《Hidden Trials》Chapter 10

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"Natural Selection favours the paranoid."

Peter Watts

Jake regained consciousness to find himself strapped to a metal-framed hospital bed. The straps ran across not only his legs and arms, but his head as well, locking it in place so that all he could see was the grey ceiling above him.

Straining his eyes to the sides, he could just about make out a small bedside table upon which was a bouquet of flowers, their bright reds and blues standing in stark contrast to the rest of the grey room.

Jake breathed out a sigh of relief.

"I told you, I don't like flowers. They always die on me." His throat was dry and raspy.

"It's Ray," came Jo's voice from behind him.

Putting down the touchpad that rested in a pouch behind his head, she came around and leaned over so that he could see her.

"He thinks it's funny," she said, deadpan.

"Yeah, hilarious. It makes getting shot so much more enjoyable." Jake's voice carried both tiredness and humour.

"The more worked up you get about it the more he's going to buy them, you know."

Jo pulled back, and from the corner of his eye he could see her sitting down beside him.

"You really got done over this time," she sighed. "Half your side was missing. Damn lucky you didn't lose a kidney."

"They were trained. I'm not talking the usual. These guys were willing to shoot up the centre of London to get to me."

His eyes widened in sudden memory.

"Did you find the woman? Anna, she said she was called," Jake asked.

"No, no woman. Must have taken off as soon as the shooting started." Jo was playing with her hands, something she only did when she was tense. "Listen, Jake. There's something going on here we know nothing about. You can't be going out there alone any more. Somehow they're able to find you, and aren't afraid to come after you in broad daylight."

Jake tried to twist his head to look at her, but couldn't.

"They found me because I wanted them to. I broadcast my position all over the net. All they needed was access to my personal email, which I already figured they'd got when they knew my timetable for the reunion."

"Oh really? That explains a few things." She seemed to relax a little.

"And the straps? What are these about? I can't move a muscle."

"You have a history of bolting out of bed the instant you wake up, Trials. Every single time you've ended up here. This time we can't allow that. You were really hurt. You shouldn't move until the doctor's checked you out."

"Yeah, the doctors and mechanics," he said wryly.

"Well, yes. We've actually had to call Marv in this time."

"Marv? He's here? Shit, I haven't seen him in..."

"...years. How's it going, Trials?"

The familiar tones of Marv came from a set of speakers set in the ceiling almost directly above him, a small camera nestled between them.

"Marv? You gonna come say hi or what?" said Jake, forcing strength into his speech.

"Sorry man, but I can't just now. I'm checking some feedback data from your nanotechnology. Finding some really weird shit here."

"Weird? Weird how?"

"Couldn't tell you, not yet. Just... not what I expected."

Jo made a curious look at Marv's words.

"Rest up, Jake, and I'll get back to you. Oh, and Jo..?" came the voice from the speakers. She looked up at the camera. "You can unstrap him. He'll be fine. Trust me."

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There was a click as the speaker cut off.

"I'm going to unstrap you now, Trials, but no sudden movements, ok? You could still tear your sides open."

Jo reached over and popped the buckles that kept the straps tight. Jake sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of his bed as the buckles fell to hang loosely besides. He flexed his fingers and made to massage blood back into them, but stopped when he realised he didn't need to.

Tentatively pushing himself off the bed, he dropped onto his feet and held himself there, seeing if his legs were strong enough to support him. They were.

Okaaaay, he thought to himself.

He'd been shot before, not often, and never as badly, but it always took some time before he was fully back in action. This time, he didn't even feel tired. He felt... rested, ready to go.

Jo must have seen something in his expression, because she placed a cautionary hand on his shoulder. He brushed it off without looking.

"I feel good," said Jake, flexing his upper body.

"And when did that happen?"

Jake followed Jo's gaze down to his chest, and exhaled in surprise. He'd always kept himself healthy, but the washboard abs he saw down there came as a surprise to him too.

"What the fuck..?" he whispered, poking at his unexpected 6-pack.

