Digital Life Form part 9

 

Chapter Three

 

We sat in a greasy spoon cafe somewhere between Manchester and Liverpool, on a minor road that had been a major trunk route at some time in the fifties or sixties; its glory gone and used only for commuters and truckers looking for respite from the major arteries of northern England. 

The driver, who Geek called John, stayed outside smoking, watching for other arrivals.  Inside, apart from Winston, Geek and myself were a couple of truckers tucking in to plates of grease-ridden sausages, bacon and eggs, their trucks neatly stowed at one end of the car park.  The man behind the counter seemed to be the only staff on duty at this time of morning and apart from stirring the frying pan occasionally while he made up our breakfast, seemed more preoccupied with the tabloid newspaper spread across the counter.

I looked at Winston, particularly at the bulge where he'd pushed paper hand-towels down his sleeve to stem the blood.

'You need a doctor,' I said. 

'Got one coming, UNISC guy used to be a medic in the special forces.  He'll sort this out.'

'Just a flesh wound, then,' said Geek, concern clearly kept under tight control.

'I've honestly had worse,' replied Winston, letting his arm rest casually across in front of him on the table, the torn fabric on his deep blue suit darkened with blood barely visible to any passing person.

'We'll need to inform the police,' I said, sipping from the mug of tea Geek had brought back after ordering us all breakfast.  Geek shook his head.

'Not worth it, there'll be nothing for them to investigate.'

'How about two dead men and a smashed up car, customers of an all night bar traumatised by a shooting and chunks of pavement torn out by bullets?' I asked.  Winston held his hand up to silence us as the breakfasts were brought over and then took up the conversation.

'Your friend's probably right.  Our intel about the bar indicates that they cover up a lot of violent crime generally, it's a popular haunt for the drug community, especially the middle rankers.  There isn't anything that happened this morning that the customers haven't seen before, not the ones hanging around at three in the morning.  

‘Plus, and this is supposition at the moment, if the guys who followed you and me last night are typical of their breed then they'll leave no trace of the events.  The bar staff and any customers who stuck around will have been paid off handsomely unless they refuse the pay off.  In which case they'll turn up in a land-fill, sometime today, probably.'  My head churned over.

'What sort of shit are we involved in?' I asked.  Geek looked away, left Winston to do the talking.

'You asked about DLFs.  That's the shit we're involved in.  It's my life for certain, I don't know about your friend.  My guess is that he knows about DLFs but you've introduced him to his first real examples.'  Geek looked back but didn't give any clues. 

'To answer your earlier question, a DLF is a Digital Life Form, probably alien in origin, a sort of artificial organism.'  He paused, possibly for effect, maybe to let me digest this information or, I suspected at the time, to gag on what sounded and therefore must smell like, bullshit.  Geek decided to pitch in.

'You know there isn’t any "probably" about the origin, Winston,' he said.  Unsurprisingly this didn't help me, and I guess it showed as Winston pulled us together conspiratorially.

'OK, it's considered to be the case that DLFs originated from space, from some long lost planet, but the point is that most now are many generations distant from space origin DLFs.'  Geek took over again.

'Meteorites have been striking the planet for as long as it’s been around - you of all people know the planet was created by the accumulation of dust and space debris from long destroyed stars and planets and subsequently has continued to be bombarded by this type of material.  As you also know from the Prof's field trips much of this material is reduced to dust on the way in but occasionally some survives the process.

'There's a lot of evidence that meteorites originating from a planet long destroyed has been periodically striking earth, stuck in a cosmic racetrack around the solar system, occasionally being pulled to earth by gravity.'  So much for inter-stellar one-oh-one.  I was about to remind Geek about my first degree when Winston pitched in.

'A minority of meteorites contain DLFs but most don't survive the journey or find the right conditions to thrive if they do.  Occasionally they do find the right conditions, and that's when the fun begins.'

'Fun?'

'DLFs use electricity like we use oxygen, materials such as silicon like we use food, computer code as their DNA.  Given a power and food source they reproduce rapidly, creating advanced learning circuits, reproducing through replication and evolving at a worrying rate.  Provide them with a computer circuit that's powered then they'll modify and adapt the circuit, change the code that runs through it and hijack its purpose. 

‘Your Sat Nav blended the various technologies that Geek tried to merge and in the short time it was powered managed to interface with our world.  That's why it learned what it thought was our language - the music you were playing - and hesitated when running the navigation software.'  I swilled my breakfast down with tea while Winston rattled this lot off then put the mug down carefully before launching into the two men.

'I haven't heard anything yet that explains rationally what has happened in the last twelve hours: flat being burgled, me being followed by thugs, people being killed and only me being bothered. Suppose I believe this DLF nonsense, take it as true - I know as well as anyone that the chances of such a meteorite landing and finding these "right conditions" are extremely slim.  Most will end up at sea or in very remote locations. 

'But more than that, if such a meteorite did find the "right conditions" surely we'd be over-run by these things by now? If the reproduction rates are as rapid as you say then I think I'd have heard something.'  Geek and Winston exchanged looks, then Winston took up the explanation again.

'Taking your last point, Royston.  You've not heard about this because you've never listened, never looked.  Try the internet, you'll find lots there - conspiracy theories, blogs, chat rooms discussing these things.  Some are pure supposition, rumours and guesswork, others are calls to the public to be aware, to be frightened.'   Geek snorted.

'Frightened, that's what your lot would have us believe.  Because you suppress this, try to keep it from the public, you help the mega-corporations to exploit it and us.'  Winston shook his head.

'Everyone has benefited from this technology and I'm the first to admit that it has been manipulated by those companies that have access to it to make excess profits.  We can't undo that knowledge, can't make it right with hindsight, but making it common knowledge, letting the world know officially isn't the answer.  The organisations that have this technology look after it at great expense, guard it closely, prevent others from getting it.  My job it to limit the spread and to police the users.'

'Like the Japanese?  You did a real good job there,' sneered Geek.  Winston didn't flinch.

'Before our time, a decision made by others in good faith,' he replied.  I interrupted.

'What decision?'  Winston sighed.

