We Float Upon a Painted Sea (40 page)

“Your first memories, what were they?”

“The beach I suppose, playing in a rock…” Saffron interrupted, describing the scene before Bull could finish his sentence,

“Playing in a rock pool and then getting cut off by the tide?” Bull nodded his head saying,

“How did you know? Have I told you this before?”

“No, it’s all here. They’re memory implants. You all have the same memories up until you were placed with foster parents.”

“That will explain the lack of baby pictures,” said Bull smiling painfully, “I found out I was adopted. It’s funny to think that they weren’t my real parents and Patrick isn’t my real brother and Deirdre…”

“Of course they are. Perhaps not biologically speaking but it takes more than a set of genes to make a family.”

“So I don’t have any parents, I was just grown in a fucking lab, like meat.”

“As I said, there are others like you – you’re not alone.”

“How many?”

“Literally, an army of SELFs. Not all were created for the military, some were developed for Intelligence, space exploration, radioactive and chemical decontamination - all the dangerous jobs, needing an expendable workforce.”

“Where are they?” Saffron fumbled with the control panel and finally hundreds of 3D images appeared, suspended in midair – faces with an individual serial number. Some of the images flashed with the word
terminated
emblazed across it.

“These are the SELFs, like you, working in surveillance. It was only when I found this place, after the wave struck, and the military had been evacuated off the island, that I found the extent of their project.” Saffron turned back to the file and read some of the details out loud, filling in the blanks as best she could. Bull stood in silence watching the digital images of strangers faces flick by. He said,

“Just numbers – no names.”

“They didn’t usually give names until they were fostered out, but according to the file they
labelled
you Bull, probably because your
incubation
was completed in the month of May. I think one of the scientists must have taken a shine to you. It might explain why you weren’t terminated.” Saffron offered a painful smile. Bull looked at her with a pang of optimism and then she said,

“After analyzing the data from digital surveillance, they realised you had turned. According to this file you told your brother Patrick about the IMAGEN programme. A decision was taken to bring you in shortly after that. I’m reading as fast as I can but the process you went under was something called Neuroinformantics – acquiring data from brain scans or what they referred to as
sieving
. I need to come out of this data set and access your scans.” Before Saffron exited the database, Bull saw a familiar face. He asked Saffron to stop and flick back. He said,

“Go back. Yes that image. It’s Sherlock!” Saffron returned to the three dimensional display and pulled out a digital file. She read out loud, “Andrew D. U. Holmes. He was a SELF and a Filter. One of the original military ones but like you he was deployed in surveillance.”

“There must be some mistake.”

“No, this is his file but it’s marked
terminated
. He’s dead. I’m sorry, was he your friend?” Bull nodded his head. Andrew already felt like a ghost to him. He tipped his head back expecting it to rest against the wall. He felt nothing. He considered Saffron’s words. None of what she had said made any sense to him. His world was beginning to empty and what remained, shrunk around him.

“So if you die in the programme, they switch you off permanently,” he said mournfully. “What about Mac? Robert McIntyre?” Saffron flicked through the digital files. Finally, she said,

“He’s here too.”

“Is he terminated?”

“No, he’s still active. He’s also one of the original SELFs. Interestingly, someone recently accessed his file. There’s an anomaly. He’s was given an unscheduled
sieve
. He was already living on St Kilda so this doesn’t tie in with their procedures. I will extract his scan just in case he is connected.”

“What about the Elfs? Are they in a programme?”

“They are all here too. There’s a file on my father. His neural-scan is also here. Someone has also accessed his file. There is a system error on his log. The bastards deliberately uploaded a zombie virus to his programme.” Saffron read the data on Professor Burke’s file.

“The Elfs would appear to be part of Professor Burke’s, sorry, my father’s programme, but after his file was terminated they transferred them into yours. It would appear they do a lot of transfers, mixing up the programmes and seeing what new data comes out. Reading my father’s file, it looks like they were trying to identify the source of a major security leak, linked to the Silent Wave project. McIntyre’s programme was also moved to yours, but with a patch. There’s a data entry in your friend Andrew’s file. They mistakenly crossed his programme with another filter, but without a patch. That must have been disturbing for him.”

“Why?”

“It would be like seeing a ghost or having a vision.”

“Poor Andrew, he always seemed to be a tortured soul. So all the stuff in the life-raft was part of a virtual programme? The ferry sinking, the killer whales and the storm that sunk the life-raft were all a fantasy, and if I'm to accept what you say, I have never really met, well not in real life anyway, Andrew or Mac or Malcolm, sorry Professor Burke who coincidently is also your father. And those Elves aren’t real? That’s a relief. Are pixies real?” Bull forced a pitiful laugh. Saffron induced a smile and said,

“The Pixies are definitely real. Everything that happened on the life-raft is part of the programme they designed for you, to test you, manipulate parts of your mind that they were unable to probe in the scan. You were never really attacked by sharks or whales, there was no storm.”

“How did you know about being attacked by sharks? I haven't told you that yet. Ok, I see, its part of the programme.”

“Correct, its all here in your file.”

“And the ELF?” Saffron closed all the open files. Finally, she said,

“I can’t say too much about the ELF. This conversation will be logged in your programme, but yes, they do exist. The MoDs have long been aware of an environmental paramilitary group called the ELF. When my GM crew were boarding a Gazprom rig in the Arctic we came under fire from a Russian Naval vessel. The Russians shot one of my crew and were taking another twelve activists prisoner when the ELF attacked them. They took five Russian sailors hostage. They held them until they were exchanged for several political dissidents. They destroyed the Russian rig and a gunboat during the battle. The Russians thought we were part of the ELF setup and sent a surveillance ship after us, following us to St Kilda. It was sunk by the wave. We were thankful at the time for the ELF assistance, but unwittingly, we have, in the eyes of the MoDs, become the same entity. I think the ELF planned it that way. We had no prior knowledge of their presence in the Arctic.”

