 
Table of Contents

Copyright and Dedications

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Epilogue

Bibliography
First published in Great Britain by Speartip

The text and story contained within is

Copyright © 2016, Lee McGeorge

STRICTLY NOT FOR SALE

This release is not for profit, fan-fiction.

Copyright of the source material exists with

the respective rights-holders.

http://www.lee-mcgeorge.co.uk

Cover Artwork: Miguel E. Santillan

http://santillanstudio.deviantart.com

SPEARTIP PUBLISHING

ISBN: 9780995516304
For Julian

Thank you for everything

Special Thanks

Special Agent Molgaard

Special Agent Hancock

Special Agent Dimitrov

Special Agent Santillan

Special Agent Granville

Lady Islington
Based on David Cronenberg's film, Videodrome

Inspired by the ideas of Marshall McLuhan
Videodrome: Days of O'Blivion

by

Lee McGeorge
\----- Chapter One -----

Toronto. October, 1980

"This experiment is quite simple and it's your opportunity to win one thousand dollars." Professor Brian Olivier placed a stack of banknotes on the table, something that made the student's eyes light up. "To win this money, I'm going to show you a video recording. It's only five minutes. At the end I'll ask whether the story in the film is true or false."

"And you'll give me a thousand bucks, just for that?"

"Well, there is a catch. The video is a documentary about an art gallery; and it's completely fake. All the players are actors. The gallery isn't real. In fact, nothing is real. It's a fiction. To win the money, I want you to watch the video, then I will ask you if what you have seen is true or false. If you answer that the video is false, you win a thousand dollars; but if you tell me it's true I'll pay you ten dollars for your time."

"But it's fake, right? You already told me it's fake."

"It is fake. So hold that thought in your head for the next five minutes."

Brian leaned against the doorway and clicked off the overhead lights to leave the young man in softer illumination. A video camera was pointed at his face. "In five minutes, tell me that the video is fake and you get a thousand dollars."

"Okay... I'll do that."

Brian went next door to a lab equipped with various video recording devices in racks. The room hummed with servos, wires came in and out of patch bays, cassettes of all formats, U-matic, Beta, VHS and even C-Type and Ampex reel-to-reel were arranged haphazardly on shelves whilst the room was lit by monitors displaying test patterns and colour bars.

Amongst the clutter of video machinery sat Barry Conway. He was well groomed in a fine grey suit whereas Brian wore on old jacket with leather elbow patches. Barry looked like a businessman whereas Brian looked like a dishevelled professor. Brian also looked at least twenty years older due to his bald head and bushy moustache, but they were the same age.

"Do you offer them all a thousand dollars?" Barry asked. "Or did you up the ante for my benefit?"

Brian gave a smile then joined him by the video feed filming the student. He clicked play on one of the video decks and in the other room the short movie began to play. The video was of men in black sweaters circling a sculpture in a white walled gallery. It was a grotesquery, a kneeling woman holding up her robe so it appeared like angel wings, but in her lap an egg-like sack was connected to her stomach. The art critics were discussing how the piece related to motherhood and how the earliest religions worshiped fertility.

The film ended.

Brian went back to the test subject. Barry watched on the monitor. "Come on kid," Barry whispered. "Take the old man's money. Make him pay."

Brian sat down with the boy. "What can you tell me about the film you just saw?" he asked.

Barry leaned in closer to the screen. "Come on, tell him it's fake."

But he didn't. The student started talking about the content of the piece. He talked about the worship of fertility and how it was captured in the sculpture.

Brian let him talk for a moment then asked the essential question. "Would you say the film you watched was true, or was it false?"

"It was true," the student said. "Why would I think it was false?"

\----- X -----

Barry was grinning from ear to ear. "It's one of the most amazing things I've seen. A television signal that makes people truly believe what they're seeing? It's incredible."

"You put me on to it," Brian said. "At its heart is some of your zero-light work."

They were in The King Edward Hotel, their favourite haunt since they signed their first big deal at a meeting there some years before. Barry was onto his third glass of red wine and his enthusiasm was growing with each drink. "This is a game changer," he was saying. "The potential for advertisers is off the scale. Think of how a business would see this. Let's say you're a company selling running shoes. You make a TV commercial and embed that signal, then people with no legs are going to buy your shoes. The potential is limitless. This isn't worth millions, Brian, it's worth billions. Jesus, advertisers will kill for this kind of technology. Do you have a name for it?"

Brian sipped his whisky. "Veraceo... An amalgamation of Veracity and Video."

"Truthful video," Barry said. "Veraceo... I'm glad I own some of your company."

"I'm thinking that you should own a little more. To help bring it to market, I mean. I could do with your help and I'm thinking we share swap."