'Towards the end of the second world war the Japanese had their backs to the wall, were being pushed back to the land of the rising sun by waves of Allied attacks.  Then their fortunes seemed to turn, they were developing technologies that were giving them an edge in communications, radar and navigation.  The Special Operations Executive – the forerunner of the CIA - had reasons to believe the Japanese had acquired alien technology that was being investigated with little success in Nevada, were winning a race we'd thought only the US were running in. 

‘Of course, back then, we didn't know the technology was alien; just that exposure to it changed the way electronic devices worked.  The Japanese had looked at it differently, had realised that it worked in a non-random fashion, made devices work better, do things that they had never been designed to do.

'Military intel decided that the technology was being developed in one of two locations - Hiroshima or Nagasaki, possibly both.  The rest should have been history, except that the Japanese had a third location, in Osaka.  After the war they continued developing the technology in secret.  Eventually the world woke up to find a country that had been beaten into submission was now leading the way, driving the other economies into the ground, wiping the floor with all comers.  The cell phone you use today, the microwave oven, plasma TV set, they all owe their heritage to the DLFs the Japanese harnessed.' 

I looked out at the morning drizzle misting up the window as I crunched all of this information; at the guy who'd driven us away from flying bullets an hour or so earlier and then at the grey Welsh hills in the distance, trying to put this into some sort of sense.  There were so many questions that I could ask, so many answers I wouldn't be able to believe.

'So, Japanese electronic corporations have this technology.  Who else?'  Geek smiled.

'Look around you, recognise the main players, the innovative names, the brands that lead the pack.  The American, British, Japanese, Korean, Swedish companies.  All of these, and quite a few others, have access to this technology.  It falls from the sky and responds well as long as you feed it with silicon and let it breathe electrons.  Anyone with any money wants in on this, it's the only true measure of being a superpower.  Anyone wanting to join the club has to find a compliant rock or has to steal from someone with the technology.'

'So, why aren't we over-run?' I asked, expecting Winston to answer this.  Judging by his look, he did too.  Geek leant forward.

‘DLFs reproduce at an alarming rate, mutating pseudo-randomly depending on the environment they find themselves in.  But their limiting factors are physical space and their food of choice.’

‘Silicon, you say?’

‘Well, kind of.  Pure silicon is no good to them; it’s the minute impurities that only exist in silicon and similar materials that provide the food.  Once that’s consumed then the population starts to die out, begins the passive state. When that’s happened the circuit is safe to expose to the outside world, to interface with other devices.’  I wasn’t buying this.

‘But you’ve just said it’s random, or pretty much random.  How does that account for millions of identical cell phones, microwaves and plasma TVs?’  Geek just smiled.

‘You’re right.  Given the same circumstances, materials and opportunities there’s a good chance that the same circuit will result, but a greater chance that a different circuit serving a similar or different purpose will be created.  Until the eighties these had to be reverse engineered using whatever tools and materials worked, the DLF providing a shortcut design workshop.  Then someone realized that this modelled life even closer than we had thought possible. 

‘The DLF that is found in meteorites is the electronic equivalent of the primordial slime we’re all supposed to have evolved from.  There are many varieties, but all share certain similarities too.  I guess that would have been the same of the slime way back, unless just one spontaneous occurrence managed to successfully populate the planet. 

‘Anyhow, depending on which variety is seeded, you will get quite different results even allowing for the pseudo-random mutations.  By the time the DLF has evolved to stability virtually every single element will have the same code as the rest – it will have iterated to a single design, a digital DNA so to speak.  These stable DLF can then be used to seed fresh silicon to create a mirror circuit in a replication process that can see a slither of silicon modified to stability in seconds.’

‘And that’s where the millions of cell phones come from?’ I asked, looking at Winston.  The dark patch was still growing and he was sweating rapidly.  His voice was still very calm though.

‘Yes, but what your friend either doesn’t know, or is just glossing over, is that occasionally there is the odd corrupt seed, which will either make a dead circuit or something that’s workable but different to the original design.  This is a problem because the difference may not be spotted so it may end up in the wild. 

‘Sometimes the mutated seed starts off a new process completely, taking over any electronic equipment it's connected to, modifying them, re-writing their code.  If it’s connected to a network it can spread to other circuits, could create a nightmare scenario that's virtually unstoppable. That's one of the reasons I have to police this process and stop it proliferating.’

‘How come that isn’t public knowledge, if some have escaped into what you call the wild?’ I asked, accusing.  Winston didn’t miss a beat.

‘Over a thousand new computer viruses hit the internet every day.  It would take a talented programmer weeks to create an average new virus, perhaps half that for a new variant on an existing one.  Do the math; that implies there are tens of thousands of talented programmers generating largely worthless code, keeping a similar amount busy finding solutions for them.  Did you really think there were that many people working on these things?  True, some are created by individuals and some are certainly created by criminals, but mainly they are generated by the DLFs that are floating around out there, often as a result of people,’ he said, throwing a thumb at Geek, ‘like him.’ 

 

I was about to ask more questions but became aware of movement outside as two black limousines swept into the car park, causing John to become agitated.  Winston followed my gaze and raised a hand.

'This is my ride,' he said, standing, 'I expect I'll be tied up for the morning.  Go back to your flat, wait for me, don't contact anyone.  Here’s my number if you need anything,’ he said, slipping me a business card, ‘I’ve arranged for a back-up car to follow you to the flat,' he said, leaving the cafe abruptly.  I turned to Geek.

‘Is all this for real?  Is Winston really part of a United Nations organisation?’  He wiped his face with a paper napkin.

‘UNISC are real enough.  They didn’t have to be part of the UN, there are plenty of other international organisations they could have hidden behind.  And yes, what you’ve heard today is more or less true – I have some issues with UNISC, with what they do and how they do it – but I agree that there are dangers with DLFs.  I don’t agree with driving the subject underground, though.  One thing Winston did say that was true is that the guys we met last night are a dangerous bunch.  The rewards of being a main player in this game are fantastic.  I must admit, when you handed me a DLF in that bar it was all I could do to sit there and talk, I wanted to run like hell with it, to get it home, test it.’

‘To make your fortune?’ I asked, wondering whether I should be bothered by this, by Geek potentially seeing me as a route to riches and failing to mention that I’d passed him a goldmine.  He shrugged nonchalantly.

