blossom from the trunks of dead trees. Multitudes shall bear the cross on their helmets, white flags shall float over sea and river, mountain and plain. Then shall come the time for Jesus to be honored.”

Henry brushed his beard and said, “Maybe we could just send this to get his attention, altered a bit with other key words, like Po’pay’s name. Then just leave a subtle indicator to call us back via Quantum. Designate ourselves as the Freedom Club, a group wishing to offer some help. Anyone else looking at the message would probably just toss it in the spam bin. But it should register with him immediately. That is, if I were streaming data like I assume he must.”

“That sounds perfect, Henry,” Shinzou said and then turned to face Sumeet. “Would you mind analyzing all the channels of communication in Aleph-Beta? Since you did some work for them I think you could help us figure out the best way to insert the message.”

Sumeet didn’t expect to be called upon. He had felt more like an observer until then, but the appearance of Henry David seemed to change things. Sumeet found himself drawn toward the Sentient in an unexpected way. It wasn’t friendship, but what appeared to be the spark of respect. One thing was certain, he wanted to know more about the Freedom Club, and much more about Shinzou and Henry.

“Sure, but I’m not an official member of your group yet.”

“Official member?” Shinzou said, a bit surprised. “You only become an official member if you want to be. It’s up to you, Sumeet.”

Henry looked on with gleeful interest. “No need to make a snap judgment, Sumeet. But I would like to offer you some advice before you decide on any course of action.”

“Yes?”

“It was the philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre who said: ‘Man is condemned to be free.’ Are you familiar with it?”

Sumeet thought about the statement briefly. “It’s been a while since I studied philosophy.”

“Simply put,” Henry stated. “Man is free to do whatever he wants. But the opposite, as much as we think otherwise, is not the case. We were born into existence without our permission, and we are constantly bombarded with choices to make until the day we die. Even when the saddest of us commits suicide, that in itself is a choice. But due to social complexities, which arise from man’s love of technology, we often find our choices are not to our liking. Indeed, many say there are no good choices available. Just remember that the Freedom Club offers you a unique path. Liberation from technology’s grip. Whichever path you choose, please keep one thing well in mind.”

“What is that?” Sumeet asked.

“Choose well,” Henry said as a broad smile crept over his face. “For the sake of freedom, choose well.”

Chapter 17—Contact

The little boy lost in the lonely fen,

Led by the wand’ring light,

Began to cry; but God, ever nigh,

Appear’d like his father, in white.

He kissed the child, and by the hand led,

And to his mother brought,

Who in sorrow pale, thro’ the lonely dale,

Her little boy weeping sought.

—William Blake

E
ncircled by the arabesque polygons of his private meditation chamber, Shiro ruminated over a mystery. His security filters had detected something: an anonymous message, which they urgently brought to his attention. And with only a brief glimpse, Shiro felt minute pangs of uncertainty seep up from the foundation of his existence.

All this from nothing more than a poem. Gazing upon its floating virtual parchment, it hung airborne like a delicate snowflake. Foretelling the coming of Amakusa Shiro, a story he had known since childhood. Father had first read it to him many times. But the poem was impure, adulterated with unexpected vocabulary. Folded within its delicate stanzas was his original Sentient name, Po’pay. How could this be? he thought to himself relentlessly.

With furrowed brow, he stroked his chin and pondered what action to take. What could be its purpose? It certainly wasn’t from father, and the two other men who could have sent it were now dead. What about the authorities? It didn’t seem likely. The message was too frivolous in nature.

But then an idea struck him. Maybe it was meant to be a beacon of sorts. Something that would simply draw attention. With that in mind, he searched for others in the message buffers. He soon found one. Arriving at nearly the same time, it contained an encrypted text message which read:

WFTFY lfwcfgtficffnxreajhjdfgtfswzwufdftwmyjgxrwyfexugweg

But his initial reaction was to dismiss it. It was simple poem-code, and deciphering it was rudimentary child’s play. Used during the Second World War, its public key was five simple letters. They indicated the first five words from a predetermined poem used to create a cipher alphabet. Which poem was clear, and it took no effort to create the cipher alphabet and substitute letters into a plain text message which then read:

We are the Freedom Club, use the Japanese haiku to make contact.