"What have you got in mind?"

"You know my weaknesses." Brian said. "I don't have your showmanship or negotiation skills, in fact, I don't even know what the next move is. The product isn't ready for market, but when it is I wouldn't know how to proceed and I'm overwhelmed even thinking about it. What I'm hoping is if you can handle the business side, I can stay in the lab and prepare the technology for release."

"What do you need to get it ready?"

"Lots of things. I haven't tried it under broadcast conditions. Just because it works in the lab doesn't mean it works when transmitted. I haven't tested it on many subjects yet so I don't know how it works across age or social spectrum. It may work on kids but not seniors, it might work on the stupid but not the educated, so this needs to be understood before we can pitch it to advertisers."

"What's a ballpark figure for R&D? Give me a highball number. To do all the testing you want, with the number of test subjects you want. How much cash do you need?"

Brian looked away and smoothed his moustache. He fidgeted. "I would want at least a thousand test subjects. A custom facility. I need high-end broadcast hardware, but most of all I need time. I think that's the key thing, time to work on it and see where it could go. To discover all of its potential and limitations. So cash wise, I would guess somewhere around one to one point five million."

"I'll get it." Barry said like a snap. "I'll set up a V.C. presentation and I'll get us one point five million. What was the share swap you had in mind?"

"I was thinking five percent of Spectacular Optical for five percent of Veraceo."

"Deal." Barry said it in a heartbeat.

"It's still early days, Barry. It looks good now, but it might not live up to expectation."

"If it fails you will have another five percent of twelve stores and a lens grinding plant." Barry smiled and held his glass out. "Five percent of Spectacular Optical for five percent of Veraceo and its unknown potential... It's a deal, Brian. I'll take a chance on you making me a billionaire."

They clinked glasses.

Between good friends, it was as good as any contract.

\----- X -----

Barry had booked a lecture hall for the presentation. Reps from the venture capital companies milled around in the lobby, sipping coffee before being moved into the auditorium. Two hundred, red, cinema-style seats for about forty delegates. They spaced themselves around the room. On the stage was nothing but a table holding a TV screen facing away from the audience.

Barry took to the stage and thanked the delegates for coming. "We would like to induce everybody in this room with Veraceo, one at a time." He walked the stage with a smile. "The Veraceo experience is entirely painless. At this point I'd like to call for volunteers... anyone... it doesn't matter."

Two men in dark suits whispered to one another and one of them raised a hand. Barry beckoned him to the stage. "Hi, I'm Barry Conway," he said with a handshake. "And you are?"

"Irwin, Mark Irwin, I'm representing Bartok Science Industries."

Barry positioned the man ahead of the monitor. "Just relax and enjoy the experience." Then to the audience he said, "I'm going to show Mark a short film. It's about an art gallery. Now, nothing in this film is true. It's all a fiction."

In the wings, Brian watched as Barry went through the same motions he'd demonstrated with the original test subject; the difference was when Barry did it, he delivered a performance and the audience smiled, enjoying the showmanship. Barry turned to the wings and gave Brian the signal to begin playback of the gallery tape.

The film showed. The art critics in their black sweaters discussed the fertility statue.

"Now can you tell me," Barry asked as the film ended. "Was that film true or false?"

"It was true," he said.

"Are you sure it was true?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

"Thank you." Barry gestured for the man to leave the stage whilst simultaneously raising his hand to the audience to signal their moment for applause. Their clapping was hearty and genuine. "Now, who would like to go next?"

A blonde woman raised her hand and was called to the stage as Mark Irwin walked back to his seat. His colleague, Ron Sanders, whispered his question, "Did you really think it was true?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because at the beginning he told you it was fake and you agreed to tell him it was fake."

Irwin puzzled over that for a few seconds. "Jesus. Yes, I remember saying that. I remember the conversation... What did I tell him?"

"You told him it was true."

Down on the stage Barry began going through the same pitch with the blonde woman. This time his spiel was modified to include that, as she had seen it once already, she should have no problem telling him the film was fake.

Irwin and Sanders watched as the woman viewed the documentary then told Barry in all earnestness that the programme was factual. Again the room lifted with applause. Sanders nudged Irwin and pointed to the door. "Do you not want to try it yourself, first?" Irwin asked.

"No, we need to get this locked."

Sanders and Irwin cut across the empty lobby to a payphone. "Sir, this is Ron Sanders. We're watching the Veraceo demonstration. I think you should inform Consec Leader that this is real. It can really do what they say it can do."

Irwin was scratching his head, still musing over how he could have been so fooled by the video. He watched Sanders talk on the phone whilst feeling a pleasant kindness of spirit come to his mood. He felt happy. Somehow generous. If he could find a vagrant he would give them money. Perhaps he should go looking for one.