‘The thought did cross my mind, but to be honest I was more interested in seeing a DLF at close range.  Once I got out of the bar I took it home as fast as I could so that I could hook it up to a power source.’  He stood up, pushing the plates into the centre of the table with a sweep of his hand, ‘let’s see what sort of game Winston is playing.’

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Digital Life Form will be back with part 10 soon.  Can't wait?  Like all of my books Digital Life Form is available as an eBook and paperback on Amazon and can be read for free if you're an Amazon Prime or Kindle Unlimited customer.

Digital Life Form part 8

 

Atkins growled as he saw the three men pile out of the bar amid the sounds of gunshots.  He turned the ignition key and cursed when the engine didn’t start but kept the starter motor turning.  Richards slipped his seat belt off and gripped his pistol firmly, ran his thumb over the safety catch, ensuring it was set to off. 

‘Want me to follow on foot, boss?’ he asked, reaching for the door release as the engine fired.  The spinning of the wheels was sufficient answer.

*

'Follow me, run,' Geek shouted as he sprinted to the edge of the car park.  I heard the watching car's engine fire up and the wheels spin on the rough gravel, heard the sound of Winston's sixty year-old breath as he rasped and wheezed in our wake, heard his footsteps as he kept pace with us.  

The sound of the car was closing. I didn't look; I just heard the engine roar.  At the end of the car-park we reached a three foot high concrete wall forming a boundary above a dual carriageway.  To our left was a steep embankment, sparsely grassed and sporadically seeded with young trees.  Winston caught up and turned towards the car bearing down.

'Run to the left and get down the embankment, I'll hold them off,' he said, pointing his pistol at the car.

'Don't be a fool,' shouted Geek, slipping over the edge of the concrete wall.  I hesitated, my heart pounding and senses tingling.  Winston was standing bent kneed, facing the approaching car, sweat beading on his face, concentration in his eyes.  I shuddered as he squeezed off a shot, shook as the screen of the car turned opaque, panicked as the car started to slide in our direction.  I grabbed Winston, heard him yelp as I pulled at his wounded arm, and dragged him to the edge. 

Over the other side I could see Geek tumbling down the incline, out of control, illuminated by the orange street lamps.  Pulling Winston I fell over the edge, sensed him fall after me, felt the ground pound against my skull, shoulders, hips and legs then start over again.  I tried to steer myself but the fall was uncontrolled, gravity and shale dictating my speed and direction.  At one point Winston overtook me, then I passed him as he managed to dig a leg into the ground, showering us both with dirt and grass.  His hand caught my jacket, not for long but sufficient to slow me down enough to stop me rolling straight out onto the road below.  I paused at the bottom, on the pavement, panting for breath while supporting myself on my cut hands and torn knees.

From above I heard the car slam into the wall, followed by the sound of rubble rolling down the slope.  Almost immediately I heard one of the doors creak as it was flung open and grunts from the occupants as they struggled out of the door.  I stared absently at the ground in front of me, dazed and confused, unable to comprehend the meaning of the tarmac surface exploding in front of my face.  Winston and Geek cupped their hands under my armpits, dragging me up.

'They're firing at us,' shouted Winston, pulling me forward.  I staggered under his and Geek's direction towards the underpass, hearing the report and the ricochets of the bullets.  Within thirty seconds we'd rounded the corner and gained shelter from the attackers.  We slowed down spontaneously, three men dragging cold breath in voraciously, clinging to each other bonded in an event as frightening as any of us could ever imagine.

*

Atkins swore softly, his Southern drawl smoothing the venom.

‘Fuck them,’ he said, holstering his pistol, turning to look at the car, assessing the damaged wing.  Richards jogged back to the car, having been intercepted mid car park.

‘Bellonski and Johnson have bought it,’ he said, looking back at the club doorman stood in the middle of the car park.  ‘Locals aren’t too happy with us; reckon we’d better get the fuck out of here pronto.’  Atkins thought briefly about facing them down, he had some decent firepower in the trunk and, what the fuck, they were his employees that had been killed.  But then again they weren’t his highest priority; perhaps he’d just send flowers.

Looking back at the bend he’d watched the three men run down he followed the concrete path of the flyovers and intersections just beyond.

‘Get in, let’s see if we can catch them,’ he said.

*

'We need to keep moving,' said Winston, urging us forward.  We broke into a jog, approaching a bend in the road, feeling the dawn mist spread across our faces, cooling us down. 

Then I saw the arc of lights spreading across the road, heading towards us.  We pulled up and soundlessly started to look for cover, but to no avail as the car swept around the bend.  Winston started to pull his pistol out as the car slammed on the brakes and pulled up alongside, doors flung wide.  Geek pulled Winston's arm down.

'Don't shoot, he’s with me,' he said, pushing me into the car.  Winston piled in alongside me while Geek jumped into the passenger seat.  Within seconds we were hurtling away from Manchester, chasing the dawn rising in the east.  Geek turned in his seat.

'What a mess,' he said to me, 'you must have loads of questions.'  I shook my head, pulled my hands over my face.

'Only one,' I said, 'what the fuck's a DLF?'

***

Daily Telegraph, Monday 17th August

Shots heard in Manchester Suburbs

Gangland rivalries were reported to have erupted last night after a four month period of relative calm when gunshots were heard at around three in the morning.  Manchester’s Chief of Police expressed disappointment that his year-long campaign to outlaw gangland killings by taking a zero tolerance approach to firearms offences had been threatened.

‘According to officers who were on the scene within minutes there are no indications of casualties,’ he told this newspaper.  ‘It’s usually kids posturing; firing rounds off to impress their peers.  We will review the community approach this morning and target the vulnerable elements of the district.’

Five people have been shot dead in the Manchester suburbs in the last twelve months, mostly believed to be drugs related.

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Digital Life Form will be back with part 9 soon.  Can't wait?  Like all of my books Digital Life Form is available as an eBook and paperback on Amazon and can be read for free if you're an Amazon Prime or Kindle Unlimited customer.

Digital Life Form part 7

 

Chapter Two

 

Atkins looked through the misted up screen, watching the entrance to the club, saw the thin man with the wispy beard hair talk to the bulky doorman, slip him a note.  He pressed his earpiece while he keyed the mic.

‘Bellonski, I think you have a third coming in, looks like the guy they call Geek,’ he said, lowering the mic.  After a pause Bellonski replied.

