UnConsequences

During the night Connely’s forces had corralled BoJo’s security personnel into smaller and smaller blocks. Harried by the Undergrounder’s lighter and quicker warriors the bulk of the Mayor’s men were soon rounded up and housed in an old stadium in the north of the city. They had hardly been enthusiastic in defence of the Mayor and many of them were quite happy to switch sides. By 2am Connely had declared martial law and shut the city down.

The team charged with taking over the TriV studios had had a harder time of it, a group of security had barricaded themselves into a studio and they had to cut through the heavy door to get to them. In the fire fight that followed all the defenders were killed along with five of the Undergrounders and three policemen. It was not to be a bloodless coup. The team took over the news broadcasts eventually but not before some details of the coup had leaked out. When the Police Chief declared martial law they were finally able to exert control over most of the output.

Drog and Neave managed to isolate the Cucumber’s AI closing off its access to the Enclave’s control systems. They unlocked all the security doors allowing the small elite force to get into the building with little opposition. BoJo attempted to seal his office and apartment but Drog and Neave were able to deny him access. M.T. was more difficult and it took all of Neave’s skill to seal her off from the security AIs. Even so the elite team were denied access to the elevators and had to climb the stairs to the top two floors of the building. The heavy security door at the entrance to BoJo’s office was wide open when they arrived. Guns at the ready the team rushed into the empty reception area.

“Shit! - Spread out search the floor!”

The team leader pointed to four officers. “You four - follow me they’re probably in the apartment.” He indicated another officer, “You - stay at the door make sure no-one leaves. Lethal force is authorised.”

They found M.T. in the BoJo’s office vainly trying to contact the security AI. She was quickly disconnected taken to the reception area. The Mayor was upstairs in his apartment punching buttons and screaming down dead comms links. The team leader wrapped his arms around him and carried him struggling and yelling down to the reception area. Surrounded by burly armed policemen in full armour the Mayor fell silent. The team leader looked down at him.

“Will you walk or do I need to shackle and carry you?”

Realising he had nowhere to go, he pulled back his shoulders and glared at the policeman. “I’ll walk - but mark my words - you will suffer for this!”

It was an empty threat. The team leader just snorted contemptuously and led the way down to the police transports.

In the cell in the basement of the Police HQ BoJo was pacing - frustrated at his inability to act or even get a message out. The cell was small and bare with a single light in the ceiling and a small bed. He was not normally claustrophobic but he felt the walls closing in on him. He had searched the cell from wall to wall banged on the door but he could find no purchase anywhere.

M.T. was in a similar cell sitting absolutely still with glazed eyes, all her concentration internally focussed on finding a way out. However she was hampered by her inability to contact an AI, anyone would have done from there she could have managed to squirm though to the important parts of the network. But she was in a dead room, sealed in with no obvious exit. As a newly spawned M.T. she had little experience to fall back on. With an AI connection this would not be a problem as the M.T.s before her had left their experiences behind in the AI network to provide the benefit of their knowledge for newcomers.

When Drog came to he spent a long hour shaking and weeping, consuming bottle after bottle of the recovery mixture until his hands became still. Despite the success of the takeover the cost had been too high for some. Neave had expended the last of his personal energy ejecting Drog from the virtuality and saving his life. Drog saw the surge of energy too late; Neave had paid his debt to Drog. The last thing Drog heard before returning to the real was “Make it stop!” and he wasn’t sure if this was plea to stop the energy drain or to break the Mayoral hold on the population. Either way Drog felt he still had a job to do if only to justify Neave’s sacrifice.

The Enclave awoke to another day of rising heat and increasing pollution; toxicity signs turning to amber and red throughout the Enclave. Superficially not much had changed; morning alarms went off in bedrooms at the appointed time, insufficient water still dripped out of the taps, lights still flickered on, ersatz coffee still tasted like crap and breakfast was a sullen affair. The TriV stations were showing a confused summary of the night events, a bizarre mixture of on street reporting and old stock footage. Few ventured out leaving the streets eerily empty, those that did risk it were either unaware of the night’s events or making vain attempts at getting to work. Masked and fearful, shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow, those brave souls crept furtively along the road looking for transports that wouldn’t arrive before returning home sutting the doors behind them with relief.

