Dark Matter (39 page)

The outside of his laboratory had been remodelled after the explosion, now there was a wall all the way around about four feet high, earth piled up against it.  A precaution against another explosion.  John used the wall as a makeshift desk, laying the two pages out, resting his mug of coffee on the wall too.  He lit a cigarette and started to read.

Somebody is good
; he thought to himself,
somebody is very good indeed
.  The trace indicated what had happened.  The sniff around the ports, one was quietly opened and something had slipped through.  The installed program was fascinating.  One of the core components had been copied and replaced, the replacement had the same signature as the original, size, and all attributes the same.  The secondary system had monitored post infection activity too.  The new component exhibited both virus and Trojan characteristics.  The Trojan part was packaging up information from his computer and sending it out with his own primary security network scans.  The virus part had replicated itself into other components.  It also had a trigger indicated; it was monitoring the incoming traffic.

John decided that this had become top priority,
if my system is not secure than neither am I
.  However, the most important thing was not to be detected.  This would require some serious investigation and work.  He finished his cigarette and headed back inside.  Having the foresight and, he had to admit, the budget, he had cloned his primary computer and had three spares in the storage room.  He selected one and took it to his bench.  He set up a monitor with the spare computer then turned his attention to the infected machine.  One of the utilities he had included with his secondary security system was a clone facility.  As it operated separately from the operating system, it could clone the entire system without being noticed.  It was this utility that John had used to create his cloned machines in the first place, just out of efficiency really.  Now it was vital.  The secondary security system also had exclusive use of its own network port and it was this that John used to transfer the cloned data to the new computer.  This one wouldn't go on the outside network.  John disconnected the network between the two machines and set about his investigation. 
This is going to take some time.

11:07
              27 December  [06:07  27 December GMT] 

Fifth Avenue, New York, USA.

The looks Sam was receiving she didn't cherish.  She was trying to buy some things for friends, her new colleagues, and herself.  Again the looks. 
At least they don't follow me into the changing rooms
, she reflected.  The two Sunarr bodyguards had been with her since first thing in the morning.  They had been outside her bedroom door when she got up, outside her bathroom whilst she showered.  In the kitchen, whilst she ate breakfast.  It was absurd really; her mother had waited for her daughter that morning to help her adjust.  This meant that they had four bodyguards in the kitchen watching them eat.  Driving herself had become out of the question, the bodyguards had a car with a human driver.  Her mother had hired Sam a limousine and chauffeur. 
More practical,
she thought,
but less personal
. 

The eerie thing was that they didn't communicate, at all.  They were just there, like a bad shadow, following her every move save the visits to toilets and changing rooms.  She had to admit they tried to keep a respectful distance, or maybe it was easier to survey the surroundings she didn't know.  They were not in the slightest inconspicuous though, and this was why she, and they, were being stared at.  This being New York some people tried to talk to them, some had photographs with them, most just kept out of the way. 

It had hardly been more than four hours and she was already going spare.  The thought of returning to her work at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in California was not pleasant.  Armed guards and peaceful research were not happy bedfellows.  She walked into the Waldorf-Astoria on Park Avenue where she was meeting Anne for lunch.  Anne arrived predictably late, although fifteen minutes late for Anne was on time, almost early.  Anne swept into the bar with an accomplished flourish.  A senior advertising executive with a large New York firm, she was as bright and talented as she was attractive.  They kissed each other’s cheeks before Anne sat down.

'I thought this was just going to be the two of us.'  Anne remarked, nodding towards the two Sunarr bodyguards sat at an adjacent table, not eating or drinking.

'I know, I know.'  Sam replied desperately, 'I didn't have a choice.'

'Really, my boss has one.  His choice, or at least that's what he says.'

'Seriously?  Why would he need one?'

'Well he does do work for the government you know.'  Anne replied, slightly annoyed that her friend warranted bodyguards and she didn't think someone as important as her boss did.

Sam let that one pass.  The work the agency did was low level, public information ads and the like, nothing special.

'Actually, that's some of the good news I have.'  Anne said brightly.

'Oh and what's that?'

'We have won the Sunarr account.'

'The Sunarr account?  What on earth do they need with advertising?'

'It's not just advertising,’ Anne replied, annoyed at the put down, 'it’s the whole brand management'

'And what is the Sunarr brand?'

'Well,' Anne began, unconsciously launching into her pitch, 'Well we are working on three angles.  Your friend in need.  Help from afar.  Your future in the stars.  What do you think?'

'I think we both need a drink.'

Sam ordered two martinis and turned back to her friend, who had a hurt look on her face. 
I need to make amends.

'Sorry Anne, I'm being a bit of a bitch aren't I?'

'You could say that.' 

'Sorry.  Forgive me?'

'Of course!  Anyway, the account is huge.  The government has underwritten the cost, which is a bundle.  I should make my bonus this year on this one account alone.'

There it is again,
thought Sam,
money
.  She loved her best friend dearly, but she could never understand her desire for more and more money.  Money didn't interest Sam, but having grown up with it, she had never even considered its importance in life.  Money is only measured in its absence, never its presence.

'Anyway,' Anne continued, 'work isn't the only news I have.  I'm getting married!'  Anne thrust her ring finger under her friend’s nose.  Sam examined it.  It was typical Anne.  It was expensive and flashy.  Sam hated it.

