Biblical (46 page)

Macbeth wanted to protest, but he no longer knew what he believed and, in any case, he simply couldn’t summon the energy.

“I’ll meet your friend,” he said. “But, like I told you, I want it to be in a public place. What’s his name?”

“I can’t say over the phone. You’ll understand when you meet him. Do you know the Diamond?”

“I know it.”

“Can you be there in an hour?”

Macbeth paused. This was insane. Completely insane. And perhaps even dangerous.

“I’ll be there.”

The Diamond was an architectural premonition. Just as some buildings were styled to recall the past, the Diamond had been designed to presage the future, even to influence its shape.

Whereas every century that preceded it had been founded on stone, the twenty-first century was being shaped from polymers, glass and steel. Macbeth knew that new materials were being developed all the time: lighter, stronger; making possible what had previously been architectural fantasy. In mainly lowrise Copenhagen, the architects hadn’t been driven by the capitalist phallicism of London, New York or Frankfurt, but by environmentalism, modernism and a culture committed to societal progress. They had used the latest developments here: palladium-infused superglass, the extra plasticity of which made it as strong as steel. Glass was no longer just a medium for light, but a structural material. And the Diamond seemed to be all glass: a building to look into, look out of, look through.

As its name suggested, its shape was that of a multifacet-cut gem, with angles projecting outward and upper stories larger in floor space than the base. The palladium-infused glass meant that the architects had been able to design the top floor of the Diamond with one aim in mind: to take breath away. This floor housed a restaurant, nightclub and the cocktail bar in which Macbeth stood. The elevators came up into the center of the story and everything around him was walled with glass as much as was practicable, the idea being that wherever you stood, you
felt suspended in the sky, with views out across the whole of Copenhagen. Even the lighting and the reflectivity of the outer glass walls had been engineered to ensure the effect wasn’t spoiled by the mirrored ghosts of diners.

Macbeth would have been awestruck by the building and its views, had it not been for the feeling of detachment and leadlimbed exhaustion that dragged at him as it had everyone else. But there was something about the Diamond that tugged at the frayed edges of his memory. He seemed to remember, long ago, reading a book about a building like a diamond where everybody lived out the same scene from their lives over and over – or was it that they lived in buildings made of glass in a crystal city where everyone watched everyone else? He tried to remember but even his thoughts seemed to weigh too much, and he gave up.

The bar and restaurant, which usually demanded long-advanced booking, was almost empty and even the simulated bonhomie of the black-shirted bar staff lacked its usual forced exuberance. Generic Scandinavian jazz tinkled blandly in the background but only seemed to add to the bleakness of the setting.

“We’re closing early,” the bartender explained dully as he poured Macbeth a whiskey, using both hands to steady the bottle. “All the bookings for the restaurant have been cancelled.”

Macbeth nodded. “I’m meeting someone. We won’t be long.”

“We close in an hour,” the bartender said and turned away.

Macbeth found himself wishing that Mora hadn’t suggested the Diamond as a meeting place. The sense of being suspended above the city did not at all sit well with the sensation of intensified gravity.

The only customer in the bar, Macbeth had his choice of tables and sank into a leather couch. The only objects that appeared to have any opacity in the building were the floors and furniture and all around him Copenhagen glittered as if
nothing had changed in the world. The only indication of something wrong was the absence of the firefly sparkle of headlights through the city’s streets. People around the world were staying at home.

Everything was all messed up. But Macbeth didn’t know how much of the messed-upness lay in the world around him and how much inside his head. He wanted to sleep, to succumb to the extra gravity pulling at his eyelids. Maybe they won’t turn up, he thought hopefully. Then I can go home and sleep.

Through three layers of glass, he saw them arrive in the elevator. Mora waved, her movements sluggish, like everyone else’s that day. As they approached, he could see the man she was with. When Ackerman had talked about her ‘friend’, Macbeth had imagined someone younger, about her own age, but the man with Mora Ackerman was older, in his fifties, and casually but expensively dressed.

“Hi, John,” said Mora when they came over to where Macbeth sat in the cocktail bar. “This is the friend I told you about.”