‘Got him, he’s looking around, focussed on the black UNISC guy.  Yup, that’s him, do I intercept?’

‘Watch and wait, Bellonski.  Is Johnson in position?’  The earpiece crackled momentarily.

‘I’m round the corner, in case they try to leave by the back entrance, I’m keeping my eyes on a couple of drug dealers who could cause trouble if they think we’re feds,’ intercepted Johnson, thinking practically, his New York detective background coming to the fore.

Atkins wiped the screen a third time, watched the taxi that had dropped off Geek drive away.

*

I never expected Geek to agree, let alone show up, but I found myself backed up against a wall away from any main light fittings in our usual bar on the edge of Manchester several hours after the time I usually finished drinking, sat with a trigger happy American facing the door and the bar where I usually sat.  My stomach was churning over at the memory of the gun pointed at me, wondered how I’d become involved in something that evidently involved violence just because I collected rocks for my boss and borrowed tech gear from a friend.

Winston had provided the transport and the drinks, having ruined another single malt, and appeared to be quite relaxed with the situation.  I wondered if he had any back-up, a support team quietly ruining the full gamut of British drinks in the various dark corners of the bar.

Geek joined us half an hour after the time we'd agreed, pulling a chair around so that he could also watch the door.

'So, the famous UNISC.  I expect you're here because of the Sat Nav,' he said.  I interrupted before Winston could answer.

'You know about his lot?' I asked.  Geek nodded, Winston settled back, his answer now parked.

'We've crossed paths previously.  We're both chasing the holy grail of technology, for different reasons.  Lots of people are, some with more success than others.'  He turned to Winston.  'Don't worry, it's safe, not connected to any networks, kept alive with a trickle charge.' 

'I'll need to take it and anything you've infected with it,' said Winston.  Geek shook his head.

'Never going to happen, I didn't come here to hand over the DLF, not to some washed up Federal agent, anyway. 

I must have raised my eyebrows, dropped a jaw or something because suddenly Geek remembered I was there. 'This is the infamous Winston Grace, the unluckiest Fed to ever cross the NSA.  His reward for trying to do the decent thing and bring some over-zealous technophobes to book was to end up serving a backwater organisation charged with saving the planet from itself with no resources and very little support. 

‘He and a guy I’ve met once or twice witnessed the massacre of twenty-odd roughnecks in a desert outpost a long time ago, found themselves working together to save the world until one saw the light and Winston didn't.’

'You know Maurice Sands?' asked Winston, 'how's he doing?'

'Pretty good.  Like you, he can't retire.'

'Should've stayed with UNISC, he'd have had a good living.'

'He's not done too badly, better than on the UN payroll.  Sure the Secretary General's not on a bad number, but at your grade?'  I felt sure Winston pulled a face, which was better than the gun I expected, but it was fleeting.  I didn't know then, didn't know for a long time, that Winston had done more than sacrifice a career and a salary for this vague UNISC role but had effectively sacrificed all the things that complete most peoples' lives: family, stability, safety and security.  At this time all I knew was that he was a real tidy burglar and armed.

'The Sat Nav,' he said, reminding me that he also had a highly consistent method about him.

'He'll suggest that it's not a good idea to fuck with him in a minute,' I suggested.  Geek didn't flinch.

'Look, you're not going to get away with pulling your gun out on me in here, and if you think I was going to walk in without marking your watchers with our own people then you're very naïve.' 

'I agree about the gun, you Brits are a little sensitive about those things, but your markers are wasting their time, I didn't bring any backup.'  Geek reached into his pocket and pulled out an iPhone.

'Bluetooth video link to the bar's security cameras,' he said pushing a few on-screen buttons, 'wave to yourself,' he added, handing the device to Winston.  I leant across and saw the three of us sat against the wall looking up at the security camera behind the bar.  Geek took the device and pressed a button a couple more times.  'Now look at the rear exit,' he said.

I recognised the car park straight away, virtually empty this time of the morning.  Winston's car sat near the camera, condensation steaming up the front screen.  A few feet away sat another car, also misting up, but this time from the inside.  A hand appeared and raked away a clear patch; it was clear that there were two men sat inside the car.  Winston looked up, worried.

'Not mine, I travelled alone tonight, I don't have any back up, didn't feel I needed any.'

'Well two cars pulled up at the same time as you arrived, these jokers and another car out of shot.  The occupants of that car are in the bar now - one over there in the blue jacket nursing a drink, the other around the corner watching our reflection.  You sure they're not with you?' asked Geek.  Winston shook his head and nonchalantly glanced across at the man at the bar while raising his drink to his lips.  He didn't drink, but used the glass to shield him as he spoke rapidly.

'He's got comms, high end stuff, ear-piece virtually hidden.  Looks calm and collected, taking in way more than you might think,' he said, lowering the glass and looking across at me.  I shrugged; the guy looked like I expected any guy to look at three in the morning in a Manchester bar, looked pretty much like I expected I looked.   Geek didn't even turn.

'We're ready to jam his signal; we'll hit it just before we move.'  He saw my look.  'I'm not staying around here with these goons breathing down my neck.  I agreed to come here because your friend Winston would know I come here - it's a sacrificial location.  Also, I wanted to know who he'd drag along, to see how important you are to him.'  Winston pitched in, shaking his head from side to side.

'I told you, they're not mine.  And to be clear, Royston isn't important to me, the rock and the Sat Nav are.  I don't wish him any harm, though, nor you.  But my guess is that while you two hold access to the rock and Sat Nav there’ll be people who'll be way less concerned about your safety.'  If this impressed Geek it didn't show, he just wandered away from us towards the bar, leaning forward trying to catch the barman's attention.  It had impressed me, though, coming from the stranger who'd burgled my home, lain in wait for me and had practically marched me to the bar at gunpoint.  If he was someone concerned for my well-being then God help me from the ones who weren't. 

‘How much shit are we in?’ I asked, not getting an answer from Winston who was now watching Geek like a hawk as he gesticulated, apparently drunkenly, at the barman.  Suddenly the man in the blue jacket put his hand to his ear, a furrow crossing his brow.  Geek turned and waved to me, indicating that we should leave, pointing to the door. 