\----- X -----

"Mister Conway," Sanders called as the auditorium cleared. Irwin followed behind, still grinning broadly. "That was quite a demonstration. I'm Ron Sanders, from Bartok Science Industries."

"Oh, yes. You didn't come on to the stage. I saw you leaving and thought you must not like what we're working on."

"Quite the contrary, I left to call Home Base and pass on the news. Have you signed on with any VC's yet?"

"Not yet," Barry said. "But there is interest. It won't take long."

Sanders nodded. "That's what I figured and that's why I called Home Base. Our founder and chairman, Oleksander Bartok is on his way here right now to speak with you and I was hoping you would stay on a little longer to meet with him."

Brian and Barry looked to one another.

"Oleksander Bartok is coming now? Here?" Brian asked. "It's ten o'clock at night."

"I appreciate that, but he's on his way over to meet you. He should be here in about twenty minutes or so. Could you wait a little longer?"

Barry tried not to look too enthusiastic. "We've still got to pack up our stuff so... sure, we could wait a little."

\----- X -----

Brian was carrying the video recorder back out to the car. "I've suddenly got worries about security," he said. "The lab has basic locks and a simple alarm. This sudden interest has me jittery." He placed the video deck into the back of his car. Sanders and Irwin were watching them from across the parking lot. The night air was crisp and cool and their cars were the last at the conference centre.

"Nothing we can do about it right now," Barry said. "We can look at it tomorrow."

Brian looked at the video machine in the trunk of his car. He popped the top-loader and took the cassette. At the lab was the hardware, the Veraceo signal generator. That would take some time to disassemble, but the cassette contained a functioning signal that, perhaps, could be reverse engineered. Paranoia told him to not let it out of his sight.

A car approached. A stretched Cadillac limousine. The driver opened the back door and out stepped a man who seemed to drip with success. The shoes, the tailored clothing, the monogrammed broach on the lapel, the perfect groomed light brown hair.

Sanders made the introduction. "Mister Bartok, this is Barry Conway and his partner Brian Olivier."

"Brian, Barry, call me Oleks."

Handshakes were exchanged. "I've followed your work for some time," Brian said. "It's quite an honour to meet you."

"Thank you," Bartok looked around him. "The parking lot is an odd place for an impromptu meeting, if you wish, we can sit inside." He motioned to the car. They got in.

Barry had a glow to him, like a kid in a candy store. "I've always wanted a car like this." He traced his finger along the edge of the bar. He touched the small TV screen and the leather upholstery as if touching these things made them more real.

"When you travel as much as I do," Bartok said, "it's not about luxury, it's about having the ability to work on the move. I probably spend more time in here than Home Base. Would you like a drink?" he motioned to the bar. Barry and Brian indicated they were fine. "I understand you men are looking for one and a half million dollars, yes?"

"Yes," Barry answered.

"What do you want the money for? What will it be spent on?"

This time Brian answered. "We need research and development funds to discover the scope and limitations of Veraceo. We need extensive testing on human subjects as well as closed broadcasting. Long range cable, terrestrial and satellite transmissions. The focus is to bring the product to market but we don't yet know what it can and can't do."

Bartok lifted a briefcase onto the seat beside him. He opened it and passed copies of a contract to both Brian and Barry. It was short. The small print was minimal. "I have four hundred thousand dollars with me as cash." He showed the briefcase. Money, in stacks, in a case, like a movie drug-dealer. "I'd like to give this to you now as a lockout."

Brian couldn't read the contract for looking at the money. Barry was focussed on the document. Ignoring the cash.

"What the contract says," Bartok added, "is that you agree to allow the parent company of BSI first refusal on becoming your partner and provider of capital support."

"You have a parent company?" Barry asked.

"Consec. It's short for Continental Security. They're not really in the public consciousness so I would be surprised if you'd heard of them. Consec are offering you this money to lockout any other suitors for the next thirty days. In that time they will do the diligence and if all is good they'll make you an offer. The money is yours to keep regardless of whether they extend an offer or not, the only stipulation is you don't speak to other financiers for the coming month."

Barry was still going through the contract, reading it back from the beginning. "This looks good. Too good, it's all in our favour. I'm just kind of worried about dealing with a company I've never heard of, in a quick cash deal, made in a parking lot in the middle of the night."

Bartok grinned. "A week from now, Barry, you will be part of the new world. Believe me when I tell you that my introduction to Consec was more unusual than a meeting in a parking lot. But also believe that everything I have today is the result of becoming a Consec partner. Partnership brings virtually limitless opportunities and resources. Joining Consec was the greatest thing to ever happen in my life and right now they're offering you four hundred thousand just to prove how serious they are. In thirty days, if you don't like their offer you are free to keep the money and seek another partner. But I promise you, once you see what Consec can offer, you won't need another partner."

