the Noise Within (2010) (16 page)

As for the
Death Wish
itself, Mal had offered some sound advice, no question about that; just a shame it was so impractical in this particular instance. After all, what could he say to the pissed-off individual in question? "Hi, I'm the neighbour who snooped into your private records, but don't worry, I didn't actually
see
anything, so you can rest easy and call off the hounds."

Sure, who wouldn't believe a story like that?

Of course, that didn't mean that contacting McGovern was a bad idea in principle, it simply wasn't enough on its own... During the conversation with Mal, Phil had fielded a call which he deemed important enough to bring to Philip's attention. It was from the local head of police, Commissioner Kincaid. Philip had met the man briefly at a function but would hardly claim to know him, so he didn't bother returning the call in person, simply reviewed it. Essentially, Kincaid wanted to warn Philip that the police had 'information' that his life was in danger and stressed that, while they would do all they could to provide assistance, they couldn't guarantee his safety against a determined threat. The man closed by suggesting that Philip should consider spending a period off-world, if only for his own safety.

Philip was just digesting this when Phil interrupted his train of thought once more.

"I have a call for you from Catherine Chzyski. She insists it's urgent."

Philip sighed, banishing all consideration of assassins and plans for the moment. This was bound to be about
The Noise Within.
Adjusting his mindset accordingly, he said, "Put her through."

Not for the first time in their association, the canny old shrew managed to surprise him. As her image formed, she said, "I gather from the news feeds that you had a somewhat interesting journey home."

"That's one way to describe it."

"Well I think I can explain why. Were you aware that a Death Wish has been posted against you?"

She
knew about this Death Wish site as well? Was he the only one who didn't? Maybe it was a generational thing.

"One offering a sufficiently impressive pay-off that it's bound to attract considerable attention," Catherine continued. Perhaps his face gave him away, because she second-guessed his thoughts by immediately adding, "I've been around a lot longer than you have, Philip. Checking on things like this ensures I'll be around for a while yet. Trust me, the threat is very real and not to be underestimated."

He hardly needed convincing of that. At the same time, if he were to seek advice from anyone, he could do a lot worse than Catherine Chzyski. After a few seconds' thought, he said carefully, "Assuming everything you say is true, what would you do about it if you were in my shoes?"

She raised her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth twitched as if threatening to break into a smile. "What's this, Philip Kaufman asking for advice? Life is still capable of producing surprises it seems, even when you reach my age."

He took the dig with a polite smile, accepting that he'd probably earned it. "Even so..."

All hint of humour vanished. It was the shrewd businesswoman he knew so well who now stared back at him. "Two things. First I'd do everything I could to get the Death Wish lifted, and second I'd run as far and fast as I could, just in case the first part failed or word of its success didn't circulate quickly enough to those who had already seen the posting."

More sound advice; he was beginning to sense a theme here. Philip had plenty to think about once Catherine's image faded. With the project so tantalisingly close to fruition he was loathe to go anywhere, yet the idea of saving his own skin was not without its appeal. He determined to try and follow the first part of her advice at least, and trusted that this might prove enough for now.

He remembered what Mal had said about
The Death Wish
and had to admit his curiosity was piqued. His thoughts turned to those intriguing 'wishits' Mal had sent him...

The
Death Wish
proved easy enough to find. As with so many things, it was all a question of knowing the place existed in the first place. Philip had thought long and hard about how best to approach the situation, and even toyed with the idea of simply hacking into the site's systems and erasing his name entirely. He was confident of his ability to hack into almost anywhere and could probably even enlist Mal's help if needed, but in the end this seemed more trouble that it was worth. After all, his name would already have been seen by many and once somebody noticed it had disappeared they could, presumably, simply post it up again.

Besides, there was the potential backlash to consider should his meddling be noticed. Did he seriously need the sort of aggravation a place like this could undoubtedly direct his way? Definitely not, particularly given the current situation.

In the end, he decided that rather than sneak in via the back door he would use the front, and simply join the site. He had no real idea what he intended to do once there, but he had to
see
this board and his name upon it. Only then would all of this seem real. Yet part of him was reluctant to take such a direct approach, not only because Mal had seemed so confident that he would, but also for more pragmatic concerns to do with security. Could he really afford to trust this site with his personal details? Then he chided himself for being daft; after all, his address was a matter of public record and hardly difficult to find if anyone were determined enough. If registration required other more sensitive details... well, he would face that when he came to it.

His concerns were proven to be groundless as no intimate details were needed; nor for that matter were his name and address. After seeing two of the small piles of wishits disappear, all he was asked to provide were a username, password and avatar name - with a stipulation that the latter
had
to be different from his user name. After some deliberation, he opted for 'Seeker', which struck him as fitting. Unfortunately, somebody had evidently beaten him to it and he was asked to choose again. Not wanting to spare this process any more thought, he went for 'Seeker2', and was relieved to see it accepted.

Then, things turned difficult. He was required to select his avatar's appearance, being offered a bewildering selection of standard characters or the facility to upload a customised avatar of his own choosing.

For goodness sake! All he wanted to do was satisfy his curiosity and actually gaze upon this wretched board for himself. Once he had seen his name up there he intended to leave and had no expectation of ever coming back.

He gazed at the proffered list with a growing sense of hopelessness, only to enjoy a flash of inspiration. He smiled, suddenly knowing
exactly
which form to adopt, and chose accordingly.

As soon as he did, his living room was transformed.