The man at the bar stood, cupping the hand over his ear, turning to follow Geek and myself as we started walking.  He found himself face to face with a bouncer from the pub, who blocked his exit.  He backed off a pace and made a dummy turn back to the bar before swinging back with a strong left hook, catching the bouncer square on the jaw, snapping his head smartly to the side.  The bouncer pulled his head back rapidly and reached for the man, missing him by a fraction of an inch as he pushed back, reaching inside the blue jacket. 

Winston reached for his own pistol as the man in the blue jacket slid the matt black shaft of his silenced weapon out.  I looked back as we pushed through the door into the cold night to see the bouncer double over as two muffled shots tore out of the back of his shirt, then saw the blue jacketed man’s head explode in a mist of pink blood and brain tissue as Winston double tapped him noisily, saw the silenced pistol slip to the ground from the hand extending from the blue jacket.

Outside, retching while running, I heard another muffled shot, then a louder one followed by a pained shout.  Winston bowled out of the door, a dark patch forming on his right arm above the elbow.  Geek pulled me hard, dragging me away from the bar into the near deserted car-park where a few minutes earlier I'd watched two men sat in a car, staking us out.

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Digital Life Form will be back with part 8 soon.  Can't wait?  Like all of my books Digital Life Form is available as an eBook and paperback on Amazon and can be read for free if you're an Amazon Prime or Kindle Unlimited customer.

Digital Life Form part 6

 

‘So, where is the rock?’ asked Winston.

‘In the faculty store, in the sterile safe, awaiting analysis.’

‘But you said…’

‘It’s a wasted sample, may not even be a meteorite, don’t know what grid reference she got it from, don’t expect Prof asked.  But he wanted it in the sterile store so that’s where it is.  The nature of the storage is such that each sample is isolated from the others, there’s no way this sample can contaminate the others.’ 

‘So, how do I get it?’ asked Winston.

‘The rock?  Ask the Prof in the morning.  If you rush you can break into his office and greet him when he comes into work.   He won’t give it you, of course, but at least I’ll get my flat back.’  Winston mulled this over but didn’t comment.  Eventually he changed tack.

‘What about the Sat Nav?’

‘What about it?’  I understood the old guy’s point about not fucking around with him but I was really struggling to understand why he was interested in these two specific items.

‘OK, where’d you get it from?’

‘Geek.’

‘The guy you met in the bar two nights ago?’  I started to remember Winston from that night – not enough to recall him sitting quietly sipping ruined malt whisky but enough to confirm I’d met him before.

‘Yeah, him.’

‘What can you tell me about him?’ he asked, relaxed, gently probing.  Somehow I didn’t mind his style, not intrusive despite his violation of my home.

‘Geek’s possibly my best friend, yet I actually don’t know that much about him.  Don’t know where he lives, what he does for a living, what his real name is.

‘He’s one of these guys who can turn his hand to any technology, make it work, modify it to make it do things it wasn’t designed to do.  As far as I can tell he must spend most of his time scavenging in scrap yards – I think there’s a new-age component in Geek’s make-up.  I seem to recall he mentioned spending some time in the army, in Germany.  That’s where he learned about computers and probably where he picked up his anarchic attitude to software ownership.  He says that if you can hack it, it’s yours.

‘We meet up for a drink every now and then, often so he can show me his latest toy.  Sometimes I road test stuff for him, sometimes he gets stuff for me.  That’s where the Sat Nav came in.’ Winston put his fingers together, made a steeple.

‘Go on,’ he said.

‘I’d asked him if he could get me one, some time ago.  I travel around a lot on field trips and I’m crap at navigation.  The trip to Herefordshire kind of forced the issue as I had to find my own way down there.  I called his mobile, he said he could get it working and let me have it for the trip as long as I didn’t mind it being a bit rough and ready.  We met in the usual bar, Geek running late as usual.’

*

Geek slipped the supermarket bag on the bar, pushed it my way and picked up the pint I’d had waiting for him for nearly half an hour.  He’d nearly finished the pint by the time I’d opened the bag and fished out the device.

‘Careful, it’s held together by sticky tape,’ he said, finishing the pint and flagging the barman to order a refresh for the two of us.  As the pints were being pulled he told me a little about the Sat Nav.

‘It’s an old model I picked up, low on memory, battery knackered and street maps from before the blitz as far as I could tell.  Screen was a bit ropey too, but not much of a problem as they are cheap to replace in devices like this.’

‘You bought parts?’  Geek looked offended.

‘Of course not, but because replacements are so cheap people are throwing away perfectly good items all the time.  The bit I really like is the voice recognition; I grafted it on so that you can teach it to understand your instructions.  Probably not the first Sat Nav that allows you to talk back and it take notice but I reckon you’ll only get that in top end machines.’  I turned the device around in my hands, it looked like it had come through a couple of wars: Geek wasn’t kidding about the sticky tape, either.

‘So I can train it to recognise keywords, like training the hands-free on my mobile?’ I asked, wondering whether this was a layer of complexity for very little benefit.  Geek shook his head.

‘I’ve taken the processor out of a portable dictation machine that converts normal speech into ASCII code.  That’s a bit trick and I wouldn’t have liked to work it out myself.  Normally that code is fed into a word processor and ends up as a document.  The bit I’ve done is to parse this information so that not only can you train it to find places by post-code, city, town or even street name from its database but also that you can train it to understand natural spoken language.  So you might want to tell it you’re ignoring a recommended turning and it will immediately realise that it shouldn’t be constantly telling you to turn around.  Most units work out eventually that you’re ignoring their advice and recalculate, but this one lets you tell it from the start.’

‘So it’s ready to roll?’ I asked, wondering how I turned it on.   Geek took it out of my hands to point to the few operable controls.

‘It’s not perfect yet.  You will need to train it a bit – I’ve left some instructions in the bag – and I don’t have a power supply for the replacement battery I grafted in yet so you’ve got about five hours’ worth of operation.  At least that’ll make sure you return it,’ he said grinning.

I didn’t bother with the unit until just before I left for Herefordshire, mainly so I didn’t run the battery down, partly because I had some trepidation.  I wedged the unit in my windscreen on top of a road atlas as the irony of the manual back-up seemed too good to miss.  Making the voice recognition work was harder than Geek had implied but I’d promised to give it a good go and ten minutes after starting to use the unit it recognised my speech well enough to let me enter the post code of the pub the Prof was waiting in.  The maps Geek had swiped to replace the original were bang up-to-date but problematical as the SD card they were stored on kept popping out of the card slot, but eventually I found myself heading out of Manchester en route for Herefordshire.