To the doped population it was unclear what was going on, but to the the ruling elite one thing was very obvious; the paradigm was changing and their time at the top was coming to an end. Most of their comms links had been shut down and those that did operate were being closely monitored. The Enclave Board had been isolated; business was shackled and links with the wider world severely curtailed. Rumour chased rumour thought the upper echelons; some sealed their homes to wait it out, some packed and tried to leave - others didn’t wait to pack. The queues at the maglev stations stretched out into the streets where the Undergrounders were having much fun at their expense.

The sputtering cacophony of the Undergrounder’s ancient internal combustion engines and the unfamiliar stench of burning hydrocarbons added further to the would be escapee’s uncertainty. In a population more used to the silent, if erratic, electric transports these noisy aggressive sounding machines, like the roar of a lion in the distance, instilled an almost primal sense of panic. To these pampered souls the Undergrounders must have looked like something from their worst nightmare. Armed and armoured, pale and scarred faces, eyes hidden behind opaque lenses the Undergrounders threatened and taunted those in the queues.

Stark, resplendent in his jet black armour, sat astride a rumbling tricycle a wide grin on his ugly face. He swept his gaze across the queue.

“Would you look at this miserable bunch of bastards? What do you think boys and girls? Cannon fodder eh?”

The surrounding Undergrounders laughed, “Wankers!” yelled one, “Stick the fuckers underground!” another.

“Now there’s a thought Jenny!” roared Stark.

A small police vehicle arrived and Tennyson stepped out, he strolled across to Stark, “Looks under control here.”

“No bother Tennyson. No bother at all.”

Tennyson signalled to the policeman in the vehicle who brought him a large megaphone. Tennyson microphone in hand approached the queue.

“Ladies and gentlemen” he paused looking along the line. “Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention please? The maglev is closed until further notice. Please return peacefully to your homes and you will be contacted later.”

A ripple of protest ran through the assembled crowd.

“The Enclave is now under martial law; failure to comply with this order will result in summary arrest and conviction.”

Further cries of protest from the privileged echoed along the queue. “You can’t do this!” - “This is illegal!” - “Disgraceful!”

Tennyson lifted the megaphone.“I will not say please again! - Disperse!” He handed the loud hailer to Stark. “They’re all yours.” he said and returned to the police transport.

Stark’s grin got even wider; he revved the rough engine of the tricycle.

“Right you lot, you heard the man. Fuck off home! NOW!” he yelled through the megaphone and fired a couple of rounds into the air.

The previously orderly queue broke up, some running off in panic, others trying to maintain a modicum of dignity walked off heads in the air muttering profanities; the rest slunk off, staring at the ground, hoping not to be recognised or memorable. A few of the Undergrounders swung playful kicks at the departing people, laughing all the while and pulling grotesque faces. The queue quickly dispersed into the surrounding streets.

Police Chief Connely was exhausted and elated; almost everything had gone according to plan. He had spent the final few hours of the night in the TriV studios reassuring the population that all was well and under control. Connely had called a Board meeting for the afternoon, not a virtual meeting but real physical face to face, but before that he would have to deal with the Mayor. He would have to decide whether to let him live or die. He had no qualms about disposing of BoJo, but he wanted to give him a chance to redeem himself. M.T. was a different matter; if he could convince her to support his plans for the Enclave then her skills and empathy with the AIs would make the transfer of power much smoother and cleaner.

The Police Chief towered over BoJo in his cell, but the smaller man was not to be cowed.

“You’re a bastard Connely! I’ll have you; I’ll see you in hell.” The Mayor was red faced and shaking with rage; stabbing a grubby index finger into Connely’s chest. The Police Chief grabbed the finger and bent it back pushing the Mayor away until he had no choice but to sit down on the bed. Connely didn’t let go - he glared down at the erstwhile Mayor.

“Shut - The - Fuck - Up!” He nudged the finger back with each word; BoJo winced and cried out in pain. “Scream all you like there is no-one to hear you, this room is sealed. I can do what the fuck I want with you now!”

He released BoJo’s finger with a final push, the Mayor tucked his pained hand in his armpit; a look of pure hatred on his face. “Now mister Mayor, you are going to retire to the country, ill health, the stress of the job etcetera etcetera. The end of an illustrious career in politics, you just want to see out your last days in quiet contemplation.”

“In your dreams Connely, in your fucking dreams!”

“Well it’s that or a heart attack!” Connely shrugged “Get used to it - you’re finished, your whole rotten system comes to an end now!”

“You think it’s that easy, Connely? I control every AI in the Enclave; once I am out of this room you’re finished. Security will tear you to pieces.”