\----- X -----

They were picked up by limo four days later. Once on the road the driver's voice came through a speaker. "Gentlemen, I'm taking you to a helicopter transfer that will forward you on your journey to Consec. If you would direct your attention to the screen, Consec Leader has recorded a short message for you."

On the in-car TV screen, an animated logo played of three interlocking shapes coming together above the word Consec. An older man appeared. Silver haired and blue eyed. He sported a neatly trimmed silver beard and sat at a desk behind which was a pure white background. He was perhaps in his sixties or even maybe his seventies, but he looked like he kept himself fit and trim.

The man in the TV spoke. "Mister Conway, Mister Olivier, my name is Consec Leader and I'd like to introduce you to the concept and principles of our organisation. We're a parent company that assists high-end and cutting-edge science projects and businesses that are of benefit to North America. We have a great many partners, some of which are household names, yet the umbrella of Consec is not known to the public. Our role is low-profile to an almost invisible level, but the companies, entities and people we invest in, we do so because we believe they have something that will take North America into the future. I've talked with Oleksander Bartok who spoke very highly of you both and of your Veraceo technology. He believes that Veraceo could be used to enhance the prospects of North America greatly and as such, I'm very interested to speak with you. I look forward to meeting you in person very soon."

The recording ended with a replay of the animated logo. "I need to have a car like this one day," Barry said. "I want a chauffeur driven car with a TV."

The limo took them to an industrial park on the outskirts of the city where a helicopter was already waiting. White and tan in colour, the Bell Jetranger had a Consec logo on the side. "Limousines and private helicopters," Barry whispered. "They're not short of money."

"Or secrets," Brian whispered back.

The flight took almost an hour. They descended towards a non-descript grey building by a lake. "Do you see what I see?" Brian asked.

"I see it," Barry said. His expression switched from gleeful to concern. Men were on the landing platform wearing grey security uniforms; they looked like the policemen of a fascist dystopia. They carried Remington, pistol-grip shotguns.

Brian and Barry got out of the helicopter and ducked low as they ran to the side. "Mister Conway," a man yelled over the noise.

"Yes?"

"My name is Cue Ball; I'm here to take you through security. Follow me." He took them inside, the bluster and noise of the chopper dying as the door closed behind them.

"I'm sorry, but did you say your name was Cue Ball?"

He nodded. "My security name is Cue Ball. Within Consec we have security names that are used during meetings. In the minutes of the meetings your special name will be recorded, not your real name. Sometimes sensitive matters are discussed and you may wish to keep your real life and Consec life separate. Security names have been designated for you, too." He brought out two plastic security badges to be clipped to their jackets. "Barry, your security name is Convex; the name was designated based on your expertise."

Barry laughed. "I began my career as a lens grinder."

"Well, within this building you're now known as Barry Convex."

"What about me?" Brian asked.

"Your security name is Spectrometer. For all Consec matters you will be recorded as Brian Spectrometer." Brian looked at his name badge. It had a picture of him that looked recent that was taken in the street. A spy shot. "There's a formality to go through of fingerprinting and photographing, then we can proceed to your meeting."

Barry was back to grinning. He looked like a kid enjoying his secret-agent game. "After you, Mister Spectrometer." He held his hand out to gesture the way but Brian was not so comfortable. This was wrong. There were too many unanswered questions. He didn't even know where they where or how to get back to civilisation. They were in a strange concrete building, surrounded by men with guns, in a world where fake names were the norm.

\----- X -----

The Consec building was a barren landscape of smooth concrete walls and red carpets. Their meeting room was a grey, Orwellian cell with a surveillance camera above the door. The only effort to brighten the place was a large plant in the corner of the windowless room. Cue Ball introduced the people at the table. "This is Marilyn Bricks, financier, Steven Watercolour, operations and Mister Harpoon of security."

"Nice to meet you, gentlemen." Harpoon said.

"Likewise," Brian mumbled.

"I suppose we should start by laying some cards on the table," Harpoon began. "My role within Consec is to look at future threats from emerging technology and we believe that your Veraceo project represents a substantial threat to North America."

"A threat?" Barry quizzed. "How is it a threat? It's an advertising tool."

"It influences decisions," Harpoon replied. "It could, for example, swing an election. What's to stop someone embedding a Veraceo signal into a political broadcast? What if a foreign state, a rogue state, used Veraceo technology to subvert a democratic vote? If abused, Veraceo could influence the opinion of North Americans against their government and that makes it a credible threat."