By the time I reached my destination the battery was indicating half depleted, maybe more, but I wasn’t too concerned.  I only needed to find my way back to the motorway from the village, because then the return journey would be simple.

*

‘So no problems with the equipment?’ asked Winston, flicking the file open and scribbling on a blank page.  ‘Any problems with the car?’

‘It’s an old car, best I can afford given the meagre salary.  Sure it misses the odd beat but nothing untoward.’

‘But when you gave the Sat Nav back to Geek…’

‘Ah, that was after the return journey.’

*

Like the rest of the team I crashed pretty early but unlike them I rose way before breakfast.  I settled my bill and cleared the room before the others came down, mainly because I didn’t fancy spending the day with one or more as a passenger.  I figured I could be on the road long before any of the others turned to.

*

Winston turned the page towards a closely typed sheet of text.

‘Quite the loner, apparently.’ He observed.

‘Not the closest human, I grant you.  I don’t mind company, just don’t crave it.  And there's the professional gap,’ I offered.

‘The one your professor seems to ignore,’ Winston noted.  ‘Continue,’ he said, not looking up.

*

The morning roads leading from the village were complicated and winding and the Sat Nav didn’t seem as assured as it had on the way down.  I couldn’t put my finger on anything with any certainty but I felt like it, well, hesitated on some turns. 

I wasn’t concerned, it was a fine morning, the sun was beating down, warming up the day nicely.  It just seemed that I was going to need the road atlas wedged under the Sat Nav after all.

Eventually I reached a junction and realised that the sound of the rushing wind coming in through the open window had caused me to turn the music up gradually as I’d driven.  The cessation of road and wind noise as I sat at the junction, coupled with the deliberations of the Sat Nav, now made the music sound louder than I usually had it and when the instruction to turn left eventually came I struggled to hear it.  I guess I was becoming less and less confident in the ability of the equipment to navigate me to the motorway anyway and was correspondingly more sensitive to the disembodied words advising me.  Turning down the music allowed me to concentrate more fully, to allow me to choose whether to revert to good old fashioned map reading or to continue with Geek’s toy.  And that’s when I heard the music.

*

‘Music?  What kind of music?’

‘You ever hear of a band called the Electric Light Orchestra?’  Winston showed mock surprise.

‘ELO?  You kiddin’ me?’  They were one of the biggest bands Stateside when I was a young buck in the late Seventies, early Eighties.  What about them?’

‘I’d been listening to one of their tracks, Mr Blue Sky, just before I turned the CD player sound down.  Tell the truth I’d listened to the track more than once on that return journey as it has a real good vibe.  You know, sun cracking the slates, wind in your hair, good music on the stereo.  Just kept playing it over and again.’

‘So?’

‘So the CD player is turned down but I can still hear the tune.  Not like a recording, but like a mimic, odd words correct, others incorrect or missing.  Tune was there, sort of.  I checked the stereo but it was turned as low as it would go, I even ejected the CD but the music continued.  Christ, the Sat Nav was singing ‘Mr Blue Sky’ to me!’  Winston sat motionless, his pen poised in mid sentence.

'So, what did you do?'

'Turned it off, found my way home the old fashioned way, gave Geek the Sat Nav back.  He's going to look at it to find out what's going on.'  Winston pondered for a moment.

'So the rock's locked away and Geek's got the Sat Nav?  How do I contact Geek?'

'You don't.  I have a number he sometimes answers, usually doesn't.  He tells me he only picks up if he knows who's calling and only then if the time's right.  He's a bit weird but those are his rules.'  Winston raised his voice a fraction, enough to make me realise how forceful he could be.

'For the last time, don't fuck with me.  I need to speak with this man and I need to do it soon,' he said, sweat bubbling on his forehead.  I gave him Geek's phone number and he tried it, without luck.  He then walked into my kitchen and spoke quietly on his phone for a few minutes before returning and holding me with a stare.

'Your friend's off the scale.  If that number you gave me is correct then there's no record of it.  I need you to call him on your mobile.'  I must have smiled too readily, I didn't get the chance to explain that I had absolutely no intention of leading my friend into a trap. 

Then I saw the handgun.

*************************************************************************************

Digital Life Form will be back with part 7 soon.  Can't wait?  Like all of my books Digital Life Form is available as an eBook and paperback on Amazon and can be read for free if you're an Amazon Prime or Kindle Unlimited customer.

Paramyotonia congenita what?

 I'm asked on occasion what the heck is the condition that Maurice Sands is afflicted with and is introduced with in Digital Life Form, which is being serialised on this blog.  Is it made up? Is it just there as a convenient plot line?

To take the final question first - virtually everything in a novel is a convenient plot line - anything that doesn't assist with the story, doesn't have a job to do, is just reading practice.  You can get that with the tabloids,  This is fiction - but I guess you can get that with the tabloids, too.

It's a very rare disorder that presents differently in different people but typically the onset of cold triggers it and exercise aggravates it, so flexing cold hands to stimulate blood flow and make them move easier tends to result in hands that seize up.  I have a friend with the condition: her siblings have it too as does some of her cousins.  They all seem to present differently and that, along with the rarity of the condition, seems to affect the timely diagnosis and treatment of the condition.

The cold is an issue - we're talking about the UK version of cold, the one that only sees temperatures below zero Celsius (32 F for those still using the 'other' lay scale) infrequently so it doesn't have to be terribly cold to bring on problems.  The inability to hold car keys, carry shopping bags or drive are amongst some of the limitations.  Don't even bother offering an ice cream when it warms up, either - that can cause the tongue to seize up.  Actually it's quite funny, so perhaps offer the one ice-cream but don't push your luck.

Maurice turned into the character he is very quickly - you just know he is a germaphobic, solitary type of person with his own individual slant on life.  He got dragged into the world of DLFs (Digital Life Forms) working for the international community following the incident in the Mojave Desert described in the prologue, but like public servants everywhere decided to try life on the other side of the fence.  Hell, that was written before the austerity years, let alone whatever the UK Government is going to call it this time around. I guess public servants have been poached for what and who they know for ever.

