Virtual Reality - Chapter 2
Jul 23 '04
The Bottom Line The second chapter... it shows up just how bad my writing could be in those day, but there are still a few good bits...
Please read the Prelude before you read this!
Chapter 2.
The next morning, they all met in the large dining room again. This time, amid the plush surroundings, they introduced each other properly. The previous night, it had sort of slipped their minds...
"Computer graphics, Alan? Isn't that sort of like painting with electronics? I'm afraid that I don't really know a lot about computers at all." It was Canning, talking to Alan Browning. Already there had grown between them a tremendous friendship, and they had been trying to work out the possible connections between the respective talents of the group. They were puzzled especially by the presence of the Russian nuclear physicist. The Russian and the Australian had lapsed into silent thought, being somewhat reluctant to talk to each other, it seemed. And Brad didn't like the way that his old friend seemed to prefer talking to the Englishman than him. Kalashni was gazing at the expensive items that decorated the dining room, the silver cutlery, the genuine leather chairs, the gourmet cuisine... He wondered just how representative this was of the Western culture. Were they really as rich as some people made out they were? He was remembering the poverty stricken masses of back home...
All of their thoughts were interrupted, however, by the arrival of Steve Foster and another man, who he introduced as Mike Hansen.
"Mike will tell you what's going on, and what we need you to do. There will, of course be a financial incentive for you to help, and I believe that you all have a personal reason for helping anyway, if you think hard enough, But anyway, I'll leave you in Mike's capable hands now. See you later", he said, and wondered out of the room nonchalantly. Canning remembered the Rembrant in the dining hall, and that lent credence to the "financial incentive". But what was really going on?
Mike Hansen was and impressive-looking man. Although somewhat shorter than Foster, he exuded the same aura of unfaltering confidence, and on a higher plane than that of Foster's. His slightly greying hair and the lines in his forehead only seemed to enhance his presence, and everyone in the room immediately wanted very much to hear what he was going to say. Although, like Foster, he hadn't got exactly as much confidence as he was portraying. And he wasn't going to be able to keep it up if things didn't go to plan...
"What did he mean, personal reasons?", wondered Canning. He tried heroically to remember what he had to do with Tunisia, and failed completely.
After he had filled them in, basically repeating what they had been told the previous night, Hansen started telling them what they really wanted to know. But first he clarified what exactly the grievance between the two nations was, which was something that all four of the men he was talking to had been wondering about all night, none of them having been able to get much sleep.
"Bordering a country means, as you may well imagine, that even if a country is not exactly on friendly terms, you have to have at least some dealings with it. This is the case with Tunisia and Libya, and both countries are trying to use it to their advantage. This being the case, certain illicit transfers of, among other things, arms and military equipment get taken across the borders, for a huge profit of course. If you were wondering where the arms etcetera come from, well, it is very easy these days to get old Soviet army stock very cheaply, if you have the right connections that is.
"Now, these deals have been going on for years, and we have neither the power, resources or indeed the inclination to stop them. Except one. One such deal was made recently, and it involved Tunisia delivering two tanks, a MIG-29 Fulcrum warplane, and several hundred rounds of standard ammunition for the Russian guns that Libya already possess. The unusual thing about this deal was that the payment was made before the 'goods' were delivered. Quite why this was is uncertain as yet.
"Another reason that this was a bit of a strange transaction is because we have reason to believe that they used an intermediary for the first time. We have been unable to trace who this is, but we're working on it. In our experience, intermediaries are always trouble in the field of international dealings, especially when these dealings are illegal. Whoever the intermediary is, he, she or they must have friends in one of the governments involved, perhaps even both. The intermediary could well have a private motive in mind for making a killing on the black market, or possibly they have a reason to want to hurt Libya, or cause an international crisis, as is happening. Or maybe all three. We can only speculate until we know who it is.