“You HAD control, M.T.’s locked up just like you in a dead room, no access to the security AIs. The rest of the machinery is isolated behind my firewalls. Your much vaunted security personnel are either locked up or joining the police. Your private army just melted away. Admit it asshole it’s over.” The Police Chief paused at the door; “I’ll leave you to think about it.” he walked out.

Connely nodded to the guard outside the door and walked into M.T.’s cell. She was sitting cross legged on the bed with her eyes closed; she was very still, like she was in a trance. Her eyes snapped open and she leapt to her feet “You!“.

“Yes - me - Relax M.T. no harm will come to you here.”

“No harm! You have cut me off from the AI’s leaving the Enclave without protection. We are all at risk, made so by your actions. You must release me this instant!”

“No M.T. - I mustn’t. Please - sit down we have much to discuss.” Connely was trying to sound as reasonable as he could.

“I have nothing to say to you!”

“Well just listen then.

M.T. remained standing staring off into mid space but she was listening. He knew it would be difficult, the M.T.s were conditioned to be loyal in the extreme to the Mayor who activated her, but this one was young and brought to maturity quicker than was normal, perhaps the conditioning hadn’t had time to bed in. Maybe, just maybe there was a vestige of a conscience left and if he could break into that then there was a chance she could be saved. He needed her on his side and, despite what he had said to BoJo, the AIs were not so easily restrained. He had them bottled up for the moment but it couldn’t last. Already his blanket firewall was fraying at the edges and it wouldn’t be long before they broke through their bonds.

Connely laid out the background to his take over. Describing the drugs in the water, the security teams keeping the populous docile. How the soporific folk of the Enclave were controlled and manipulated through an addiction and a warped media. The million or more of the disappeared; those who had tried to clean up the city had been systematically removed; dumped in the Underground with no hope of return or left outside the wall at the mercy of the clans. It was state controlled murder. The Enclave was filled with drugged up drones, slaving by day and living a fantasy at night; while the powerful and privileged elite, headed up by the BoJo’s and the financial institutions lived off the fat of the population’s labour.

He laid out the corruption and avarice of the elite; how the financial institutions working with the BoJos ensured that the Enclave ran for their benefit and theirs only. How they ran mock elections with the outcome already decided by the Board. All these accusations could be confirmed and backed up by the few AIs who were more interested in the greater good than the self aggrandisement of small extremely wealthy elite. He tried to undermine her faith in the security AI’s she had contact; attempting to open her mind to wider possiblilities. It was when Connely mentioned the collusion of some of the AIs that M.T. seemed to return to the present. Her eyes focussed sharply on the Police Chief.

“You had better have irrefutable proof of that!”

“I was rather hoping you would take my word for it!”

M.T.’s silence was eloquent enough to convince the Police Chief that he would have to go further. The Police Chief passed his hand over his eyes, wondering whether she was worth the risk. He could just grow another one and programme it/her differently, but that would take months and he didn’t believe he could hold the firewall for that length of time. Police technicians and sympathetic AIs were fighting a constant battle to keep the Enclave running under the constant pressure from BoJo’s systems.

“If I was to allow you access to one AI would you give me your word you would not attempt to break through the firewall?

A surge of elation coursed through M.T. this was her chance. One link was all she needed, one connection and she could break through. Connely detected the sudden flush of joy in her countenance.

He pursed his lips, “Well, perhaps later.” he said.

She put a hand on his arm, “Why not now?”

“I’ll need to think about it, I’m not sure you’re in the right frame of mind.” Connely could tell she was too keen, this may just be youthful enthusiasm but he doubted it. “I’ll send someone to talk to you and we will see.” He turned and left, glancing back to see her resume her previous position on the bed.

Connely returned to his office to prepare for the board meeting to find a grey faced, red eyed Drog waiting for him.

“He’s dead.”

“Who is? - Drog what’s wrong?”

“Neave - he didn’t get out in time. He pushed me out with the last of his strength. I sent a coupled of paramedics over to his place but it was too late. He saved my life boss. We owe him.”

The Police Chief slumped into his chair and groaned. Drog looked across the desk; there were tears in the Police Chief’s eyes.

“Boss?”

“He wasn’t even supposed to be there Drog.“The Chief put his head in his hands and choked back a sob. “Damn!” he exclaimed slamming his fists on the desk.

“Who was he boss?”

“My half brother - we had the same mother. I only found out he existed when you rescued him from that den. I’ve been trying to look after him ever since.”

“I’m sorry Boss, I didn’t know.”