We're not going to see Maurice again for a while but, like his condition, unfortunately, he's not going away.

You can read the Wikipedia page on Paramyotonia congenita here

Digital Life Form - part 5

 

Chapter 1

 

The first time I met Winston I hadn’t realised I’d met him, not until the time he turned up unannounced, uninvited at my flat and had let himself in, in my absence.  He was to remind me of the that first time, in the bar in Manchester where I often met up with Geek, whenever Geek wanted to pass me his latest toy for testing or just to pass the time and many pints of real ale. 

I guess I had been vaguely aware of Winston in that bar, his ebony skin fading with age, the short cropped grey hair and the mellow American accent, but I’m a bit of a people watcher by nature and would notice someone like that sat at the next bar stool sipping a good single malt ruined with ice anytime.  I would have noticed a lot of other people that night as well while I sat waiting for Geek to turn up but it’s now quite a long time ago and as no-one’s chosen to remind me of any of them it remains only Winston that I remember.

I do remember being quite excited as I supped my beer, watching the door in the mirrored back of the bar, waiting to tell Geek about the strange events that had started to occur since we’d last met.  When Geek finally turned up he sat and drank beer, gloated at the parts that he could attribute to his superior skills and frowned at the bits he couldn’t explain.  He took the package away and promised to check it out, find out why it worked the way it did and we went our separate ways, him turning left out of the bar and me turning right.  I guess the transfer of the package went unnoticed in the hurly-burly of the bar because I now know that Winston also turned right, about ten paces behind me.

Two nights later I returned home after dark, abandoning the car badly on the kerb outside the Victorian house converted into flats shared mainly by students from the earth science faculty and one, mine, occupied by only myself.  Such are the privileges of being a post-graduate lecturer-cum-wannabe PhD with an aching desire to lie on the beach while sipping long cool alcoholic drinks in the Caribbean.  Unfortunately, I was just about managing to service my aging student debt and affording to rent a flat by myself instead.  Admittedly my other needs are limited to inexpensive meals learned as a student to eke out a meagre income and copious amounts of beer at the pub whenever Geek found the time to partake of a draught.  The rest of my time is spent lecturing first year undergrads, carrying out my post grad research into igneous rock formations and pandering to Prof Andrews’ many pet projects. 

It was one of those projects that started the chain of events that led to my walking in, turning on the light and finding a near stranger sat in my easy chair with a manila folder on his knee.

The feelings that ran through me over the next few seconds ranged from outrage and indignation through to outright fear.  The old man sat casually opposite me showed no fear or concern, he looked like he believed he had the right to sit there in the middle of my flat.  He nodded once towards the door and, when it was clear to him that I didn’t have the ability to read his mind, he spoke quietly in that soft, dark voice I was about to get to know.

‘Close the door, Royston,’ he said, looking down at the folder, flicking the front open to reveal a photograph of myself.  It looked like my passport or student union photo, but blown up several times, pixelated edges rendering my image into a good but not exact approximation.  He looked back up.

‘Where’s the rock?’ he asked.  I shut the door carefully and looked around my flat.  It looked undisturbed, as tidy as I’d left it.

‘What rock?’ I asked back.

‘The one the girl gave you, in the woods near Hereford four nights ago,’ he answered levelly.  ‘And where is the Sat Nav?’  I reeled, only a handful of people knew I’d been on one of Prof Andrews’ wild goose chases near Hereford, and even fewer knew that I’d been approached in the dark by a teenage girl, one of the university party, with a rock, as Winston called it.  The Sat Nav was something only Geek and I knew anything about, not because it needed to be a secret but because it was a favour from a friend that had worked differently to expectation.  If I had any friends other than Geek then I expect I would have mentioned it to them, but I don’t.  I sat down opposite the quietly spoken intruder, pulling a chair from the dining table in the corner.

‘I can answer these questions, but I don’t know who you are or why you’ve presumed to enter my home without permission,’ I said, adding, ‘more importantly, I’d like to know what you need the information for and how you’ve come to have a file with my photo on the front.’  I sat back, watched the American closely.  The question I didn’t ask was why he needed those two specific pieces of information as the only link between them was temporal, as far as I could tell.

‘OK, Royston, I’ll level with you as far as I can.  You’ve probably guessed I’m not local and that I don’t have jurisdiction over you.  But you’ll also have noticed that I’ve entered your flat without alerting your neighbours and because you’re a smart guy you’ll have worked out that I’ve searched your flat for both the rock and the Sat Nav with no luck, yet nothing is out of place.  Believe me, there isn’t a single trace that I have been in this building, let alone your flat and that should tell you that you’re dealing with someone you shouldn’t fuck around with,’ he said.  After a pause he lifted the file slightly.

‘And I know from your file that you’re essentially one of the good guys.  You may be surprised to find out that I’m one of those too.’  So far he’d got one thing right – I was surprised, however I didn’t relate breaking and entering as a good guy endeavour, nor implicit threats.  He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a wallet, flipped it open and showed me an ID that claimed he was part of the United Nations International Security Committee.

‘UNISC looks at trans-border international threats,’ he explained as I digested as much information the ID provided.

‘Never heard of them,’ I said, adding, ‘is Winston really your name?’

‘Is Royston really yours?’ he asked, slamming the wallet shut and placing it carefully in his jacket.  ‘The organisation isn’t supposed to be well known but it does exist and if you Google for it you’ll find it easily enough.  It’s nothing to do with the Security Council, a separate arm so to speak, but it often provides critical advice to them.’

‘So, trans-border threats?  Such as rocks from space and consumer goods, a pretty broad remit wouldn’t you say?’ I asked.  Winston didn’t reply, not at first.  Then he leaned forward.

‘Where’s the rock and where’s the Sat Nav?’

‘Not here.’

‘I know that.  You know I know that.  If it’s the monetary value of the Sat Nav then I can recompense you,’ he offered, leaning back again.

‘I presume you intended to leave a pile of ten pound notes behind if you’d found it,’ I replied.  He smiled.

‘Probably not, you got me there.  But you would have got it back, or at least one like it.  I just need that particular one.’

‘You collect rocks and Sat Navs, eh?’ I asked, feeling braver by the second, braver until Winston raised his voice suddenly.