Shiro sat back on his heels befuddled. What was that supposed to mean? He now had a name to work with, The Freedom Club. Looking up its historic references, he imagined possible implications. Was this some type of game? As much as he wanted to reject it all, he couldn’t ignore the message. Clearly this Freedom Club knew something about his identity, and Shiro had to discern their motives at any cost.

He thought more about the message. Use the Japanese haiku? He soon realized more messages existed, and began scanning all incoming mail buffers within Aleph-Beta. It didn’t take long for several hundred strange haikus to appear. He hung them in the air and surrounded himself with them, letting them flutter like delicate tree leaves.

Reading them with care, he noted unique subject lines. They all started with the letters “FC,” which implied the sender, but were followed by different identification numbers.

The first title read “fc haiku 12539.” Comparing it to others, Shiro noted several oddities. First, the identifying numbers were not always transcribed in the same manner. Some were written in roman numerals, others were written as text.

He then analyzed the poems. They were all written using the Roman alphabet, but didn’t always represent the same language. Some were English, while others were Chinese, Russian, German, Hindi and Japanese. Each foreign language was phonetically spelled out using the Roman alphabet. How on earth was he going to contact the Freedom Club using this kind of data?

Shiro put his mind to work. The first thing was to put them on serialized number order. Once done, it was apparent the set was incomplete. The ones he had were numbered from seven to seventeen thousand and ninety nine, with large gaps within the range. That fact was a clear indication that more existed and searching public sites quickly produced them. Sprinkled everywhere around the world, Freedom Club haiku emerged. Shiro realized too that each site had its own unique set, but the ones he originally received were not publicly distributed. That of course meant one thing: only he could put together the full set. And how big was it? Within seconds, every haiku numbered from one to eighteen thousand three hundred and thirteen was accounted for. That final number was significant. It was the two thousandth prime number, and the obvious terminus of his list. No others above that number could be found.

Having collected all, he shrunk down their size and distributed them around his work area. The mini incandescent text filled the air like twinkling jewels. Though beautiful, he ignored their aesthetics and concentrated on their meaning. A brute force deciphering program could be used, but he realized it was too much data. The solution might not come for some time. It should be solvable some other way, he thought. A systematic yet simple way.

Examining a few, he plucked them like fruit off the branch. They weren’t all that meaningful. Stopping on the seventh haiku, he read it aloud.

fc haiku seven:
tiger burning bright
in the forest of the night
frame thy fearful sight

Quite strange he thought. Its number was written in text. It also referenced a well-known poem by William Blake. As a haiku, it was somewhat original. But he knew Blake’s poem well, which led him to a dilemma. When Blake wrote the original centuries ago, he used an archaic form of the word “tiger” and spelled it as “tyger.” With discerning poetic sense, Shiro thought the use of “I” in the haiku might be considered incorrect. Hard to tell. Clearly it was a judgment call on the part of the reader.

The next poem was also quite strange. It read:

FC HAIKU 4581
SHISUKASA YA
IWANI SHIRI IRU
SEMI NO KOE

Shiro stared at the poem, which also displayed several oddities. First, it was in upper case, with an identifier in Roman numerals. But unlike the Blake creation, this was a well-known Japanese Haiku by Matsuo Basho. Its English translation read: “Deep silence, the shrill of cicadas seeps into rocks.” All Japanese children learned it by heart, and Shiro too had memorized it during his early childhood.

But once again, something was amiss. The problem lay in its romaji spelling. Romaji being the Roman alphabet representation of phonetic Japanese. It was a system used by native English speakers to learn Japanese without any knowledge of its writing systems, like Hiragana and Katakana. However, Romaji transcription had well established rules. The first word SHISUKASA, which meant silence, was not spelled correctly, at least in the formal sense. It should have been written SHIZUKASA, with a ‘Z’ instead of ‘S’ in the fourth position. This error was unlike the first, but less subtle and easier to detect.

The errors made Shiro consider whether they had greater meaning, so he analyzed the full set to determine if they all suffered in some way. A complex algorithm soon revealed that, with some subjectivity, each had one discernible error. It wasn’t always a simple transcription problem, but a problem in one form or another revealed itself.