Marv appeared at the door of the room, a sheaf of paper bundled up and held loosely at his side as he stared at Jake.

"Ok, Trials. I think we need to have a sit down and work out what the hell is going on here. Your little friends seem to have decided to refurbish the house while you slept."

Marv's voice tried to carry the joke, but worry shone through in his eyes. Jake followed him through to the work room.

It was several hours later that Jake made his way to the room where Mike and Paul were waiting, the same room they had gathered in just a few days ago. Ray was sitting with them, each on a chair. Jake stopped at the doorway to listen in to what seemed to be a passionate conversation.

“It’s about intellectual contagion. Ideas can be infectious. You think it’s a coincidence ‘viral’ videos are so popular?” Ray was saying in a tone that suggested they’d been having this discussion for some time. and it was getting heated.

“But that’s just… just words. Ideas are fashionable, they catch on, they fade away. It’s not like a disease,” Paul replied.

“It’s exactly like a disease. We’ve known for decades that ideas, memes, spread in the same way as viruses. They adapt, they mutate, and some are virulent,” Ray emphasised each word.

“That’s not how it works. Ideas are… ways of thinking. They aren’t empirical, they’re abstract.” Paul was trying to keep frustration out of his voice, and failing.

“Maybe some are, but there must be some line, some a priori concepts that stand apart and are un-breakable. Some things have to be empirical. You can't believe any old thing, otherwise you’re arguing that there is no truly wrong idea, no true evil. Well, believe me, I’ve seen evil. We see it every day. The human mind gets sick.”

“And you think you can heal it?” Paul sounded mystified.

“If you find a cancer, you cut it out. At the root.”

“So you think you’re some kind of doctor?” Mike interrupted, angrily. He was squaring his shoulders and his fists had balled unconsciously.

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“Well, someone has to fight off infection.”

Jake felt that, if he wanted to prevent a full blown fight, now was his time to step in. He moved into view.

"Where's Max?" he asked, as his two friends looked up at him, spell broken.

"Family, Jake," answered Paul. "He's got responsibilities, things he needs to do."

"And you don't?" Jake's eyes moved from Paul to Mike as he spoke.

"Well, Paul here is a struggling artist with few commitments, and I just want to know what the hell is going on, so I called in sick," replied Mike. A nasty cough afterwards made Jake think this was half true.

There was a tense silence for several moments as each stared off into their own world.

"So? Are you going to say anything, Jake?" Mike was almost snarling. "Are you going to explain what happened? We saw you on the news! They're showing your picture all over the place. You're supposedly dead!"

The TV in the corner showed nothing now, its blank face staring over the group like a disinterested observer. Mike grabbed the remote from where it lay on the centre table and flicked the power, the screen lighting up with the 24-hour news.

Front and centre were images of the streets where Jake had held his impromptu impression of a hunted gazelle, the blue and white police tape still cordoning off the bookshop where he had at last been felled. A male reporter stood to the side, speaking into the microphone as the camera zoomed in on the building to focus on the rags of torn paper still littering the floor and shaking gently in the breeze. Further into the shadows the paper was darker, stickier, coated in what Jake knew was his blood. There seemed to be an awful lot.

He listened to the reporter with half an ear as he took in the scene. The report spoke in shocked tones of the blatant gunning down of the victim and an innocent bystander in broad daylight in one of the most crowded areas of the capital. Apparently the victim’s details were not being released at the request of family members. His ears pricked at the news that the assailants had been apprehended.

“They got them?” Jake asked, turning to Ray.

“Yeah, it looks like they had an escape plan but I don’t think they expected to spend quite so long chasing you down. A car was seen trying to force its way through the panicked crowd towards you but never made it. We’ve got the plates - it was registered stolen a few days ago.”

“Dead-end then. But we’ve got two guys to question, at least.”

“Uh… one. The other one tried to shoot his way out and got a bullet in the head in return. And… the one we’ve got’s not a guy, it's a woman.”

“A woman? Shit, I… Huh.”

“Jake…” hissed Mike.