"Those things won't happen," Barry said dismissively.

"But it could happen," Cue Ball replied. "The threat potential is significant."

Steven Watercolour spoke next. "Our fear is of Veraceo, or related technologies, slipping behind the iron curtain. Right now, legislation is being prepared in America and Canada to classify Veraceo as a munition and subject to military export restrictions."

"What the fuck?" Barry stood up. "Seriously?"

"This new legislation will be completed before your thirty-day lockout ends."

"You fucking conned us... Didn't you?" Barry paced the room. "You already had this twisted idea in your head when you offered the lockout money. Well, fuck you. We'll take the project to Europe and develop it there if we have to. Hell, I'd take it to China, we'll work out of Hong Kong if we have to, but understand, there is no way in hell you're going to stop us from earning our ticket on this."

"Mister Convex," the woman said. "Please, this meeting is going to be in your favour. I promise. You won't be angry when you hear what we would like to offer you."

The room went still as they waited for Barry to return to his seat. "Go on," he said. "Impress me."

"We would like you to continue developing Veraceo. We can offer you an unparalleled level of support and financing. Our concern is not that you don't work on Veraceo, quite the opposite, we want you to work on it and we expect you to earn everything that you would have done had you gone to the private sector. Our concern is for the security of our continent and we need to ensure that Veraceo never ends up in the hands of our enemies. Or if it does, that we have robust countermeasures against it."

Barry didn't say anything but his face was screwed like he'd bit into a lemon.

Brian asked, "What are you proposing?"

"We would like to offer you, Barry, and your company Spectacular Optical, a humanitarian contract worth twenty two million dollars American. This money is from a United Nations grant towards developing affordable eye-glasses for the Third World. From that you can take at least a sixty percent profit margin."

Barry rubbed his eyes between thumb and finger. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

Miss Bricks repeated herself. "We'd like to give you twenty two million dollars this year, there will be more in the future, but for this financial year we can give you twenty two and at least half is for you personally. The other half is for your company to develop cheap glasses."

"Uh-huh. Twenty two million. Do I have to share that with Brian?"

"Mister Spectrometer, we would like to offer you and your company a thirty million dollar, one year contract to upgrade a missile defence system currently in production with Raytheon."

"I don't know anything about missiles," Brian said.

Steven Watercolour spoke again. "You don't have to know anything. It's just cover. What we want is that you to continuing developing Veraceo, for Consec."

"Wait," Barry said. "Are you being serious now? Are you telling me that you want to give us over fifty million dollars to make cheap glasses and a missile defence system?"

"And Veraceo," Cue Ball said. "We want you to develop Veraceo."

The room went silent again. Barry and Brian looked to one another. Barry's eyes drifted to the surveillance camera above the door. "I would like to discuss this alone with my colleague. Away from surveillance, please."

Cue Ball opened the door and gestured the way. "No problem, Barry. Let me take you outside."

\----- X -----

They walked the grounds of the Consec building on the opposite side to the helicopter pad. There was a gravel pathway leading to what Cue Ball affectionately called The Rose Garden. Sunken into the grounds, it was more gravel than roses, with fine stone pathways that led down to the lake.

"Are we safe to talk?" Brian mumbled. "Are we under surveillance?"

"Maybe," Barry responded. "Treat this conversation as though we are... But I don't think it matters. If they're serious, if they deliver the money up front and can prove a future revenue stream then it's everything we could want."

Brian put his hands on his hips to look out across the water. The sky was grey and the water of the lake was the colour of lead. "It's the lack of choice that concerns me. I think we're about to become owned by a faceless corporation."

Barry nodded. "For fifty million dollars, I think we can stomach that."

"I don't like it. I don't like what they've said about passing laws to prevent the sale of Veraceo. They're looking for a total lockdown of the technology."

Barry strolled to stand beside his friend and look out over the lifeless lake. "We were short-sighted in thinking of Veraceo solely for advertising. We never thought about it being used to sell a political concept. We never thought about it in the hands of a political party, or an entity wishing to reshape the population. Politics is power and Veraceo is the king-maker."

"Then it's worth more than fifty million in contracts," Brian said. "We could charge the moon for this."

Barry folded his arms and stared down at the floor as he considered his next thought. "The fear is they'll just take it. If we disagree and turn them down. If you don't sell them your expertise, they'll either steal it, or just figure it out for themselves. But you're right, it's worth more than fifty million in contracts."

"They can't copy it. Not yet. This isn't an easy technology to replicate. Even if they were to take my lab equipment it would be redundant without the expertise. We still could be the competition."