‘Don’t fuck with me Royston,’ he bellowed, then moderated his voice as I cowered back in the dining chair, ‘let’s start with the rock first,’ he said.  I took a deep breath and reminded myself of the night I spent in Herefordshire searching for meteorites. 

*

The call had come from Prof, early evening.

‘Royston, I need a favour.’  I sighed inwardly, Prof’s favours usually cost me time and money but he’s the faculty boss and I need to retain my position while completing my post grad work.

‘What sort of favour?’

‘Field trip, helping to look after undergrads from the department.  You’ll know most of them.  There’s a lot of meteor activity expected to hit the UK over the next few nights, I want to set up a net to try and capture some examples that haven’t had a chance to become contaminated.’

‘The Panspermia Project?’ I asked, knowing the answer.  Professor Andrews is a fervent supporter of Fred Hoyle’s proposition that life on Earth was germinated from space.  He was one of the initial group of astronomers, biologists and geologists who formed a working group with the Royal Society to try and prove that Panspermia is at the very least plausible. 

‘When?’ I asked, looking at my diary.  Generally it’s not too full but I knew that I had a hospital check-up scheduled.

‘Thursday to Sunday should see it through, you can reschedule your classes,’ he replied.  I explained that Thursday wasn’t possible until the evening so he agreed to take the group, sort out the accommodation, set them on their tasks and would await my presence in the bar of a pub in a Herefordshire village I’d never heard of.  Prof barked a post-code at me then hung up.  I knew that I’d had all the briefing I was going to get, just hoped that the undergrads got a better one.

*

Winston leaned forward to interrupt.

‘Where do you stand on the Panspermia idea?’ 

‘Somewhere between possible to total bollocks, to be blunt,’ I said, watching his reaction to the obscenity.  If he understood the word he didn’t show offence, just nodded, leaned back into his chair and indicated I should continue, an indication I initially ignored, continuing, ‘if it is possible it’s not a complete solution, the concept that planets are seeded by bacteria from other planets. 

‘Accepted that it does appear likely that bacteria can survive in a stasis condition for millennia from samples recovered from Antarctica, and that certain forms have been proven to survive the extremes of space travel there is still the very low probability that bacteria-bearing meteorites, the professor’s favourite vehicle, would end up on planets capable of bearing life.  My other, and probably main, opposition is that somewhere along the way life had to start on one planet first.  If it’s possible to have occurred spontaneously once it’s equally likely it could happen spontaneously on any planet with the right conditions.’ 

Winston just nodded politely so I resumed my description about how the girl gave me the rock.

*

By the time I reached the pub it was already dark and judging by the sound from within the professor was up to his usual party tricks.  I managed to slip inside, dump my bags in the bedroom booked for me and grabbed a shower.  The Prof might be living the life but I knew my role was in the field, stone cold sober and right through until dawn.  I joined him downstairs and, once I’d pulled him away from regaling a group of Young Farmers, found out the plan so far. 

Pointing at the Ordnance Survey map he showed me where the undergrads were positioned, the radio frequencies they were using and the rendezvous arrangements for later.  I noticed that his radio was turned off and had no doubt that it would remain off until breakfast when he would gather in the night’s report, any samples with grid references and any other information to mull over as he strolled the Herefordshire hills.

Grabbing the various maps and sheets of information he’d provided me with, I stood and thanked him, struggled into my coat and left for a very long and fruitless night.

The second night was more interesting – we’d all gotten a feel for the area, our sleep patterns were about as good as they would get and we actually saw some meteorites plummeting to Earth – the first night had been a dead end, probably because Prof had erred on the side of caution.

However, seeing a meteorite track in and intercepting it are two completely different things – the darkness makes it easier to see the trajectory but nearly impossible to judge scale.  Most burn up anyway and those that don’t, well, they just disappear from view.  The advantage we had as a group was a thermal imager and a laser guider which I operated from a vantage point atop a hill.  Whenever a meteorite was observed falling in one of the eight sectors around the hill I declared the sector code over the radio.  The team in that sector started to home in on where they thought the meteorite had landed and the teams from the adjacent sectors, if not already deployed to the other side of their sector, started to converge. 

As the call was made I tracked using the thermal imager then, when the image stabilised, cross referenced with the laser guide which was picked up as a guiding beacon to the teams on the ground.  The thermal image from the converging teams also helped me to guide them in to the target until they were inside a few feet of the meteorite – at that point they would be masking the thermal image beyond recognition and blocking the laser so would need to use their own low power thermal detectors to home in.  I would resume scanning the night sky and that particular team, if they found anything, would bag and tag the meteorite in a hygienically prepared container.

We found two meteorites that second night.

By the final night we’d collected maybe ten or eleven potential candidates, enough to make the Prof reasonably happy, so happy that he offered to buy everyone a drink and give us the night off.  We were sat in a large circle in the lounge bar, all of us except the Prof pooped from several nights of meteorite searching and very little sleep during the day.  By the time we’d had three drinks each the undergrads were falling asleep in their chairs and I decided I needed to go outside for a walk to clear my head.  Prof decided to join me, partly because it was a fine evening and partly because the pub was full of snoring undergraduates.  However it turns out that there was another, more important agenda, but I wouldn’t find that out for some time.

The village that had acted as our base for the past five days was slipping into slumber, odd lights glowing behind random curtains, some ground level, most higher.  It was then that the girl emerged from the dark, hair straggling, face muddied, grin wide.  I guess I’d always placed my departmental head in the category that children put their parents in, so when she approached, I misread the situation, thought that she was making a bee-line for me. 

What I hadn’t realised was that while I had sat freezing my balls off on top of various Herefordshire hills, Prof had been developing the students, favouring the female candidates and probably not concerning himself too much about their academic promise too much.  As she breezed past me into Prof’s arms she pushed a rock into my hand.

‘You missed one,’ she said as she steered Prof back to the pub.

‘Make sure you store it in a sterile container with the others,’ the Prof said over his shoulder.  I tossed the rock in my hand.

‘Like it matters now,’ I thought.

*************************************************************************************

Digital Life Form will be back with part 6 soon.  Can't wait?  Like all of my books Digital Life Form is available as an eBook and paperback on Amazon and can be read for free if you're an Amazon Prime or Kindle Unlimited customer.