At the back of his mind, Philip had long suspected that he lacked a little imagination; not in terms of his work and seeing the potential for the technology and concepts he played around with, but in certain other... less structured areas. When Philip let his imagination run wild it rarely did, but instead tended to stay within safe, clearly defined parameters.

He had no real idea of what to expect from
The Death Wish
, so perhaps anything would have come as a surprise. Certainly what awaited him did.

In place of his living room a darker, dingier place appeared. Philip had to admit, this was one of the most convincing examples of CGR - Computer Generated Reality - he'd ever seen. He was familiar with the principle and knew that the program was using his own systems to produce a virtual setting, one which now overlay the real-world room that still existed beneath it. The real test of such things was how well the program coped with the varying topographies of the solid rooms which it covered, while maintaining the illusion for each and every participant that they were interacting within the same, consistent virtual environment.

He stepped forward, a little warily; not only because of the unfamiliar surroundings but also for fear of bumping into a piece of his own furniture now hidden beneath this all-too convincing illusion. The room seemed considerably wider than his lounge, disappearing to his right into dimly lit corners. Figures were to be seen, their features indistinct due to the deep shadows and the partitions which conveniently sectioned off small booths of seating; leaving more the impression of people rather than an actual presence. Dark wood predominated - even the ceiling was panelled with the stuff. On the polished bar top it shone with the deep, rich russet of rosewood, but elsewhere a slightly menacing dimness prevailed, courtesy of the wood's sombre influence and some tastefully subdued lighting.

Taking a deep breath, he continued into the room.

Not quite everybody looked up as he entered, though enough did to make him feel even more self-conscious than he already did.

Discounting the shadowy lurkers in distant corners - whom Philip tended to dismiss as embellishments of the program - the place was still pretty busy; though it hardly deserved the term 'heaving' as described by Mal. Nearest him, sitting at a table which he was fairly confident coincided with the position of his own, sat an unlikely looking pair of drinking companions: one appeared to be a large, shaggy-haired bear, sporting a red neckerchief and a bandolier of outlandishly large bullets slung over one shoulder, the other a fearsome Amazonian warrior, with bulging biceps and bare breasts, the nipples of which had been stained gold and pierced. He tried not to stare as he walked past, though they clearly possessed no such qualms and seemed perfectly happy to stare at him.

He squeezed past a bare-torsoed man of delicate, boyish frame who boasted a mane of orange and yellow flecked hair sprouting from just above the waist and growing in length and thickness as it climbed his back, to form a tall, proud crest on his head, and, as he continued towards the bar, saw a knight in full black body armour, a space warrior with garish ray gun, a stick-thin woman with bulging multifaceted eyes, a red-cowled monk from under whose habit jutted the pommel of a sword, an angular, bulk-bodied robot of a design which could only ever work in fiction, a green-tailed dragon lady, at least two horned demons of similar type but differing detail, and a man who appeared to be built out of cabbages.

So the androgynous individual standing by the bar whose face and hands looked to consist of silvered fish scales - where they showed beyond the neck and cuffs of an iridescent grey suit - came as no surprise at all.

The fish man glanced at him with mild interest. Philip nodded greeting, and then caught sight of himself in the long mirror behind the bar, its edges decorated with mock scrolls either painted onto the glass or stuck on, while in one corner a cartoon caricature blonde with fishnet legs and unlikely cleavage held out a bottle of beer, a brand he had never heard of. Staring back at him from the mirror itself was a classical pirate, no less a caricature than the mirror-bound blonde.

His face was unrecognisable. Long and thin, with a waxed moustache and prominent nose, the whole framed by a tumble of black-haired ringlets - far darker than his own natural brown - which fell to his shoulders from beneath a quite startling hat.

At least there was no eye patch.

Looking at his avatar and comparing it to the others present, he realised that he stood out like a sore thumb. While everyone else appeared to be exotic and highly individual, totally at home in their assumed personas, he wore his with an awkwardness that shouted of inexperience. Nothing about him suggested this was anything other than a clichéd and uninspired off-the-peg avatar chosen in haste; which, of course, it was.

He dragged his attention away from his face to what he was wearing: off-white almost ivory shirt with puffed sleeves, over which sat a waistcoat of an indeterminate colour which he settled on as being aubergine. The garment boasted some elaborate embroidery and overlarge buttons, none of which were done up. The look was completed by a sash belt, jauntily tied to one side... and that hat. Philip toyed with the idea of taking the latter off, but decided that was a ridiculous notion; after all, it came with the persona. Part of him did wonder, though, how the simulation would cope if he attempted to.

"You're new here." The barman stepped across, blocking his self-inspection. His words did little to improve Philip's confidence. The man was bald and large, with no apparent neck, just a domed head emerging from improbably broad shoulders like some over-ripe pimple. Philip wondered whether he was part of the simulation, a fellow member of the site, or even one of the people who owned the place. Now there was a thought.

"You drinking?"

Philip remembered Mal saying that wishits could be used to buy drinks. How far did this simulation go? "Beer, please."

With a grunt, the barman lifted a glass to a wall tap and proceeded to fill it with a suspiciously dark liquid before placing it on the counter before him. Definitely an avatar, Philip decided. The man's upper arm bulged with muscles and looked to be broader than some girls' waists he could think of.

Philip reached for the beer, half-expecting his hand to travel straight through, but it didn't, instead encountering what felt like a solid, chilled glass.

Beneath the illusion this was
his
living room, and no matter how complex the programs running
The Death Wish
were they were being channelled through
his
systems. He had no idea they were capable of producing something like this. He was supposed to be an expert at such things and being presented with this evidence of his own ignorance was annoying, not to mention embarrassing.