The Lucifer Code (21 page)

*

The red sector

Fleming found himself standing on a broad circular gantry that ran round the rim of a cylindrical chamber. The sheer scale was dazzling. But it was the sight below him that had made him gasp.

He walked tentatively to the gantry rail, leaned over and looked down into the centre of the cylindrical abyss. Suspended in space, some ten feet below, was an orb of light as bright as a small sun. At least twenty feet in diameter, it pulsed and hummed. The wall surrounding the orb was comprised of tinted-glass windows, behind which were laboratories and control rooms.

'What is this place?' Fleming asked.

'We are now inside the mountain, in what was the main bore-hole when my father originally drilled for oil here. Far below us, perhaps miles below us, there is an untapped supply of oil, which has been sealed up. I increased the diameter in this upper area to house the laboratories below us. For my purposes it's perfect: cool temperature, privacy and protection - I couldn't ask for more.' Leaning over the gantry, Soames pointed at the orb. 'This is my baby, the mother of all optical computers. This is the Last Computer - the ultimate. It can assimilate and process vast amounts of information in the blink of an eye. Scouring the world wide web for anything new, the computer stores it within its almost limitless memory of light. If the world collapsed tomorrow, Miles, virtually everything it has ever known would be secure within its vast quantum system of photons encoded with data and information. And this brain below us can access any and all of that information at the speed of light. This is Mother Lucifer, the true bearer of light - or should I say enlightenment?'

Fleming was silent, staring in awe at the brilliant, pulsing orb. Soames laughed selfconsciously. 'Some of my colleagues tease me about my creation. They say it reminds them of the old story - you know the one, where a mad genius is driven to build a supercomputer powerful enough to know everything in the universe and answer the one question that obsesses him. Eventually, using all his ingenuity, money and time, the scientist completes his supercomputer and on the very first day of its creation he asks his question: "Is there a God?"'

Soames looked down at his fiery creation.

Unable to pull his eyes away from it, Fleming asked, 'What did the computer say?'

'Nothing at first, so the scientist repeats his question. "Is there a God?" he asks again. Finally the supercomputer replies: "There is now.'"

Fleming smiled politely.

'Imagine harnessing this power to your new NeuroTranslator,' Soames whispered. Imagine being able to use it to discover something not only in this world but beyond it, to communicate with the minds of those who've gone before. Not just for a few fleeting minutes, like you did with your brother, but indefinitely and at will. You could ask any question of those who've died. You could ask what it's like beyond the veil of death. Whether there's a heaven or a hell. Whether your loved ones are free of suffering. Perhaps you could even know the mind of God.'

The back of Fleming's neck prickled. He had come here to explain away the soul wavelength, to rationalize it as nothing more than the last gasp of a dying brain and reinforce his conviction that there was no afterlife - without it Rob was beyond pain - but here it was hard to hold on to his certainties. The heady vision of limitless opportunity laid out before him was dizzying. At that moment he felt nothing was impossible, on this earth or beyond it.

Then Fleming became aware of two other people standing with Soames. One was a tall black man with thinning hair and steel-rimmed glasses behind his eye-protectors. His forehead was lined but the skin around his eyes was smooth, as if all his life he'd only frowned and never smiled. The other was a woman. The white bodysuit flattered her trim figure and her long blonde hair was tied back in a bun. She was beautiful, with high cheekbones and striking pale blue eyes. He found himself comparing her icy loveliness with the exotic warmth of Amber Grant.

'Meet your two assistants,' Soames said, and introduced them as Dr Walter Tripp and Dr Felicia Bukowski, specialists in hardware and software respectively. 'I assure you,' he went on, 'both these fine scientists eclipse most so-called experts in either field.'

As he shook their hands, Fleming noted that Bukowski's unblinking gaze never left his face.

Soames half smiled. 'As I mentioned before, we and our client KREE8 have been looking at improving your invention for some time. Our most up-to-date prototype has been moved from the blue sector to a laboratory below this gantry. Most of the hardware is complete. The analogue-digital converter should be superior to the one you're used to, as should the neural signal amplifier.'

Absolutely,' confirmed Tripp. 'In essence we've tried to rebuild your NeuroTranslator with certain enhancements while avoiding patent infringements.'

'I'm flattered,' said Fleming.

'But, of course, we'll need your expertise and the files of human neural signals you've collected over the years,' Bukowski said quickly. Her voice was surprisingly smooth and soft. It reminded Fleming of the Boston accents he had heard during his Harvard years. 'Your input is vital to calibrate our device properly so that it correctly interprets each neural instruction, whether for individual brain waves, or for a combination of waves.'

'Well, if I can access all my Barley Hall files from here, as Bradley says, that should be relatively straightforward.'

'Oh, all your flies are accessible,' she said, and led them all into the elevator. She pressed a button and the cabin descended. 'You can check them whenever you want.' The doors opened and she took him into an impressive laboratory, the orb pulsing on his left behind the glass.

He recognized the two NeuroTranslators, although they looked different from his Barley Hall prototype. This design was more finessed, featuring a sphere in a translucent blue cube 'with rounded corners supporting an integrated plasma screen with touch controls. The device was at least 20 per cent larger than Fleming's prototype with in-built speakers. It was also significantly more powerful.

'Why two units?' asked Fleming.

'VenTec policy,' Soames said. 'We always develop prototypes in pairs - so we have a backup.'

'It's beautiful,' Fleming said, looking over it. At the back were two wireless infrared connectors he had never seen before. The left bore the legend 'receive' and the right 'transmit'. 'I don't recognize these ports, though. A new type of communication sensor?'

Tripp gave a dismissive shrug. 'Sort of. We've only included them to ensure that the Neuro-Translator's compatible with our latest optical networking technology.'