"And now comes the problem. Tunisia, or the intermediary, never delivered the tanks et al and Libya, obviously, aren't happy. The Tunisian government claim that no paperwork was ever received, and no money either. This must mean that the intermediary, whoever it is, is in cahoots with the Tunisian government about this. The Libyans can hardly take the matter to court because the transfer was illegal anyway, and they can't produce any paperwork themselves, as it would incriminate them too. Every nation, well practically every nation, knows about the deals anyway, but none of them really care. Certainly none of Libya's allies would be willing to try anything about a small matter of about twenty million pounds going missing. But Libya think that, in that case, none of Tunisia's allies would be particularly willing to put themselves out to protect her either. But this is where they're sadly wrong. However, as far as sending in troops goes, as you found out last night, no-one can send in troops. However, we do have other means.
"The main reason we've got for saving Tunisia is that we have a medical research unit there. We can't afford to lose it, and especially we can't afford to have the Libyan military poking around in it."
"Why? What can they do with a medical unit? And anyway, they won't bomb it or anything, will they? Isn't that against the Geneva convention?", broke in Kershaw, who wasn't in a very good mood at having been brought there in the first place, for some government.
Hansen smiled at the rush of question. He had expected it, of course, having read secret files on the four men in the room that dealt with everything they had ever done, psycho-analysis reports, and in fact things about them that probably even they didn't know.
"You really shouldn't be so quick to jump to conclusions, Mr Kershaw. In answer to your questions, though, it isn't a medical unit in terms of being a hospital. It is a hospital as far as most of the world is concerned, in fact even our own government thinks it is. But that is just a front. In it, research is being carried out in many fields of cybernetics, genetic fingerprinting and engineering, and other less interesting things. But the most important part of our research is in a brain scanner. Sort of like a lie detector, but it scans fluctuations in brain activity rather then nerves. And when we got that technology to work efficiently, we could start work on a much more exciting project altogether. It was the same principle, but we wanted to read brain-waves. And understand them. Translate them. Read someone's brain electronically."
Hansen had a gleam in his eyes as he told them, and there was a collective gasp as they all realised the implications of this. Canning, who was used to working with the human mind, responded first.
"That's unbelievable. It must be centuries ahead of what most people think is modern technology! But how? I know more about the human mind than most, and I don't see how you could read someone's brain, however good the technology. It's just too complex! And besides, no two peoples brains work in quite the same way. There are different frequencies they respond to, and... and... well, I just can't see anyone ever pulling it off, a machine to read minds I mean. I'm sorry, I don't believe it."
"Wait a minute. You didn't say if you actually got it to work. And from what Edward says, I take it you didn't?", said Browning.
"On the contrary, we've got that technology and even taken it further. We can now plant thoughts in the mind of someone. And that holds the key to all of our efforts here. In this building, the Commander-in-Chief of the Libyan army is being held, drugged, and living in a simulated world. We are in control of his thoughts."
This news somewhat shocked everyone, especially Canning. It was some time later that anyone spoke again. And it was Canning who broke the silence.
"Now, that is impossible", said Canning, absolutely certain, " There is no way in this world that you can mess with someone's thoughts, and I could never bring myself to believe that you could even suggest a thought to someone. I mean, we don't even know how a thought is processed, so there is no way that you can create a thought artificially."
"I'm inclined to agree with Edward", said Browning, even though he had only a vague idea of what he was talking about, but had absolute faith in what Canning said.
The other two nodded their agreement.
"Well, when I said we were in control of his thoughts, perhaps you misunderstood what I meant. We can't actually control his thinking processes, obviously. If we could, then we wouldn't have a problem, would we? We could just make him think that attacking Tunisia was a very bad idea, and that the West would attack Libya if they did. No, I meant that we could control his environment, or at least the environment he thought he was in. That was the hard part, getting it so that nothing ever went wrong, or hardly at all. We would get away with it once or twice, the odd thing not looking right or whatever, and he would think that it was just a passing flash, or a migraine perhaps. But, too many times and he would start thinking that he was going mad. And if he believed that, then he really would go mad. And then we would be in big, big trouble. Our man in Libya who is impersonating our hostage won't be able to get away with it forever. We just hope he can fool them long enough to convince the hostage that the West is ready to attack, and get him back to Libya in time to stop the conflict from ever starting."