Macbeth hoisted himself from the leather couch.

“Hello,” the man said in English as they shook hands. He smiled but looked weary. He looked like he’d been weary for a very long time.

“You’re American?” Macbeth asked.

“Yes, Dr Macbeth. I’m American. My name is Steven Gillman.”

The name stung Macbeth through his exhaustion. “Gillman? You’re Professor Gillman?”

“Yes. I worked with Gabriel Rees … and I knew your brother Casey. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Yes …” said Macbeth, his tone hard. “Casey’s dead, and you’re quite obviously not. If you are who you claim to be, that is.”

“That’s easy to check. My picture’s on the University and Modeling Project websites.” He paused. “In fact, it’s been all over the news. And yes, I am alive when almost everyone thinks
I’m dead. But there’s a good reason for that. Listen, do you mind if I sit down?”

“But the bomb attacks …” Macbeth said as they sat.

“I had just left the lab but hadn’t left the building,” explained Gillman. “I was on my way to the Pierce’s main lobby when the bombs went off. I hadn’t checked out at security and everyone assumed I was still in the lab. As soon as I heard the explosions I knew what had happened and slipped out in the confusion. I was happy for Blind Faith to think I’d been killed in the blasts – destroying the Gillman Quantum Modeling Project was no good if they hadn’t destroyed the Gillman behind it.”

“How do I know it wasn’t you who planted the bombs, who killed all of those people? If what Mora told me is true, and Blackwell murdered everyone at the Prometheus symposium, how do I know that you didn’t do exactly the same with your own team? After all, your modeling project was a key part of the Prometheus Answer … and now you and she are trying to convince me to destroy the Copenhagen Project.”

“That’s all true.” It was Mora Ackerman who answered. “But what we’re trying to do is save lives, not take them. The British police confirmed what I told you?”

“No. But they didn’t deny it either.”

“Listen John,” said Gillman. “Whatever your suspicions may be, I assure you that I remain a man of science. Reason is everything to me, as I know it is to you. And the religious lunatics who killed my colleagues, and who I believe provided Professor Blackwell with the explosives he needed to kill your brother and the others … believe me, they would be out to kill me if they knew I was still alive and could find me.”

“Why didn’t you go to the authorities? Get protection?”

“You’re not that naïve, Dr Macbeth. You know as well as I do that no terrorist organization exists in isolation. All have political wings and collaborators in positions of influence. In the
case of Blind Faith, there’s a history of religious fundamentalism that goes back as long as the US has existed. They have activists, sympathizers, friends and fellow travelers in the highest places. Some say in the highest of all places: our own beloved President. If I handed myself over to the authorities, how long do you think I’d last?”

“But you’re no stranger to fringe groups yourself, are you?” said Macbeth. “I’m right in thinking you and Dr Ackerman are both Simulists?”

“No. Or at least not any more,” said Gillman. “But we do share many of their beliefs – and before you jump to conclusions, there’s nothing religious about the original Simulists. They were all scientists, technologists and philosophers of science.”

“If that’s the case, and you’ve nothing to do with the MIT bombings, then why is an FBI agent called Bundy, who’s investigating the Simulists, so keen to find you?”

“Bundy doesn’t work for the FBI,” said Gillman. “He reports directly to President Yates and he’s here to make sure I end up the same way as your colleague, Professor Josh Hoberman. If you’re really looking for someone with a connection to a cult, then you should take a long look at our friend with the strange eyes and his employer, President Yates – and at their connection to Blind Faith. Not me and the Simulists.”

“If the Simulists aren’t a cult,” said Macbeth, “then why are its members behaving like cult members? Mass suicides and esoteric slogans?”

“As you’re about to find out, science has taken a very spiritual turn … spiritual but not religious or superstitious. Your friend Melissa Collins, as well as her colleagues, were Simulists, as was Gabriel Rees. Like all beliefs – religious, political or scientific – there are some who’ve become lost in it. Lost sight of the shore, if you like.”

Macbeth thought of Melissa; how impossible it was to imagine her becoming lost in any belief system. “So what exactly do they believe?”