Jake turned towards his friend and fell back onto the couch, stretching his arms out across the back and putting his feet up on the table.

“It’s alright, Mike, calm down. I’ll explain it all. Just relax.”

Mike took a deep breath and dragged his chair into a better position to face Jake, whilst Paul looked on.

“Glad you’re ok, Jake,” Paul said. “Thought we might have lost you, despite what Ray said.”

“It was close. I should be dead. We’re still trying to work out why I’m not.”

Paul sat down as well, Ray choosing to stand further off to the side as the conversation began.

“So what do you want to know first?” asked Jake.

“Why’s the media saying you were killed? It was a different name, but we know it was you.”

Paul rattled out his question before Mike, mid-breath, could start.

“Journalists can’t chase up a corpse for a statement,” Jake answered. “It’s much easier to fake an identity for a dead person than hide the identity of a living one. This is… what? The third time I’ve been killed, Ray?”

“Something like that,” replied Ray, noncommittal. He clearly didn’t want to be drawn in to this discussion.

“It makes things go smoother, anyway,” said Jake.

Jake stirred uncomfortably under Mike’s glare. He’d wanted to affect an air of nonchalance in front of his friends, to give the impression that recent events were all in a day’s work, but for some reason this very casualness seemed to be sending Mike into a barely-suppressed rage.

Jake put it down to stress, and confusion. Hell, he knew how grouchy he could get when he didn’t get the information he needed to do his job.

“But it was the cops that got the shooters, and they must have found you lying there. How are you here, and how do you have one of the attackers here as well?” asked Paul. He hadn’t noticed the expression on Mike’s face.

“We have a close relationship with the force. Remember, we work for the government too.” He glanced over at Mike. “You seem to think we’re some rogue organisation doing this for ourselves. We’re not. We’re a department of the civil service just like any other.”

Mike’s eyes narrowed as his anger seemed to intensify. Jake felt his muscles involuntarily tensing; it genuinely felt as if Mike was only a few seconds from throwing a punch.

Suddenly, though, and much to Jake's surprise, Mike calmed himself down. Trials watched as Mike took a few deep breaths, and slowly leaned back into his chair. The fire in Mike's eyes died back, tempered by some conscious decision Jake couldn't quite fathom.

"So that's how you see it, then," said Mike. He glanced over at Paul. "What else do we want to ask him? You got anything?"

Paul stared up for a second then looked back at Jake.

"I've got too many questions. Ray here won't tell us much, keeps saying it's up to you to decide what we can and can't know..."

"...within limits," interrupted Ray, nodding meaningfully towards Jake.

"...within limits, apparently," continued Paul, "but I don't even know where to start. Why are you being hunted by all these people with guns, Jake?"

"I don't know, yet. Some group has got wind of the Ministry and decided it wants to know more about us no matter what havoc it causes. It sounds like there's some members who have decided to try the fast-track route of getting to me."

"And do you know how you're going to stop them?"

"Not yet, Paul, but once we've figured out who they are we'll be able to figure out what to do with them," replied Jake.

Though Jake was answering Paul's questions, he couldn't help paying more attention to Mike, who was sitting back and listening. Jake couldn't understand it; it was clear from the set of his shoulders, from the restless movement of his eyes, that Mike was full of questions himself, but he was letting Paul take the lead. Weird.

"What if they get to you first? You seem to be getting shot an awful lot, Jake," said Paul.

"Yeah, well, I'm not dead yet..."

"But how?" questioned Paul. "How are you still walking around? You should be in hospital!"

There...

Mike didn't move much, but Jake still spotted the almost imperceptible way he leaned forward, eyes locking onto Jake. This was the question he'd been wanting to ask, clearly.

"I have a... technological advantage. In my blood. I've got these tiny machines swimming around my arteries and looking after me," he answered.

Paul made disbelieving noises.

"You're kidding me? Like, bionic stuff? What's it do?"

"Nanotech, yeah. It looks after me, keep my body running when it should have shut down. Stops bleeding, provides oxygen to my muscles, all sorts of things. To be honest, we're still learning about it..." Jake's words were cut off by Mike.