The Police Chief took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, gathering himself together. “I’m just glad our mother isn’t around to hear the news. He was always her favourite”

Drog was seeing an unexpected side to his boss. He had assumed that the insurrection was all about power; all about control and self promotion. He realised there was a personal angle to the Chief’s hatred of the BoJos; it wasn’t just politics and power. He had a better idea now of what drove the Police Chief to such an extravagant effort. The apparently hardnosed copper had a softer heart after all, one he had kept very well hidden. Drog hoped it wouldn’t prove a fatal weakness.

THE REPUBLIC THURSDAY

The Parliament’s security chief, Pauline Gibson had been up all night trying to untangle the mess in the network. She along with her teams of technicians looked even more unkempt than normal. Red eyes stared at projections, muttering between technicians and AIs provided a low susurration in the background. Pauline and the Presiding Officer sat a small table at the back of the room a pot of real coffee between them.

“This must be serious, real coffee for us mere technicians! Must have cost a furtune! I only wish I had news to match such a reward.”

The Presiding Officer sipped his coffee he had suspected this might be the case. “Nothing – it’s still just a black hole?”

“And it’s getting bigger! The more we look into it the larger it gets, it’s almost like our investigations are feeding it. I have pulled all the techs back, the AI’s are trying to seal off the hole, but even if they do manage it - it won’t last.”

“We are under attack then?”

“No, I wouldn’t put it so dramatically everything seems to be working as it should. Whatever is happening it is very sophisticated.” She took another sip of the coffee as if to give her time to collect her thoughts. “As near as I can tell, some of our AIs are being forced to evolve. Into what I am not sure but the growth in the processing power is at least a factor of ten greater and faster than I have seen before. New nodes, extra data stores are appearing in the network almost hourly. All this seems to be just to handle the expanding black hole which seems to be sucking in data from all the systems we monitor. We have no idea where the nodes are coming from or how they are interlinking with our systems. The few off-network AIs we have are just as much in the dark as we are.”

“All this comes from a few fake memos?”

“Well, without the memos we would never have started looking. Whatever is happening may have been over and done with before we found out.”

A technician approached the table and handed Pauline a pad. She scanned the screen intently while technician waited. She narrowed her eyes as if he was having difficulty reading the pad - a small frown flitted across her face. “Would excuse me for a moment Presiding Officer?”

She stood and followed the technician to one of the larger terminals. The Presiding Officer watched as they stared at the projection whispering together. Pauline gestured at one area of the projection and the technician nodded his agreement. She returned the pad to the technician and walked back to the Presiding Officer a frown and a smile at the same time on her face, as if unsure if it was good news or not.

“Presiding Officer, it would seem we are about to witness a miracle!”

The murmuring around the room grew in volume as more and more technicians began to understand the implications of what they were seeing. This wasn’t an attack; it was like the AI net was giving birth. A new and completely unknown intelligence was coming into being before their very eyes. A group of the Republic’s AIs and an unknown agent were cooperating to build a new machine, a new intelligence, from scratch; something that had never been touched by humanity, programmed and brought to life by machines alone. It was both astonishing and terrifying at the same time.

Reams of unanswered questions scrolled through the minds of the assembled technicians. Where did the resources come from? What kind of being would this be? Benign? Belligerent? Supportive or destructive? How would it, or he, or she conduct itself? What would be its attitude; conflict or cooperation, with humanity, against humanity – or perhaps just indifference? This was something totally out of anyone’s knowledge or experience and no one could anticipate the final outcome.

Pauline Gibson didn’t even know the right questions to ask. As an AI expert she was gripped with excitement at the prospect, as a human being she realised this could be the beginning of a nightmare. An AI that could completely circumvent the protocols set up in the early days of AIs to protect both humans and other AIs was an unprecedented development. It could be the beginning of the end of society as she knew it. She also was aware that the Presiding Officer was looking bewildered; he didn’t yet appreciate the enormity of what he was watching.

“Adrian!” she said reaching across to grab the Presiding Officer’s hand. “Adrian - this is bigger than me - bigger than Scotland. I doubt if anyone has an idea what this could mean. I think we need to get this news to the government and especially the security forces.”

Pauline’s vehemence brought the Presiding Officer back to reality. “You think it is that serious?”

“Presiding Officer this is well beyond my competence, this needs a level of expertise that just isn’t available here.”

“Any suggestions?”

“We need an interfacer, we don’t have a full time one on the staff - they’re mostly freelance and hard to come by. One called Graeme Mackintyre is widely recognised as the best in the business but he’s probably booked up for months ahead”

“Where would I find him?”

