Читаем The GoldenCity полностью

Michael was four thousand miles away from South England, sitting in one of the resident suites at the research center outside of New York City. Wearing a terrycloth bathrobe, he finished his coffee and read the message: Mrs. B. to Porthreath Airport this evening.

A spy program had been placed in all of Mrs. Brewster’s computers-Michael had been reading her email for the last three weeks. The moment he took control of the Evergreen Foundation, she had criticized his decisions and organized a small opposition group. In the Fifth Realm, Mrs. Brewster would have been torn apart on a public stage. But Michael didn’t want to cause dissent within the Brethren. Mrs. Brewster would die discretely, without a visible executioner.

Michael saw himself as an author creating different stories in countries around the world. Mrs. Brewster’s little story was about to end, but he had invented far more elaborate narratives. First there would be a criminal action or a terrorist attack, then a period of growing tension and instability. Finally, there would be a solution-offered by the Evergreen Foundation or one of their surrogates. The introduction of the Panopticon would give each story a happy ending.

In California, fourteen children were missing. In Japan, envelopes of anthrax had been sent to the Emperor and other members of the royal family. In France, a mysterious terrorist group had set off bombs in three major art museums. While these threats dominated the news cycle, three new stories would be introduced-in Australia, Germany and the Great Britain. The message of all these stories was simple and clear: there was no safe place in any country.

Michael took a shower, and then sent a reply to the guard at Wellspring Manor. Tell me when she leaves. When he was dressed, he strolled across the quadrangle to the Kennard Nash Computer Center. Michael had a full security clearance for every room in the building; sensors detected the Protective Link chip implanted beneath his skin and doors opened as if he owned the world.

He entered the lobby and Dr. Dressler hurried out to greet him. “It’s wonderful to see you, Mr. Corrigan. I was told that you might be leaving today.”

“That’s right. I’m flying to California to give a speech.”

Dressler led Michael into the control room, where Dr. Assad was studying graphs on a monitor. She pushed a lock of black hair beneath her head covering and smiled shyly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Corrigan.”

“I was told that our friends in the Fifth Realm had sent us some more data.”

Dr. Assad swiveled her chair around. “It’s a design for a radically new computer. The system is quite unlike anything in this world.”

“In the beginning, computers were simply computational,” Dressler explained. “Now they’re learning how to think like human beings. This would be the third evolution-a machine that would seem to be omniscient.”

“How is that possible?”

“In school we were taught that it’s impossible to calculate any phenomenon that involves a large number of factors. If a butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazon rain forest, then this slight disturbance in the atmosphere could conceivably trigger a long series of events that eventually becomes a hurricane. But this new machine has the power to simultaneously process an immense variety of factors. In some ways, it would have total knowledge.”

“So what’s the different between this computer and god?”

The two scientists glanced at each other. It was clear that they had discussed the idea. “God created us,” Dr. Dressler said softly. “This is just a machine.”

“Can you build one?”

“We’re assembling a design team,” Dr. Assad said. “Meanwhile there have been some new messages.” She motioned to a work station, and Michael sat down in front of a monitor. “As you can see, they want you to return to their world.”

“Unfortunately, I’m busy right now,” Michael said. “That’s not going to happen.”

His handheld computer beeped, and he read the text message: Mrs. B. in her car. Going to airport. When Michael was in England, he had taken a car from Wellspring to Portreath Airport. It took about an hour to get there. Quickly, he erased the message and called his driver.

“Get my luggage from the visitor suite, then contact the charter company at the airport. Tell them that I’m on my way.”

He was annoyed to see that Dr. Dressler was still hovering around the work station. The scientist was a like a child who desperately wanted to be invited to the party.

“They sent another message this morning, Mr. Corrigan. It’s there on the second page: Remember the story. What story are they talking about?”