'Oh it’s lovely.'  Sam crowed, 'you must be ecstatic.  Who’s the lucky man?'

'William Henry Orpington the third.'

'First and second not good enough?' 

'He used to work for two of the largest fund management groups in the world, now he has struck out on his own and he has a client list as long as your arm.  I can't tell you who is on it, but there are some very big names, very big.'

Sam was happy for her.  Anne was never going to settle for an employed man, she wanted someone independent, someone rich.  Someone others looked up to.

'Have you named the day yet?'  Sam inquired, aware of what was coming next.

'Yes the thirteenth of September.  I hope you are free, well I mean you have to be free, can't having the wedding without the bridesmaid.'

There it is
, thought Sam with a deep internal sigh,
bridesmaid
.  Anne was the last of her friends to get married; now it would just leave Sam.  Sam the singleton.  Spinster Sam her friends would start calling her, and they would be sad for her.  Poor Sam, no man in her life to define her.  No man to care for her.  No man to provide for her.  Poor Sam.  Sam wanted to throw up at the thought of this.  True she did want a man in her life, but she didn't feel that she needed one.  Sam managed a broad smile.

'I'd be honoured.'

All the subsequent wedding talk helped Sam to forget her bodyguards.  Anne had planned her wedding for years, the venue, the music, the food, everything except the dress.  She wanted this to be the height of fashion and she would be going to the best designer.  She had even designed the engagement and wedding rings when she was only sixteen.  Now she was wearing the real thing.  She had a tiepin designed in the same style and with the same gem setting as her engagement ring.  This she planned for her fiancé to wear on the wedding day.  Anne showed the tiepin to Sam who nodded appreciatively and made the right sounds.  Lunch stretched into the afternoon, by the time they had finished Sam wished one of her bodyguards would shoot her.  Or Anne, whichever.

12:43
              24 December  [12:43  24 December GMT] 

Research Laboratory, Cambridge University, Cambridge, England.

The results were good, unfortunately, the news was not.  The infection was worse than he initially thought.  The virus, Trojan or whatever the hell it was, was intelligent, aware.  Whenever he used his primary security system, it would mutate, adapting to the presence of the system.  It even tried to replicate the security system and overwrite it.  John was proud that the system resisted this effectively; it both knew what it was and what it wasn't, so the invasion was foiled.  The secondary system went undetected; it kept monitoring and reporting on the Contagion, as John had decided to call it.  He had managed to do a partial trace on it.  It had, like most network traffic, taken several routes to arrive at his system.  The entire network infrastructure of the university was infected, that was certain.  Obviously isolated networks wouldn't be yet,
not until some student or professor uses a data device to effectively bridge the networks.
The Net was widely infected too, the lack of virus alerts from the leading commercial suppliers of anti-virus software a clear indication that it hadn't been detected yet.  Given his research, he felt it unlikely that they would; more likely the servers that provided the anti-virus updates were infected and systems were being updated with infected software.  Meanwhile this intelligent contagion was sending back information, but to where John had no information, only an educated guess. 
The Sunarr.

The Contagion was too far advanced technically to be the product of any one individual; he doubted that this was the work of any government either.  The Contagion exhibited the characteristics of a third or maybe even fourth generation artificial intelligence.  First generation artificial intelligence is written by developers, second generation by the program that they created.  This meant that it had been written by a program that had also been written by a program and maybe that program was also written by a program.  With each generation the algorithms became simpler, the interrelationships more complex, just like biology.  And just like biology, each generation becomes more intelligent than the previous.  Now he was sure he was looking at something the equivalent of a spider in intelligence, mostly instinctual, but clever nonetheless.  However, this spider had the ability to reproduce at the speed of a microprocessor.  It hadn't yet though.  It appeared that wouldn't happen until it was triggered. 

For now, the problem was how to eradicate it and protect his system without being detected.  The Contagion was like a virus in that an already infected body wouldn't be infected again.  However, one with immunity might trigger an adaptive response, causing the Contagion to mutate into something that could infect his machine.  There was only one real choice.  He realised that he would have to reverse-engineer the Contagion and incorporate it into his operating system.  It would run in its own processor like his secondary security system, but it would have its own operating system to monitor.  This would be separate from the operating system that he would be using.  Unfortunately, this would necessitate setting up several email addresses between which this ghost system could exchange emails and he would need a bunch of data every day to simulate normal use.  John felt a mini-project for an undergraduate coming on. 
Need to find a bright one, who is keener to please than question
, he smiled at that thought.

12:00
              24 December  [12:00  24 December GMT] 

Ministry of Defence, Whitehall, London, England.

Charlie Beaconsfield was not a happy man.  The cause was the piece of paper he held in his hand.  It was a written order from the Secretary of Defence, Sarah Montgomery-Smith, instructing all senior military officers that they would be issued with Sunarr bodyguards.  He had spoken to her about this, off the record.  She had assured him that she had argued vigorously with the Prime Minister, even threatening to resign to no avail.  Therefore, she had issued the order, with reluctance, but hoped that by keeping her position she could at least affect how it was implemented.

              Charlie was currently in the secure communications room having put through a call to Sam Colt, his US opposite number.  It was seven in the morning in New York, but Sam was at work.

'Hi Charlie, what's up with the early call?'

'Sorry Sam, this couldn't wait.  I have just been given written orders that I will have two Sunarr bodyguards from now on.'