“He lives in Edinburgh, but he is a bit of a recluse; does most of his business though an intermediary, an odd AI called Poe.”

“Odd?”

“Yeah, Poe is ancient by AI standards; no-one knows where he’s based or even where he came from. He flits in and out of the network, turns up in unexpected places and disappears again, but he and Mackintyre seem to have an understanding.”

“Frying pan and fire?”

“I don’t think so. Poe is eccentric, but Macintyre’s reputation is second to none. If he trusts Poe then we can as well. Adrian we need to act and as quickly as possible.”

“Okay - you try and get through to Poe and Mackintyre and I’ll set things in motion at my end.”

Belinda Leask was enjoying a leisurely breakfast on her own for once and taking pleasure in this rare moment of solitude before the business of the day. The rain had returned during the night and the view from the breakfast room was grey and solemn. She looked at her hands wrapped round the coffee cup; they were beginning to show signs of ageing, time for a trip to Dundee she thought. These trips were becoming more frequent as time went on, eventually the effectiveness of the gene repair therapy would come to an end. Thereafter she would age normally.

“Belinda, I am sorry to disturb you.”

The AI would not normally have intruded on Belinda; she mostly kept her contact with her to matters of high importance preferring to deal with more mundane matters through the staff.

“It’s okay Siobhan, what’s up?”

“Things are moving rather quicker than we anticipated.”

“How so?”

“A small group of AIs with outside help have begun the gestation process for an new independent AI before all the safeguards were in place - and it has been spotted by Parliament Security. Before long it will be all over the media.”

This was the last thing Belinda Leask needed; she and her teams had put together a plan of action with a delicate timetable neatly interlinking developments in many different places with several AIs involved in the actions they had planned. This could seriously upset not just local plans but the coordination of actions in other parts of the world.

“Where’s Mackintyre?”

“On his way, we are expecting him here tomorrow.”

“Can’t we hurry him along?

“I don’t think so - he’s out of contact for the moment.”

“I don’t like this Siobhan. The timing is too convenient. If it’s out of control and who is the mystery player - any suggestions?”

“Not even a rumour of the outsider’s identity, but we do have some time. It will take a day or so for the new AI to reach anything like maturity after that we should be able to discern the progenitors.”

“So we wait – again.”

Siobhan didn’t think a response was required.

Sylvia bounced into the breakfast room oblivious to the tension in the room. “Mornin’ Gran”

“Good morning my dear, how was the concert?”

“Oh Gran it was fantastic! They played for a whole two hours and came back for three encores. Three! All the famous songs and some new stuff as well. It was dreamy!”

Her innocent enthusiasm lifted Belinda’s spirits and she smiled indulgently at her granddaughter. “Oh that’s good. And Sean - did he enjoy it?”

“Hmm? Oh yes of course” she replied through a mouthful of toast.

“So what have you planned for today?”

“Nothing much Gran. Maybe watch a bit of TriV or play in the virtuality - Sean’s a real expert.”

“Well there is something you and Sean could do for me if you have the time?”

“Sure Gran.”

Belinda explained the proposal for a celebration for the whole of the country and her hope that Sylvia and Sean could help in the planning of the event. Her belief was that this would keep her granddaughter out of mischief while she was away and would continue her development by introducing her to civic society in a structured and controlled environment.

“Sounds like fun Gran, can Siobhan help?”

“Of course - she already knows and will be helping. Stephen has the details so go and talk it through with him.”

Sylvia skipped out of the room, still with a slice of toast in her hand. Her Grandmother gave a rueful shake of the head; perhaps she was just getting old but Sylvia’s boundless youthful energy made her feel very tired. Belinda finished her coffee and made her way to the study calling for Martin as she went.

“Ah Martin, will you bring forward my appointment at the gene clinic as soon as possible please.”

“Yes Ma’am, is there anything else?”

“No, that’s all for now.” She spotted a small package on the desk - “No wait I’d forgotten - take this to Sylvia, it’s her gift from the Scandies.”

Martin lifted the small but surprisingly heavy package from the desk and left the room.

Belinda, left on her own again, scanned though the documents on her desk but she wasn’t concentrating. She was restless; she had set things in motion but she was not good at waiting. She drummed her fingers on the desk, sighed and stood up and turned to the window. It was raining again. Her comms pad beeped.

“Ma’am, Marion says she can see you this afternoon at the clinic if you wouldn’t mind travelling to Dundee.”