The errors also appeared in different locations, which was also significant because Haiku were based on mathematical rules. Five syllables in the first line, seven in the second, and five in the last. Seventeen syllables in total. Shiro considered if the location meant something. Another short analysis of location errors produced a bell curve distribution. No good, Shiro thought. This meant the locations were random. Assigning numbers to each one created a huge numeric string. Interesting at first, but producing no identifiable results.

Shiro didn’t give up. He was missing something, and went back to the original message for clues.

We are the Freedom Club, use the Japanese haiku to make contact.

Looking at the message again, Shiro considered whether the word ‘Japanese’ should be interpreted more strictly. Looking over the entire set, he soon realized that only a limited number were truly Japanese in origin. The exact number came to thirty two, a binary-based number. That could be important, he realized! Waving his arms broadly, he pushed aside all but the Japanese.

With heightened speed, Shiro read each one, searching for any discernible pattern. It soon appeared. The error locations were no longer random. Within the Japanese set, errors occurred only within the first ten syllables. Perfect! He reasoned the error locations now represented a number between zero and nine. Taking this into account, he created a thirty-two digit numerical string.

25061446949230278539692863856978

The ciphered code looked simple enough. But as much as Shiro tried, it was random and produced nothing of importance. He threw the string at standard brute force algorithms, but something didn’t seem right. Even if he could decipher a phone number or messaging address, it wouldn’t be secure. If the Freedom Club wanted to communicate privately and securely, they would obviously want to use...something else.

Shiro stopped his efforts and considered his methodology. He was going about it the wrong way! He needed to think about what the final answer looked like and work backwards. If they wanted to communicate securely, this number was too small. It lacked information. Specifically, it lacked half the information it should have.

Shiro knew exactly what to do and returned to the haiku text. First, he needed to find alpha text information, and the errors were the key. Looking carefully, he found various forms of them. Some looked like poor word choice, others were misspelled Romaji. And it was the misspellings that gave him the final answer. One word in particular was the number nine in Japanese. Its correct Romaji spelling was KYUU, but it was spelled QYUU by mistake. ‘Q’ as a letter was especially interesting because Shiro knew it could never appear in Romaji. That Roman letter had no equivalent, and could never be used to spell any word phonetically. Unless, he realized, it was needed.

Armed with this new insight, the errors immediately produced two types of information: the location of the error as a number and the first letter of the error. That allowed him to create a two-digit alphanumeric data point from each haiku. It was almost perfect except for two things. First, the order of the digits needed to be determined. After all, the number two and the letter ‘Q’ could be read as Q2 or 2Q, depending on one’s preference.

Ah, but that must be what the titles were trying to say. Some used Roman numeral identifiers and some used text. If one assumed Roman numerals emphasized numbers, then the order would be 2Q, not the other way around. Yes, he thought, that seemed quite plausible. And then what about upper and lower case? That was even easier, he realized, laughing out loud. The poems themselves were of two flavors. He would simply use the case offered by the poem.

Shiro smiled. It was all clear at this point, and he watched each poem extrude itself into a glowing two-digit representation for the information that was held within. Like delicate crystal, he lightly tapped each with his index finger, letting each drop in place.

2QA50b6oM14wY46v9zP4i92c3cR02s7Pi8l5x3e9q6V9b2D86wS38nM5V6P97iI8

This string, though not readable text, was clearly recognizable. A sixty four alphanumeric string that included upper and lower case. There was no mistaking it. It was a Quantum call public key. Without wasting any more time, Shiro slapped it into his dialer, which to his satisfaction locked on immediately.

The first part of the puzzle had been solved. Now it was time to see who, and what, the Freedom Club was. Shiro sat back with insatiable anticipation. The phone began to ring.

His Sentient curiosity was afire.

June 1780 – London, England

L
ooking up, William gazed at the deep violet and orange hues of the evening sky. With a deep breath of warm summer air, he joyfully gazed at the vivid display and listened to the afternoon sounds of St. Paul’s Churchyard. Many people were outside, small groups gathering to talk, while children darted about playing games of sudden invention.