Slogans Mark Burgess 1 SLOGANS Mark Burgess © Mark Burgess 2005 [email protected] 15. Jan 2006 If you enjoy this book, do let the author know. This book has been written in LaTex by the author and subsequently converted to HTML and the boom! microformat. The PDF version has been generated by Prince. www.princexml.com Prologue “Yeah hello? “You’re awake then? What’s the matter? “Oh. “Eh... “Look... “I can hear that! “Well, you’re obviously you’re in one of your states. “Just wait... “Well, I’m on the bus coming from London. It’s packed. Some kind of bloody Christian outing by the looks of it. “Oh god. What? “So you’re home? “Brighton. “In about an hour, if this completely ridiculous driver gets his act together. The fucking bus is going at a snail’s pace. “What? You must be joking? “That’s about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. “Look it’s very very crowded on the bus and I am in no mood for your whining, little one. “Well just pull yourself together. Don’t fall part on me while I’m on the fucking bus. “So? “Look. What’s the matter? Why are you crying? “Stop it. “What is it now? “Oh, Jesus. Here we go... “Yes... “Yes... I know. I know. Yes. “Well, what do you expect? “You get yourself into these situations all by yourself. You’ve got no one to blame except yourself. “No, it’s you. “It’s you. 6 “Stop trying to put the blame onto other people, for god’s sake. You know it’s you. You are totally pathetic in that kind of situation. Yes... You do... “Of course he doesn’t like you. Who would when you go on like this? “Look sit down and have a glass of wine and pop a pill or something. You are just making it worse for yourself by crying on and on like this. “Well why would anyone be interested in you? “No, you have got to starting using that little sponge you call a brain. Consider it, that’s why the good Lord gave it to us, you know? “Oh fuck. You have got to get over this. You have GOT. To GET. OVER. THIS. “No. “No. “No. “No, you see, there you go again, making excuses for yourself. Now I say to myself. Philip, you must be out of your mind to be answering the phone to this completely mad person. You have got to make her take responsibility for her own actions. You have to got to teach her to take responsibility for herself. “No, Jonathan hates you too. “He won’t have anything to do with you, so you might as well forget that. “Jonathan can’t stand you, because you are always snivelling. “Look. Stop snivelling. You’re a perfect wretch! Why don’t you go down to the corner shop and get yourself a bottle of whiskey or some other goddamn liquor, the cheaper the better... and just drink yourself unconscious. Do the world a favour. Then none of us will have to listen to your unbelievably pathetic whining. “Good! “Shut up! Listen to yourself. Why would anyone care? “Look you are embarrassing me. This is not a conversation that I want to have right now. “No. “No, you can’t. “Good, that’s better. “Yes. “Yes. “About an hour. And no, I’m not going to call you later, so don’t sit there expecting me to be there for you... I am fucking dying for the bog and it stinks in there. You wouldn’t believe. You’d think they’d clean the thing in a public place. “Get yourself out of the house. Get a fucking life... 7 “Yes. “Yes. “Yes now go away! “Good. Love you too.” 8 Part 1 The Lighthouse and the Sirens’ Song 1 Dermot Macguire-Olsen’s small office is a collage of tidied mess. A cellular equilibrium of multitudinous projects, tidied regularly but each possessing a life of its own and apparently prospering. His borrowed room at Oslo’s Computer Crime Team headquarters is more a testament to his productivity than to his humanity. It is a sterile room, he realizes, like its occupant. I have not added a single non-functional object to it in the time I have been here. Not a picture or a plant, not a shred of personality. It’s a filing cabinet. Even my clothes are as boring as hell. Christ. He is not even a real investigator. He has been with the crime team for only a short time, but that is not it. He has been telling himself repeatedly for years that he would change all this. If he can just establish himself – his credentials as a systems analyst, then he can relax a little and pay attention to these small details. When he no longer has to fight for the attention of his colleagues, then he can begin to reform his miserable social life. New clothes, new apartment, new lifestyle. But he knows that it is a race against time. He is not getting any younger. He has passed the awful barrier of thirty and the longer he waits the harder it will be to learn how to socialize again. He looks around him, anywhere but at the monitor screen that has been giving him a headache these last hours. The only trace of personality in this office is his tea corner, he thinks. Dermot insists on making quality tea – none of this instant powder nonsense. He receives freshly roasted, fine-grain tea leaves of the highest quality from the Cameron Highlands. It is a perk of his company’s Malaysian outsourcing. It is the same tea that they serve at the Raffles. It is one of his few pleasures, apart from computer matters. He gets up out of his seat and paces. It is better to get out of the chair once in a while. So they say. But where is he going? The only place worth being is in the computer. Jesus. How did it get to this? He does not feel quite at home here. He is hungry but nor can he quite bring himself to take any food from the canteen. “Aren’t you going to eat something?” a colleague asked him a while ago. 10 Chapter 1 “I don’t know. Am I allowed to take this?” He does not yet feel as though he belongs here in this group. It seems foreign and he does not understand the system. Is it meant for him, an outsider? He sits down again and looks at his combo. The screensaver has cut in and is flagging him with one of the slogans he has programmed into it to boost his self-esteem. BREAK FREE AND INDULGE! BURN THE CANDLE AT BOTH ENDS! He hits the keyboard to remove it and goes back to his job and starts poring over the code. Dermot sees the code and admires the precision with which it has been executed. A lot of it comes from his day job, so to speak. That is why he is here. His company team is good, he thinks, partly due to his own influence. It compares well with the ugly, styleless hackery of the original fragments they received from the originators of the game. Then there is the code written in Asia–formal and proper, occasionally clever but mostly just slickly competent and drilled. He picks up a piece of toast and chews absently on it, registering vaguely that it is not pizza. His combo signals an incoming voice message. He clicks in. “Mr. Olsen?” “Eh ... yes, what can I do for you?” “My name is Ed Bishop. Am I disturbing you?” “Uh no, go ahead.” The voice continues. “You probably don’t know me yet. I am leading a research programme that is attached to your department. I have been travelling and have just arrived in town. I was wondering if I could have a word with you. I spoke to your department head and okayed it.” Dermot is uncertain what to say. “Uhm... okay.” The caller ID looks legit’. “I’ve been following your progress from afar.” “Me? Why?” “I’ll explain later. Look, it’s a nuisance for me to come out there. Could you meet me downtown in a while?” “I ... ” “I okayed it with your department head. And you’ll probably be going home soon anyway? It’s on your way.” Dermot shrugs to himself. “Yes, I suppose so.” “Good. I’m looking forward to meeting you. See you in an hour and a half?” 11 Chapter 1 “I’ll ask my ... ” “Good, see you then!” The connection breaks. Danielsen, his supervisor, has been loitering in the hallway. He sticks his head around the door. “So what did he say?” “Some guy. You know him? He wants to meet me.” “Bishop. He is a pretty important man. Smart fellow. It was he who suggested that we recruit you to begin with.” “No one told me that.” “It’s not important.” “So I said I would go.” “I think you should go.” Dermot nods, thinking: break free and indulge. “Then I’ll go.” 12 2 Sara Vibeke Stensrud (best known to her friends as Vibe) marvels at the little town from the train station, as she fumbles a heavy backpack into place on her skinny frame. She takes pause, only for a second, to appreciate the change in surroundings. For weeks, she has been stuck in an office, playing with sterile computer programs; here, with the wind on her face and the sun in her eyes, she can finally sense that she is part of the world.