"I still can't believe it, I'm afraid. Can you, perhaps, demonstrate?", said Canning.
"Well, you will be shown the machine, and we will try and read your thoughts with it. But please bear in mind that our hostage is under the influence, too, of mind relaxant and other drugs. To a normal brain, a conscious brain, it would never work."
"So how do you know that it is working now?", asked Kershaw.
"Wait a minute, if he was under mind-relaxant drugs, wouldn't that affect his thinking processes adversely?", asked Canning.
"We only use drugs that relax certain parts of his brain, that is, those parts that receive impulses from the sensory nerves. Then we replace those impulses with our own."
"We have tried it out and tested it, on willing volunteers involved in the research. They allowed themselves to be drugged, and 'put under' the machine. They remembered what we put into their minds, and to them at the time, it was their reality."
"You should speak to my friend, Thomas Hemmingway. He talks just like you're doing now, about what reality is to each different person." Canning thought back to his discussion with the old professor just over a week ago. If he knew where I was now, thought Canning, he would probably be very jealous.
"We did actually think of getting him, but we thought your specialist skills were more important. Besides, while the professor is a very capable scientist and a reasonable psychologist to boot, we wanted the best in the world. We need the best in the world. So we chose you."
"I'm flattered."
"So what are you going to actually do, then? What do you want us for?", cut in Kershaw, who was too intrigued by what had been said to be in a bad mood any longer.
"As I said, our Libyan friend is living in a 'virtual' world. Like virtual reality, if any of you have had a chance to try it out. I believe Mr Kershaw here has worked on many virtual reality projects, and was the one man who pioneered a technique for using gourad-shading on modelled 3D objects to make a truly realistic environment for the first time. Without that technique, we could never have made a convincing 'world' for our hostage to live in. We can even interact with his world, using microphone in harmony with a real-time video digitiser with an instant morphing capacity, so that while you talk to him, in his world a real character that he knows is talking to him. In that persons own voice."
"Wow! That is so amazing that... well, I've got to be involved in this project! What you've described here is absolutely out of this world! The technology is light years ahead of what I normally work on!"
Everyone turned and looked at Kershaw in amazement. Gone was the seemingly brooding, bad tempered Australian, and instead there was an incredibly enthusiastic man, with a mission. He was almost boyishly excited, and quite obviously couldn't wait to see the machines the Hansen was talking about. He was totally hooked.
This, realized Canning, was a fiercely passionate and expressive man, a dangerous man to cross, but definitely someone you would want as an ally. He decided there and then to try and befriend him. He had now discovered what Browning liked about the man, who before he had been inclined to dislike.
'Two down, two to go', thought Mike Hansen. He knew that Canning, while not as expressive as the Australian, was totally caught up in what he had been told, although he didn't understand anything of an even faintly technological nature. Never mind, he wasn't here for that. He was here to get inside the Libyan's mind. Even the machine he spoke of could not do that. No machine would ever be able to read emotions.
And Canning would do it for his country, as well. As for the Russian, well, he would do it in the interests of peace. Browning would do it, partly for his friend Kershaw, and partly for his own personal interest in the equipment involved, especially the virtual reality connections. And his sudden friendship with Canning might help, as well. Even to Hansen, that was unexpected. And a bonus.
Now if only Canning and Kershaw could become friends...
And, wondered Hansen, when would either Kershaw or Browning mention the fact that the Canadian had been at least half responsible for the graphics technique he had himself credited to Kershaw alone?
"The plan is", said Hansen as he broke out of his thoughts, "to, via the virtual reality interface, make our Libyan friend believe that the West would attack Libya if they made an offensive move towards Tunisia. This will not be easy. The Libyan army is almost in full readiness for an armed confrontation, and they have a grievance with Tunisia that has been building up for some time now. And they know the position of the Western nations et cetera, and why they wouldn't attack. That," he said, pointing at Canning, "is where you come in."