“Has this got something to do with the war that's coming?”

“The world has been at war for decades, Faerrleah. The rules of engagement have just changed, that’s all. Wars are fought using cybernetics. The control and sabotage of surveillance satellites, defence networks and military systems software can do far more damage than a bullet or a bomb. Once infiltrated, you can bring a country to its knees by disrupting its power grid and water supplies, its transport and telecommunications network; even empty the bank accounts of a country by targeting its financial sector. Nuclear weapons have been obsolete for years. No country would dare launch missiles in fear that their command and control system has been compromised by a malicious virus just waiting to be activated, and the missiles rain down on their own people. This is why they have been so interested in this Silent Wave project that my father was working on. Send a tsunami towards your enemy, taking out its coastal cities, its military and industrial ports, and nuclear power stations, and blame it on natural causes.”

“But the Captain on the Mother Earth said a war with the Russians was imminent.”

“There is no ship called the Mother Earth. The Russians are part of the world economic cartel. There’s too much money to be made in trading dirty energy to start a war right now, but when fossil fuels eventually run out the shadow boxing will stop and the gloves will come off.” Saffron flicked through a number of files, dragging and dropping 3D images of Itaridlë and Lúthien into the air. The two files were labelled,
terminated
. Bull said,

“The wave that hit St Kilda, did it capsize the ferry I was on? The Andrea Starlight. Was that real?”

“Yes, the islands were hit by a wave and a ferry which was trying out a new fuel technology was sunk, but it wasn’t called the Andrea Starlight, it was called the
Pride of the Isles
. The Andrea Starlight is also part of a shared programme. The programmes are a mix of the real and the unreal. Occasionally, there are glitches, usually brought about by reflections or diffracted light, say at sunset or sunrise.”

“Like, seeing things in mirrors?”

“Exactly. Time lapses and strange images, things like that.”

“So did all the crew from the Flower Child die?”

“There is no ship called the Flower Child, I think they must have created that ship’s name amongst other things in your programme. Our ship is called the Ken Saro Wiwa.”

“My programme? What do you mean my programme? What other things.” Saffron paused. She used her sleeves to wipe the tears from her face. She said,

“It’s what your brains are suspended in. Your neural-scan needs something to keep it occupied or the synapses between the brain’s neurons and the glial cells get weaker by the day. They subject you to pain, cold and fear to keep your brain stimulated, they control your olfactory senses, your sight, touch, everything, even the weather. I’m sorry Faerrleah, I know I sound heartless - I don’t mean to.”

Saffron flicked through the 3D files until she came to Bull’s file.

“This is you Faerrleah, this is your programme.” Bull was almost breathless at the sight of the digital image suspended in front of his eyes – a flickering cosmic cloud, set like an oval shaped gemstone, against a background of dark matter. At first he thought it was a graphic projection of a nebula, but Saffron’s quivering voice interrupted his train of thought. She said,

“This is your brain, Faerrleah.”

“My scan?”

“In an essence,” said Saffron sniffing back tears as she read the details of the file, “but this is the state your brain exists in now. This is the architecture of your mind.”

“I don’t understand. What exactly am I looking at?” Saffron pointed to the multi-coloured pulsing image and said,

“The flashing strands are cingulum bundles - neural pathways that connect every function of the brain like an electronic signature that can be analysed. All the other activity is from lobes, neurons and glial cells. This is where your mind exists.” Bull approached the 3D neural-image. There was a deathly look on his face. Bull looked down to his boots.

“So if this is my brain, where is my body?”

“Saffron turned her back and used both hands to drag and drop virtual files. She worked at a frantic pace. Eventually, without turning her head, she said,

“You and the others, you were brought to this island after you were sieved. All the islanders are SELF’s, all the ones inside and outside the programmes, every one of them, even the military stationed here. Only a SELF is allowed to live here. You’re bodies are here, in an underground silo, somewhere on the island but I haven't found it yet. I will try and find out where, I promise, Faerrleah.” Bull crept towards Saffron, leaning over and close to her hair. He breathed but could detect no odour. He reached out to touch Saffron’s arm but this time he connected with her. Her form flashed and pixelated for an instant. Bull recoiled in astonishment.

“What are you Saffron? You’re made out of light. You’re a 3D projection, but not like anything I’ve ever seen before, either that or you’re another hallucination? Please tell me this is all a hallucination!” Saffron turned to face him. Even if tears didn’t flow unrestrictedly down her face, she wiped them away all the same. She sniffed,

“I’m sorry Faerrleah, I don’t know how to explain this to you, but you can see me and talk to me, but you can’t touch me. I’m standing in a cabin on Hirta Island, in St Kilda and I have hacked into the IMAGEN Project. I’m being projected into your simulation, through an artificial neural network.”

Saffron looked at the clock hanging on the wall. Her voice breaking up, she said,

“I’m running out of time, but I think I know where they are keeping you and the others.” Bull tracked Saffron’s gaze but instead of a clock he could only see a porthole, and through the glass, a distant light. Bull felt anaesthetized, as if the life was draining from his body. His vision began to blur. There was a strange taste in his mouth and then it disappeared completely. Saffron looked at him and said,

“They know I am here and they’re trying to sever the link. I need to extract the data from your scan before they destroy this lab.” Tears streamed down Bull’s face. He clawed them back with his hands and sobbed,