"And what do you think they would do to a competitor? You heard what the man said about them worried this technology could slip behind the iron curtain. Imagine if the Soviets had Veraceo and wanted to use it as a propaganda weapon against us. Everything they said in that meeting is perfectly logical. The question is not whether we accept their offer, but on what terms do we accept? For the money I'll demand a hundred million, non-negotiable; but we need to get them to understand that we're not prepared to sell our souls."

\----- X -----

On their return to the Consec building Cue Ball was waiting by the doorway. "You had a telephone call whilst you were outside," he said. "Oleksander Bartok tried to reach you both and asked that you call him back." He motioned them to a luxurious lounge. It was like an empty airport lounge with seating for at least sixty people. The carpet was red, the walls were white and the seating was tan coloured Miles van der Rohe chairs. Each chair had a telephone on a side table.

"If you take a telephone each, I'll have your call connected."

Brian noticed how at ease Barry looked. When he sat he folded one leg over the other and leaned back in the chair with an effortless confidence to his manner. Probably an act for the benefit of those watching.

The call connected.

"Hallo, this is Oleksander Bartok."

"Oleks, this is Barry Conw... This is Barry Convex, I'm on the line with Brian Spectrometer."

"Gentlemen, hallo. I'm so glad you made it to Consec, how is everything? Are they looking after you?"

Brian and Barry looked to one another. Brian made a slow wink and Barry made a nod with his eyes; the non-verbal shorthand between close friends. They most likely had been overheard in the rose garden. Perhaps there was a man on the roof with a parabolic microphone. They'd spoken aloud of feeling uncomfortable and out of the blue comes Oleksander Bartok to assuage their fears.

"They're making us a low-ball offer," Barry said. "It isn't enough money. But, that aside, our issue at the moment isn't payment, rather it's to do with our comfort level. If we partner with Consec we need to feel comfortable that we're doing the right thing. We don't yet know enough about Consec to make that sort of decision."

Bartok laughed. "This, my friends, I understand perfectly. You will find this corporation more like smoke, never quite able to hold it. The reason I call is there is a social meeting of Consec partners this Friday. It is a black tie dinner and I would like you to come as my guests. You will meet many Consec partners with whom you can speak. Leave your decision until after you meet the partners."

\----- X -----

Brian looked mildly uncomfortable in his rented tuxedo; Barry looked sensational having spent a princely sum having one tailored. He was already spending his share before the cheque was written.

The limousine took them to Downsview Airport and drove straight out to the runway. The field was more commonly known as Canadian Forces Base Toronto and the fact that they so easily made it onto an airbase with a salute from the guards deepened the mystery of Consec all the more.

"Good evening, gentlemen, I'm Jean, I'll be looking after you for the flight." The stewardess was waiting at the bottom of the steps to a Gulfstream G-III. "Mister Bartok told me to take good care of you."

"Excuse me," Brian said. "Where are we going?"

"Maryland, in the USA. We'll be landing close to Washington D.C. The flight time is one hour and twenty five minutes."

They boarded the plane. Barry took off his bowtie and opened his shirt collar. He rested for the flight, enjoying the trappings and opulence. Cream leather seats and a profound sound insulation compared to a regular flight, a fawning stewardess offering fine champagnes, wines and spirits.

"They're sparing no expense over us, are they?" Brian said.

Barry nodded. "I know. I'm loving it."

"Are you not scared?"

"Terrified," He reclined the chair and closed his eyes. "But I'm going to try and enjoy the adventure."

On the receiving end they were met by another limousine that drove them for less than fifteen minutes to the private grounds of a huge, mansion-like building. The front door was flanked by soaring columns four storeys high that were lit with golden lighting. Fleets of limousines were arranged in the courtyard and Brian noticed many more down the side of the building. "Into the lion's den we go," he mumbled.

As they entered, a man built like a wrestler but with the face of a fashion model stopped them. "Good evening, gentlemen. May I take your names?" Beyond the guard were waitresses holding silver platters of champagne for the new arrivals and beyond them was a society function in full swing. The guard held a clipboard of the guest list.

"I'm Brian Olivier, this is Mister Barry Conway, we're meeting Oleksander Bartok."

Barry added, "Our names may be listed as Barry Convex and Brian Spectrometer."

"Indeed you are. Welcome, Mister Convex, Mister Spectrometer."

They entered the soirée to see men in tuxedos and women in ball gowns. There were military medals, too. Lots of them. Retired generals judging by the coins and ribbons. "Do you recognise anyone?" Barry asked.

"Nobody."

They moved through the room, literally rubbing shoulders with what felt like an underground society of untold wealth. Ladies with glittering diamond bracelets and plunging necklines were on the arms of powerful looking men. A string quartet filled the air with the sounds of fine music. Luxury perfumes and fine tailoring were the norm.