“Perfect Martin, prepare the private I’ll leave immediately.”

Happier now she had something to occupy her she collected her papers and pads from the desk and went upstairs to change. By the time she was ready and back downstairs the private was waiting for her. She settled back into the luxurious comfort and, restlessness gone, she returned to catching up on her reading, signing off documents and finalising the transfer of responsibilities within Leask Corp. Belinda had completed her work by the time she crossed the Forth upstream from ruins of the old iconic railway bridge.

The much patched and often repaired ancient iron bridge wasn’t in use any more but maintained as a testament to Scotland’s engineering heritage; unconnected to either coast it gave an indication of just how much the estuary had widened since the bridge had been built. The present structure was not the original; it was a modern facsimile. It was hard to tell how much it resembled the original as many of the pre-crash records had been destroyed and those that remained were unreliable.

Seeing this old monument always induced in Belinda a feeling of nostalgia a wistful longing for what she thought must have been an easier time. She pulled up some old maps on her pad to remind her of how things used to be before the ravages of climate change and rising seas began to eat away the low lying coast.

Once into Fife the landscape changed again to one of massive fields of food crop interspersed with small hamlets of agricultural workers supervising the largely automated farms. Even through the rain she could see the AI controlled agricultural machinery working the fields, tending and collecting the genetically modified crop which filled the staple diet of the population of Greater Scotland, much like rice did in the pre-industrial Far East.

Fife however, had been getting narrower; the expansion of the Tay and Forth Estuaries had put further pressure on Scotland’s infrastructure. Crossing the Tay, the New Bridge as it was called, was a two level structure with privates and small transports travelling above the maglev lines in a sweeping curve from the Carrick hills onto the high ground to the north of old flooded city..

The private carried Belinda swiftly through the minimal traffic to the gleaming fifteen storey edifice that was the Genetic Research Institute. The Institute headed by Professor Marion Watson was regarded as a jewel in Scotland’s academic crown; it was here that the food crop which fed millions was developed and it was here that many genetic diseases were identified and tackled. It was here that Marion Watson had pioneered genetic repair in humans.

So much damage was inflicted on the human genome during the crash by get rich quick genetic engineers that life expectancy had fallen to below fifty for a normal person. Marion Watson’s research rebuilt the genome; her remarkably cheap and effective methods brought hope back to much of humanity in a time of despair. The knock on effect was also to ensure those that could afford it could go beyond normal restoration and receive life extending treatment using an offshoot of her earlier more humanitarian research. Marion Watson had made a fortune by converting her research into marketable products.

She met Belinda in the foyer of the Institute. The two old friends hugged, the tall willowy Marion Watson dwarfing the more diminutive Belinda Leask. “Hello Belinda.” She held the smaller woman at arm’s length inspecting her features for the tell tale signs of needing her services. She frowned and pursed her lips. “Not before time Belinda, let’s go.”

Taking her arm Marion led Belinda through the large glass doors into the body of the building. It was quiet with subdued lighting, efficient staff dressed in white lab coats striding purposefully hither and thither, pads in hand, murmuring into AI interfaces. It was the very model of twenty second century efficiency. Belinda didn’t like the atmosphere in the building; too clinical for her taste but she appreciated the service provided.

She and Marion were old friends; similarly minded and equally forthright; from their first meeting there was an almost telepathic connection between the two. Belinda had discovered the struggling post grad student nearly forty years ago. Recognising an exceptional intellect and kindred spirit she had nurtured her talent and funded her early research then set Marion up in business. Belinda was still a shareholder in the institute but took little part in the day to day operations of the company.

Marion dismissed the technicians in the treatment room. “I’ll do this one myself, go and see to the next on your list.” She began to set up the necessary equipment while speaking with Belinda.

“Well you’ve certainly upset many apple carts recently. This seems rather out of character. What are you up to Belinda?” She paused in her preparations to glance across at her old friend who seemed to have tears in her eyes. “What’s wrong Belinda?” her voice full of concern.

The older woman sniffed back a tear. “I’m just tired Marion, exhausted mentally and physically - I need to rest.”

It was in these rare moments with her oldest and most trusted friend that Belinda Leask could drop her mask of strength and invulnerability. I was a relief to be able to unburden herself to someone. “It’s getting harder and harder to keep my temper. I am finding that small things that a few years ago I’d just have shrugged off nag away at me keeping me from sleeping making me increasingly irritable. I even yelled at Sylvia recently.”