Hansen then led them to a room even larger than the one they had come from, without any further explanations. Canning followed, almost in a trance, as he tried to fathom out what he could possibly do about the situation. It seemed to him that there was too much technology involved for him to be of any use. "If they can read minds", he thought, "what do they need me for?"
"This," began Hansen extravagantly, "is the control room, our centre of operations. And over there is our, um, guest."
He pointed, and they all followed his gaze into the corner of the room. And there, lying drugged, and with hundreds of wires and tubes connected to him, was the Libyan Commander-in-Chief of their army. Drugged, and yet anything from still. They all watched in amazement as they saw his limbs move as if walking, turning his head this way and that, and heard him talking, seemingly to himself. He was totally oblivious to the five men entering the room; in fact he was totally oblivious to everything that was going on around him.
"There he is, living in his own world. He thinks. What's he doing at the moment, Dave?", he asked, turning to the man at what seemed to be the controls.
"He's at a meeting at the moment. Certain of his generals are expressing doubts about the planned invasion of Tunisia. Legitimate doubts, of course, otherwise he might be suspicious."
He nodded towards the group of men sitting around a table in the left-hand side of the room. They all had microphones in front of them, and what looked like incredibly sophisticated voice analysers next to the microphones. Canning presumed, even in his ignorance of technology, that these were what turned their voices into ones that the Libyan would understand. He was right.
"Soon, when the 'meeting' is over, the people using the mike's will change. The strain of making sure you don't say anything out of place is too great for anyone to bear for long. We can't afford any slip-ups", explained Dave to the four men.
"This", said Hansen, "is our technical wizard, Dave Marshall. He is in overall control of all that goes on in Mr Libya's brain."
"Well, not all. I don't control his thoughts, only his environment. And I will definitely appreciate your assistance", he added, looking at Browning and Kershaw. "It's a tough job."
"I can imagine. How does it work?", said Kershaw, in fact almost shouting in his enthusiasm.
Hansen laughed. "He can't tell you in only a few minutes! I think if you and Alan stay here and talk to Dave, I'll take Edward and Mikhail away with me. This type of thing is not for them.
He led Canning and Kalashni away, and they met up once more with Foster in the hallway. He looked at them intently, as if trying to read their minds without the assistance of a machine, thought Canning. Hansen interrupted his ponderings with a good-natured dig in the ribs.
"Come on, come on! We haven't got time to dawdle! Steve, if you show Mikhail the NR, then I can talk to Ed in private for the first time. And...", he said, looking at Canning, "You and I will need to talk a lot in private, believe me."
Canning didn't miss the significance of this remark. As they entered a small room that he hadn't seen before, he finally asked Hansen the question that he'd been wanting to ask for a long time.
"You're a psychiatrist too, aren't you? You've studied our psycho-analysis charts, and you know everything about each one of us. I've no doubt that you have got profiles on all of us, though how I don't know. But you have. And no-one else has realised it. I didn't know that the government had anything this organised or efficient going. Or this advanced, anyway."
"In answer to your question, yes. And I also knew that you would be the first, and probably the only, one to notice. To be totally honest, I didn't really feel that we needed the other three for this project, but Steve persuaded me. A safeguard, he said, to have more experts in the graphics and computer fields. So I went along with his idea, even though I am, in reality, his superior. Just in case you had any idea that was a charade as well.
"And about this being a government organisation.
It is, of course, officially. And in reality, to some extent. But, the government is not totally aware of everything we do. Although, of course, nothing that the government does is hidden from us. Even though they might think it is."
"So, it's sort of like a secret society?"
"Not exactly. Let's just say that, um, some parts of this organisation are more official then others."
"But", continued Hansen, "the most important thing at the moment is trying to prise open the Libyan brain that we have. And it isn't going to be easy."
Canning frowned. "There's just one thing I still don't understand. If this intermediary is involved, and it is the main cause of the trouble, as you seem to think it is, then why are Libya and Tunisia so keen to be at each other's throats, rather than the intermediary?"