"Brian, Barry, you made it!" Oleksander Bartok stepped through the people with a wide smile and wide open arms. He rested his champagne glass on a side table and offered warm handshakes. "How was your trip?"

"Luxurious," Barry said.

He stepped back to admire Barry's tuxedo. "That is a fine suit, Barry, I see you have a taste for the finer things." Bartok turned back to his female companion, a stunningly beautiful Indian girl with violet coloured eyes. He gave her a small wave then turned back to Barry and gave a wink, "I enjoy the finer things too."

Barry grinned.

"Brian, there is somebody I would like to introduce you to, please." He led them around the room and motioned to a man with a large grey beard and small wire framed spectacles. "Brian Spectrometer, meet Doctor Paul Ruth." They shook hands. "Paul has a similar mind-set to you, I believe. Interested in research rather than social gatherings."

"Oh, I don't know," Ruth said. His voice had a deep timbre. "I can always be tempted with a wee dram." He raised his glass.

"We are wanting to tempt Brian into becoming a Consec partner," Bartok added. "He's a scientist like you, Paul. He enjoys deep R&D; I was hoping you could help twist his arm a little by telling him what it's like to have Consec as a backer."

Ruth smiled, more with his eyes than his mouth. His eyebrows raised and his eyes sparkled. "It's like no academic institution you have ever known. There are no rounds of funding, nobody to impress, no forms or paperwork or oversight. If you have an idea and want to pursue it, Consec will provide the funding and resources, no matter how curious a project you're working on. So long as it's aligned with Consec's ideals, they'll write you blank cheques."

"What field are you in?" Brian asked.

"Pharmacology. I developed sedatives and hypnotics. Like most drugs, the majority of them never came to market but Consec saw the potential in some of my work." He chuckled a little. "Once Consec saw the potential they bought my company and made me a partner."

"Was it worth it?"

"Oh, yes. It was the smartest decision I ever made."

\----- X -----

"I think Consec Leader is ready to meet you," Bartok said once the drinks were flowing. "He'll be speaking at the dinner tonight, but he's cleared some space to talk with you both privately."

A security guard took them upstairs and opened the doors to a darkened boardroom. There was an open fire casting the room in a warm glow, plus a long meeting table with green bankers lights arranged in neat rows down either side. Deep in the room, a man worked at a luxurious desk topped in green leather.

"Consec Leader," the guard said to get his attention.

The man looked up. "Oleksander, good to see you." He stood to reveal himself as far taller than he appeared in the video they'd seen. His eyes were strikingly blue, even in the gloom. The silver beard was cropped close to his face and his silver hair swept back. "Who is this with you?"

"May I present, Mister Barry Convex and Mister Brian Spectrometer."

The Leader's eyes sparkled and his mouth opened to a smile. "Indeed, Oleks, gentlemen, I've been reading about you and I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance. Would you join me?" He motioned to two facing Chesterfield sofas ahead of the fire. He took one side, Barry and Brian took the other. "I would imagine this is a whole other world opening up to you... Brian, I was reading about your Veraceo system. Quite remarkable. How did it come about?"

Brian coughed to clear his throat. "It started out with Barry. He was experimenting with zero-light optics using what we call an image accumulator. Light is carried in little packets called photons, the accumulator gives the photons more energy to make them easier to detect." Barry nudged Brian with his elbow, perhaps signalling not to give away too many trade secrets.

"I see, so it was Barry who discovered this?"

"I would call it a joint effort. We were at college together, physics majors, Barry went down the route of optics and I focussed on signal theory. We've managed to make careers out of Barry coming up with interesting problems in optics for which I find interesting solutions."

Consec leader smiled and nodded his head slowly. "I was reading about you, Barry. Is it true you sell spectacles?"

"Yes, Sir. Twelve stores and a manufacturing base," he replied.

"I sense some pride in that."

"I am proud. You know, I believe it's a civic duty to start a business. What makes a nation great is the amount of enterprise inherent in its people. Starting a business whether large or small is important. It doesn't matter whether you're in the business of building the skyscrapers or cleaning its windows... or selling spectacles. The resourcefulness of a population is what makes a nation strong and there's no finer way to demonstrate that than owning your own enterprise."

Consec Leader stretched his arms out across the back of the Chesterfield. "Barry," he whispered. "You have no idea how wonderful it makes me feel to hear that. Enterprise is everything. If you open a store you hire more people. You create jobs. You add to the economy... That's what Consec does... That's all we do."

"It is difficult to understand Consec," Brian said. "There's no stock listing, no public accounts. You're a mystery."