'Look, Miles,' said Soames. 'We've even built our own body surrogate.'

Fleming turned and saw the life-size mannequin standing by the door. It was eerily similar to Brian. 'I'm impressed, Bradley, but also a little spooked. How long have you guys been copying my work?'

About a year,' said Soames, without any hint of shame. 'If you recall, we did try to recruit you in the past, but when you wouldn't join us we had to develop our own thought-control system.' He smiled. And after all, your invention was based on the Lucifer, our invention. Just be glad we're this far along the development track. It'll make your research easier.'

The small voice of protectiveness rumbled at the back of Fleming's mind but he silenced it.

Soames looked at him. 'So?'

Fleming decided he might as well go forward as back. 'So, when can we start?'

'I thought we already had,' Soames said.

*

The blue sector.

One hour later

A few hundred yards away, Xavier Accosta stood in the virtual reality media suite of the blue sector wearing a skin-tight bodysuit studded with electrodes that accentuated and defined every contour and muscle group on his head and body. To his right, on a large screen, an animated figure comprised of dots reflecting each position of the electrodes mirrored his every move. The room contained matt black sound, audio and digital video-capture equipment as well as a bank of white optical computer consoles.

Carvelli sat before a computer terminal, dividing his attention between the large screen by the wall and his monitor. 'Could you walk on the treadmill, please, Your Holiness?'

'Is it necessary to exert him so much?' Virginia Knight demanded. She stood beside Monsignor Diageo checking the oxygen station she had prepared. 'His respiratory system is weak. He mustn't be pushed.'

Carvelli looked up and smiled apologetically. 'I understand, but I need to get all the movements into the computer if it's to be realistic'

Accosta grimaced through the pain that, since his arrival in Alaska, had worsened. He reached for the oxygen mask and took a deep breath, sucking the sweet pure air into his diseased lungs. 'Relax, Virginia. Frank's only doing what's necessary.'

Knight sighed. 'Just take it easy. Please.'

'We've almost finished anyway,' Carvelli said, making some further adjustments using the spherical mouse beside him. 'We've captured all the facial expressions we need. Could you do the arm again one last time?'

Accosta did as he was told and went through the full range of movements, bending his elbows and stretching out his arms, exercising every single muscle, then working his fingers.

'Excellent, Your Holiness. Do you want to see how it'll look?'

Accosta was still unsure of how realistic the end result would appear, although he had heard of the wonders this technology had already performed in Hollywood. Carvelli had explained that three of last summer's biggest box-office hits had starred 'virtual actors' and the audiences hadn't been able to distinguish between them and the real ones. With the increasingly prohibitive fees paid to movie stars and the seamless digital effects made possible by optical computer technology, virtual actors were now a viable alternative.

Carvelli clicked three buttons on his monitor and, within seconds, the animated figure on the large screen filled in from the feet up to become a man wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. Accosta recognized the body as his own but it was only when he saw the head definition filling in that his eyes widened. The person on screen was him - as lifelike as if he were looking in a mirror.

'What you're seeing, Your Holiness, is a composite figure taken from your physical genetic profile, adjusted by age - the movement scans I've just completed, and all those digital photographs we took of you earlier. The digital photography is what allows us to get such an exact likeness. That face up there is a computer-generated amalgam of your genetic makeup and a high-resolution multi-billion pixel digital image of you. The movement exercises we've been conducting ensure that the image obeys all your facial muscles and moves naturally. Now watch.'

His eyes fixed on the screen, Accosta saw his screen persona being dressed. Socks appeared on his feet, then shoes, followed by each layer of clothing, culminating in his scarlet robes, skullcap and chains of office. Even the official rings appeared on his fingers.

'That's incredible,' he said.

Carvelli beamed. 'With all due respect, Your Holiness, I believe you'll find this far more impressive.' He flipped a switch, illuminating a small red diode on a horizontal, four-foot-diameter, black enamelled disk at the back of the room, which began to hum. 'It takes a little time to warm up,' he said.

Red changed to green.

Then a figure appeared on the pad, building upwards in fully rendered laser stripes as if painted by an invisible hand. This time when it was complete and Accosta recognized it as himself it was fully attired in all his scarlet splendour, matching the image on the screen. But this was no two-dimensional screen image: this was a real person. It was as if Accosta had been frozen and placed on the black disk. He doubted whether even he would be able to tell the difference if he saw himself standing beside it, dressed in the same attire.

Then Carvelli touched the monitor beside him.

And Accosta watched his image come to life.

First he noticed the subtleties: the breathing, the chest subtly rising and falling, the lips parting slightly. Then the heavy-lidded eyes blinked and the mouth smiled.

To Accosta's astonishment he found himself mimicking his double, as if he were the mirror image. It was like looking at his reflection but having no control over its movements. When it stepped towards him Accosta moved back involuntarily.

'The image can't move beyond the boundaries of the holo-pad,' Carvelli reassured him. 'It will do whatever the computer operator tells it to but the hologram can only exist on the pad. What do you think, Your Holiness? You happy with your image? After all, eternity is a long time.'

Accosta stepped forward and reached out, almost touching the phantom, mesmerized by the likeness. It was - to all intents and purposes - him. But this embodiment, this vibrant rebirth of his own fading body, would never succumb to disease or death. 'Yes,' he said with a sigh, 'I'm happy with it.'

Suddenly the hologram moved and Accosta watched the image smile as it knelt before him.

'You want to give him your blessing, Your Holiness?' Carvelli said.

'Yes,' said Accosta blankly, extending his hand and resting it on his phantom head, shocked to find no substance there. 'But it has to be able to speak. What about its voice?'

'You mean your voice?' Knight said behind him.

Accosta nodded.