"That's a very good question. And the answer is likely to be due to a long standing boundary dispute between the two nations. They probably both think they can win, and they probably both think they can reclaim much of the land that supposedly is theirs."
Canning nodded thoughtfully. It was intriguing, and it made sense, as much as politics ever did. There was a time when he'd rued his decision to go into medical psychology rather than politics, but he was beginning to realise just how good a decision he'd made. Although now he was involved with international political intrigue, in a very different way from that he'd ever imagined.
At the headquarters of Mendleson INdustrial Electrical Ltd, in Geneva, Switzerland, Alfred Mendleson had some disturbing news. Mendleson, the head of MINE, as the company was known, was the grandson of the late Donald Mendleson, the originator of the firm. At that time, it was a small firm in England, selling gears and axles to a drilling company. Since then, under the influence of Alfred and, before him, his father Jack, the company had grown and grown, until it had finally become one of the leading electrical and industrial firms in the world. The move of the headquarters from London to Geneva was made the moment Alfred Mendleson came into command, and it gave instant access to all of their Swiss bank accounts. All of the company's money was now in Swiss bank accounts. Many people suspected that much of MINE's fortune had come illegally, especially since the latest chief had started. But, of course, no-one could muster any real evidence, and as it was generally only the main rivals of MINE that said anything about it, no-one took it seriously.
Mendleson was worried. His intricate spy network had somehow come up with a very interesting piece of information about one of their rivals, which was fairly small in comparison to MINE, but quite obviously had ambitions to be a lot bigger. He studied the report again, then spoke to his assistant, Caroline Fisher. Fisher was everything you would expect of someone in her position, which was operations manager and chief executive; ambitious, efficient, ruthless and unscrupulous. Her fair looks belied that she was in fact thirty-seven, and in fact she was five years Mendleson's senior. She often regarded Mendleson jealously; why should he have the top job just because he was born into the family? Still, she had to give him credit, as he had impeccably guided MINE to the top of the pile. Another few years, she thought, and MINE'd be the top firm. She did, of course, hide her feelings of jealously from Mendleson very well indeed, and portrayed an image of absolute loyalty.
"It looks like one of our competitors is aiming very high", said Mendleson, not willing to tell her who it was at the moment.
"Is it a danger to us?", she responded immediately, knowing better than to ask who it was if he didn't tell her.
"Possibly. Not yet, at any rate, but in, say, five years, they could very well be competing with us for top slot. I have my plans, and I don't want any more variables in the equation. This is another variable."
Fisher knew the tone of voice well. "Do you want me to eliminate the variable?"
"It may just fail in itself yet. I said it may affect us in five years. We'll give it a while to see if it fails, but if not we'll eliminate it, certainly. There's no point in wasting resources."
Although impatient to see some action, Fisher knew that, as always, his logic was impeccable. "You're right as usual, boss. We'll wait and see."
Inside she was seething. 'How dare he not trust me enough to even tell me who it is? Just because I'd happily arrange an accident for him so I could take over if I could, but I can't because he's too bloody clever, that's why. And because he knows I would, even though I've hidden my feelings cleverly for these past years, but he's too clever and sees through that as well. Still, he knows how valuable I am to the company, and to him. At the moment, at least. When might I become surplus to his requirements?' She often thought like this, but always ended up convincing herself that she was indispensable to him.
To his company, she reminded herself.
Well, she'd just have to find out for herself which company this was. She had her sources, too.
Those sources served her well. Within a day or two, she knew which company it was that Mendleson had been talking about.
Well, she was fairly sure. She certainly hoped that her sources had been right. Dismantling this particular company would be a great delight, for entirely personal, not business reasons.
But, and this bugged her, she couldn't know for certain. Not quite. Not until Mendleson told her.
Being reminded like this of her lack of power when compared to her boss started her working over her plan again in her mind. Her plan to take over MINE.
One day, it would all be hers.
All of it.
CaptainD
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