"Still learning? You've put these things in your body and you don't know what they do?"

"They've only helped me so far. They're adaptive - constantly figuring out new ways to improve the efficiency of their system."

"And their system is... you?" asked Paul.

"Yep, that's about the sum of it. They're programmed to improve me, basically. They perform new tasks on the fly, work on developing new ways to keep me healthy all the time. We didn't fully appreciate the extent of it until I just nearly died. While I was out, they made some big changes. I've got muscles I didn't even know existed now."

"That's... unbelievable," said Paul, in stunned tones. "That kind of technology - it's decades ahead of today. How do they move? How do they coordinate?"

"Apparently not as far ahead as you'd think. The bots are individually tiny, only the smallest amount of processing power, but put millions together and suddenly you have a high-end CPU capable of performing billions of calculations every minute. It's better to envisage them as one single entity, operating together."

"It's like cloud computing?" said Paul.

"I guess so..." Jake didn't sound confident himself. "Look, I'm not sure myself. I'm only the test subject. I can just about use a smartphone - this kind of stuff is way over my head."

"So who developed it?" asked Mike.

"Well, the guy to talk to would be Marv. I've worked with him for years, he set it all up for me. But he's not available right now, and besides, I don't think he'd be allowed to talk about it even if he wanted," answered Jake, hoping to end the conversation there.

"So this Marv guy... he designed the nanites? He must be some kind of genius," said Mike.

"Uh..." Jake paused.

What should he say? Hey, no, we didn't develop it. The Ministry decided this technology was too dangerous, the possibilities for weaponisation too great, so I stole it. Then, once we had it, we decided it would be useful?

Screw it, Jake thought, and decided to lie.

"Yeah. Well, he came up with the idea and the plans. The Ministry provided the capabilities."

There, done, he thought.

"Well, I would love to meet him. That kind of tech... it could eliminate cancer, for one. It could change the world," mused Mike.

"Yeah... or end it." Jake really wanted to finish with this topic, but the comment slipped out before he could catch himself.

"End it? How?" queried Mike.

"Well, imagine this tech in the hands of terrorists. The ability to destroy people from the inside, machines too tiny for any security check to find, machines that could hide within any head of state and slowly poison them or drive them mad without any chance of detection..."

"But just imagine it in hospitals - destroying tumours, strengthening weakened organs, performing surgeries we can't even contemplate today! It could save so many lives!" Mike's voice rose in excitement.

"Yeah, and hopefully one day we can release this tech to the world, but first, it needs to be tested and contained."

"But..."

"Mike, stop. I know it's exciting, but for now it's too dangerous to be allowed out there."

Mike caught himself and fell sulkily back into his chair.

"Jake..." said Paul softly, changing the subject. "This stuff Ray was saying about intellectual contagion... do you really believe that? Ideas as... disease?"

"I do. It's true. Think about it. The sweep of modern human history is filled with examples of it. Fascism, Communism, extremism of all shades, all patently a danger to humanity and yet still somehow managing to gain thousands, millions of believers. If these ideas could be caught at the incubation stage..."

"You work for the Ministry of War, Jake," interrupted Mike, suddenly. "An Imperial ministry, when men marched all over the world and enslaved entire peoples in the name of an idea."

"I wouldn't say enslaved..."

"Ha, I'd ask the people who were living there first," Mike snorted, and fell back into silence.

"Well, whatever, different times. Now we have the chance to do something about it, and we need to. The advent of the internet, of global travel and communication, means what might have once taken months or years to travel a continent can now traverse the globe in minutes, seconds. Infection times have increased exponentially, so reaction times must too."

"How do you judge that though?" asked Paul.

"I don't. There's people higher up than me using far better judgment than I could. I trust them."

"So, after all that, it's faith? Your final answer is you have faith that you're doing right?" snarled Mike. "Then doesn't that mean you're equally infected?"

Jake wasn't sure how to answer.

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