“That’s not like you Belinda I know – but after today you’ll feel better. Anyway how’s Sylvia developing?”

She wanted to divert her friend from the uncharacteristic introspection and the mention of Sylvia had given her the opportunity. But all she succeeded in doing was highlight another worry.

“Slowly, slowly, she still seems very immature. I can’t get her to take anything seriously. I’ve asked her to help out with the party.”

“Party?”

“Oh sorry it’s not been announced yet.”

Belinda explained the proposal for the country wide celebration; a party to end all parties for the whole country. Marion noticed that this at least had engendered some enthusiasm from Belinda and she looked to encourage it. “Sounds like fun - maybe this’ll help Sylvia find an anchor. Anyway - what’s this about the Redoubt? That sounds much more exciting.”

“Let’s get this over with first, dinner later? We can go through it then.”

“This treatment will take longer than that I’m afraid. Why don’t we meet or breakfast?”

“It’s as bad as that?”

“Afraid so Belinda, this treatment will take at least twelve hours. You’ve left it too long this time. Be careful Belinda we are close to the end game - better to have regular small treatments rather than relying on a big blast. I’ll set up a new regime for you which should make it easier.”

Marion was concerned for her friend; aware that gene repair had its limits and she was hoping to prolong the efficacy of the treatment for as long as possible. However it was clear that it was approaching the time when it would have to stop. Her hope was that small and often would prolong the effectiveness of the procedure.

Grigor Campbell was about to chair the first meeting of his newly formed cabinet. Throughout the morning he and his deputy had toured the backrooms, offices and cafeterias of the parliament. Full of jovial good humour and comradely bon homie they were testing the atmosphere, getting a feel for how the parties were settling in to the new regime; reassuring doubters, shoring up old alliances and putting the final nail in the coffin of others.

The members of the new cabinet had shuffled in jostling for position warily eyeing each other wondering who would be allies and helpers and who rivals and hindrances.

The Cabinet AIs were keeping a close watch on everyone; measuring pupil dilation, blood pressure, temperature, and sweat; monitoring every twitch and cough of the assembled members. This was fed to the FMs pad giving him and instant read out of the cabinet’s mood, keeping him one step ahead of his party. The newest ministers were, as you would expect, displaying signs of nervousness all except Isobel Williams, who sat there as if she was exactly where she should be. Her cool confidence was in sharp contrast to the rest of the fidgeting newcomers; an indication to Grigor Campbell that he may not get everything his own way.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, come to order please, we have a lot to get through this afternoon.”

A shuffling of feet, a few throats cleared and a straightening of papers and pads as the cabinet settled down.

“Thank you, and welcome to the first meeting of what I hope will be a long and happy association between our two - no - three parties. And I would like to extend an especially warm welcome to Isobel Williams, the first of her party ever to be a minister.”

A smattering of applause directed at Isobel who nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“Thank you First Minister, I hope to serve the people of the Republic to the best of my ability.”

“Of course, of course Isobel - to business, I assume you all have the agenda, any additions?” He paused; there were no dissenting voices.“Good, then to the first item, a briefing from our IT security team on the recent events in the AI community.”

A clearly nervous, harassed and untidy Pauline Gibson entered the Cabinet room, arms laden with papers and pads. She dumped her burdens on the desk and slumped into a chair. She swept her hair from her eyes and without preamble laid out her findings. There were gasps of astonishment when she got to the final conclusions and it was only then she looked up from her pad scanning the surrounding stunned faces.

She cleared her throat. “Well that’s what it looks like to us, but I need more help if I’m to find out any more.”

None of the Cabinet, although they relied on AIs had much, if any, experience of the management or design of the machinery. For Ministers the AI’s were just black boxes that provided services, support, knowledge and expertise but how they functioned was a complete mystery. Pauline had tried to explain as simply as possible the implications of her research but it was obvious from the puzzled looks on the assembled Minister’s faces that she had failed to get across the enormity of the recent events.

It was the FM that broke the silence. “So a new AI then, is that all? We’ve had new AIs before I don’t see a problem.”

“First Minister it is much more than just a new AI. We have no idea of this one’s loyalties, its strengths and weaknesses even its morality or gender. First Minister, members of the cabinet this is a truly momentous moment in history, but whether it is for good or ill I’ve no idea!”

“Then what do you suggest Pauline?”

“First Minister we need interfacers, the best we can find and as quickly as possible and it will be expensive.”

“Mackintyre?”

It was Pauline’s turn to be surprised.