“The Simulists are basically extreme Transhumanists,” said Mora Ackerman. “They believe that Man faces only two possible futures: a massive evolutionary change or extinction. The trigger for either will be the Technological Singularity, when artificial intelligence and technology overtakes human intelligence and capabilities. Like I said about the Upper Paleolithic Revolution, I believe that we are undergoing some kind of leap in neurological evolution – that over the last century we suddenly became smarter and we’ve taken a leap towards the Singularity. Transhumanists believe we’ve got to take charge of the next stage in our evolution by using science – cybernetics, genetics, neurotechnology – to enhance ourselves. The Simulists take it one stage farther – that we should evolve ourselves into another reality.”

“I don’t get you …” said Macbeth.

“No matter what we do to our minds and bodies, we are at the mercy of the physics of the universe we live in,” said Gillman. “The Simulists believe we should create our own universe – a stable, unchanging, timeless space we can occupy without threats of extinction from natural forces.”

“They think we should upload ourselves into a computer simulation?” Macbeth laughed.

“Crudely, yes. But unlike anything we can imagine at the moment. Buckminster Fuller came up with the concept of ephemeralization – the idea that as technology advances, we are able to do more and more with less and less. All you need to do is look at computers and cellphones today and compare them with those of twenty years ago to see he was right. New superconductive materials like graphene and emerging femtotechnologies mean we can’t even begin to imagine what technology will be like in another twenty years. Theoretically,
ephemeralization means we will eventually be able to do practically everything with practically nothing. To our eyes now, such technology would seem magic and godlike.”

“Clarke’s Third Law …” said Macbeth, more to himself than Gillman.

“Exactly. And that’s what the Simulists believe: that they will be able to build more and more sophisticated simulations with less and less. Maybe even pure energy. They believe our destiny as a species is to become gods.”

“I understand …” Macbeth nodded. “And it’s pure crap.”

“Maybe so,” said Gillman. “But Henry Blackwell phoned me late one night and said he had achieved a full first run of the Prometheus Project and we had to stop all our work immediately. He was completely distraught and I suspect a little drunk. He kept repeating that the Simulists had been right all along.”

“In what way right?”

“I couldn’t get any sense from him. I was really worried so I called him the next day, but he was totally calm and said he’d simply been working too long. I almost believed him until he started to hint it might be an idea if we shut down the programs for a while because there were glitches he needed to iron out. It was nonsense and I could see right through it, but I decided to play along for a while. In the meantime, I doubled the effort on the Quantum Modeling Program and got it up and running. Then I saw it too – or at least part of what Blackwell must have seen on the full program.”

“What?”

“This …” Gillman waved a hand in the air. “Everything that’s been happening to us. On my simulation, the universe reached the point we’re at now and began to break down at the quantum level. Time became twisted and buckled, folded in on itself. The past and the present became superpositional: events occupied two places at the same time and occupied neither. That’s what we’re seeing. Those are your hallucinations.”

“But why?” Macbeth frowned.

“Because of the simulations themselves. Blackwell’s simulation, my simulation, and now your neuromorphic simulation. It’s like some physical law prohibits the running of near-reality simulations – as if the universe won’t allow other universes to be created within it. The cause and effect is clear: when both the Prometheus Program and my Modeling Program were destroyed, the visions stopped. They’ve started again because of your Copenhagen Project. I’m guessing that, over the last few days, you’ve made some kind of breakthrough?”

Macbeth considered before answering. “Project One has become self-aware.”

“I knew it!” Gillman’s expression surprised Macbeth: he looked genuinely shocked. “I knew it had to be something major. This means we have less time than we thought.”

“But it doesn’t make sense. You said yourself that these are visions. If events are folding in on themselves, shouldn’t there be physical effects. Real earthquakes?”

“Reality only exists in the mind – that’s something that cognitive science and quantum mechanics are agreed on. Reality is just what we perceive through our senses and the universe only takes definite form when we look at it. What we’re feeling now – this increased gravity – is real all right. No instruments anywhere in the world have measured an increase, but we still feel it. It’s real
because
we feel it. But more than that, it’s real because it is something that has already happened at some other time in the Earth’s history.”