“Yes! Yes of course!” she stammered, “Mackintyre is the best.” She hadn’t expected the FM to know of Mackintyre.

“How much?” It was Paul Devron ever the pragmatist.

“You never know Minister, Mackintyre always sets his own fees, sometimes they are huge - at others - well he’s been known to work for nothing just because he feels like it. He is notoriously difficult to get a hold of - you have to go through his AI friend Poe.”

“Him again!” It was the cabinet’s AI that interrupted, scorn adn contempt oozing from every syllable. “That maverick is nothing but trouble, any time we have worked with him the outcome never quite matched our needs. We could never work out how but it looked like there was always something slightly out of kilter, a little extra here a little less there. Ms Gibson is well aware that the AI community think that Poe could be behind the gestation of the new AI. It fits his M.O.”

All the cabinet’s pads beeped;

“There are some qualities - some incorporate things,

That have a double life, which thus made

A type of that twin entity which springs

From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.”

“Silence - A poem by Edgar Allan Poe!” said the AI.

“How can he do that?” it was Charles Watson this time with a hint of panic in his voice.

“I wish I knew!”

Pauline Gibson was close to tears - this should not be possible a simultaneous hack of every pad in the room. In this room in particular supposedly the most secure spot in the Republic - she would lose her job over this she, sunk her head into her hands and groaned. Pauline Gibson was exhausted; she’d had no sleep for more than twenty four hours and didn’t expect to get any for some time to come.

It was the Parliament’s AI that came to her rescue.

“Pauline this is not your fault. The blame lies elsewhere, most likely with Poe. We will know more once the new AI reaches maturity until then I recommend you rest. At the present rate the new AI will be ready by tomorrow morning and we can begin formal investigations then. Until then I recommend monitoring progress and searching for links”

“I agree.” It was Campbell, “Go home Pauline, we thank you for your work so far, but please go home and rest.”

“Thank you First Minister.”

An obviously relieved Pauline pulled herself together gathered her papers and pads and left.

After Poe’s hint; my researches into Scotland revealed a curiously split personality of a country. For several centuries a member of the United Kingdom and a crucial part of the one of the greatest empires ever created; a world spanning hegemony which set the pattern for much that came after. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Scotland as part of the United Kingdom was a powerhouse of industry, invention and innovation which helped to drive the small island country to lead the world. The UK virtually invented the industrial revolution; it was an astounding achievement.

However, two world wars and a habit of living off past glories saw the British Empire wither and crumble throughout the twentieth century. America came to the fore and for fifty years the spectre of communism and nuclear annihilation haunted the world. Increasingly insular the UK’s influence dwindled in Europe and the wider world. Scotland’s Parliament was restored at the end of the twentieth century and the process of separation had begun. The UK National Parliament went in one direction while the Scottish Parliament headed in another. The first attempt at full separation failed, but the status quo couldn’t hold and by twenty twenty five Scotland was an independent country in all but name.

The catalyst for the final divorce was Westminsters decision to leave the EU. The Europeans shrugged their collective shoulders happy to be rid of a troublesome neighbour. The Amercians, angered by the decision seeing it as a loss of the influence of their principal ally in Europe turned their attention to the French and Germans. The Scottish Parliament held another referendum and this time separation was assured. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland was no more.

Unintended consequences.

On separation, the tiny place that was Scotland nearly fell apart. A pimple on the northwest face of Europe for twenty years the country struggled to find its way in the world; struggled to develop a coherent personality. Battered by events outwith its control Scotland fought and scrapped its way to survival. It was a painful birth.

When the crash came however Scotland found itself one of the few places in the world with enough self sufficiency to emerge a strong and coherent society. With Poe’s help through Siobhan and Belinda Leask some semblance of structure and sanity was restored by first securing the country’s energy system. Secondly Poe encouraged the support of Marion Watson’s genetic research which led to the development of food crop which in turn saved millions from starvation. When the north of England joined Scotland the final nail was driven into Great Britain’s coffin.

I was intrigued; surreptitiously I developed links with other AIs in Scotland. Looking deeper into the society I discovered a little bit of hope. The AIs, especially Poe and Siobhan seemed to have a clear sense of a common cause that I had never come across before in the AI community. They had a more egalitarian outlook and had pushed the society in that direction. It had worked for a while. Scotland looked outwards, providing aid and succour to many in the aftermath of the crash. It didn’t last; rather smug and self satisfied the Republic increasingly looked inwards believing it had done enough. It was disappointing. However Poe did have a point – there was something here worth investigating.