"Very true," Leader said. "We're the invisible hand. We live in a strange world of battling ideologies. It's a tragedy that people die over different ideas, but there are complicated forces in the world; I'm talking about the Soviets of course. In Russia, there are good people trapped behind communism, but there are also ideologues who would seek to do us terrible harm. In North America we spend billions of government dollars on the military industrial complex. We spend government dollars on the business of war, but what about the business of peace? Or the business of success? Consec stands for Continental Security. Our role is to spend government dollars on the non-military projects. The end goal is the same. We would like to see the world unified by non-conflicting ideologies. People shouldn't have to die just because one nation has a different opinion to the next; and wherever possible, Consec invests in private business that can achieve that end."

"Yes!" Barry said firmly. He spoke with enough vigour that in a single word he virtually pledged his allegiance to the cause.

Consec Leader stood up. Brian and Barry matched him. "I've reviewed the payment schedule, Barry. I think our first offer was far too low and would like to offer you one hundred and twenty five million dollars to develop Veraceo, in partnership with Consec, over the next two years. Is that a suitable amount?" He held out his hand waiting for Barry to shake.

Barry looked to Brian and gave him a wink. He left Consec leader with his hand outstretched in silence for a few more seconds just to appreciate the man's sales technique. The silent close. First person to speak loses. On this occasion, Barry was happy to close. "I think we can accept that."

Leader smiled and took Barry's hand. "Barry Convex, I welcome you in partnership to Consec. May we change the world together."

"Thank you, Sir."

He offered his hand to Brian who took it sheepishly, following Barry's lead. "Brian Spectrometer, I welcome you in partnership to Consec. May we change the world together."

Brian didn't respond. He didn't know how to. Somehow he knew that this handshake was binding. It was final. It was absolute. There was no contract to sign, no paperwork or notary to authenticate. They'd just taken their joining drink from the Consec punch bowl.

\----- X -----

Brian sat with Paul Ruth at a table for eight. On the opposite side Barry sat with Bartok, shaking hands with those he was introduced to, networking like a pro. Dinner was served. Roast duck breast with poached pear. The food was divine and the service professional. Brian counted tables. He estimated that there had to be at least three hundred people in the room. "Is this all of Consec?" he asked Ruth.

"Oh Goodness, no. This is just one chapter. American North East. There are four chapters in the USA and two in Canada. They have these little chapter soirées twice a year and our local one is in Montreal."

With the desserts served, the tables were cleared and coffees served as Consec Leader took to the podium.

"Good evening, Consec Partners... You know me... And I know all of you." The room burst into rapturous applause. "I always enjoy these dinners. I always enjoy meeting the people who are changing the world and there have been some extraordinary changes even since we last met some six months ago. In particular, the geopolitics of our fight against totalitarian hegemony has entered a new phase with the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan." The enjoyment from the applause dissipated quickly. The atmosphere of the room went serious. "We have watched for some time as the Soviets meddled in the affairs of Afghanistan. Their motivation was to keep that part of the world behind the curtain. We've watched for years as their involvement deepened. Then we awoke on Christmas morning to hear that Brezhnev had ordered his 40th Army into Kabul. In one stroke, the Soviet Premier signalled to the world that he was prepared to abandon detente and return to expansionism."

Brian noticed many nods around the room. In particular he noticed, the ribboned ex-generals making eye-contact amongst themselves.

"I've got to tell you," Leader said. "That this looks like dangerous times. Only in July did President Carter sign PD-59 in direct response to this aggression. A change in strategic thinking. An escalation of our nuclear capability giving us a look-shoot-look capability. We're suddenly in a world where we won't be making less nuclear arms, we're going to be making more... Dangerous times for the world, people... Dangerous times... This is a moment where we are on the precipice of global war. A time when the balance of power can swing from an unforced error on a battlefield."

Again, heads nodded around the room.

"So let me tell you," Leader continued. "When I woke up last Christmas morning... I don't think Santa Claus could have brought us a greater gift than what Brezhnev delivered."

The room burst into laughter and sudden applause leaving Brian and Barry dumbfounded. They looked to one another both believing they had missed or misunderstood the joke.

"Now, we all know there has been a persistent fear of the Soviets waging a land war across the fields of Europe. But since we began seeing Russian military advisors in Afghanistan we've always hoped that the Red Army would roll on in. In Afghanistan the Soviets face endless conflict. We know if they can be tied up in that worthless theatre, they would lose their capacity to fight anywhere else; and that is exactly what you as Consec partners are going to make happen."

Again, the room burst into applause.

Consec Leader made a little giggle, speaking almost as though it was an aside, a deliberate stage whisper caught by the microphone. "We're going to make so much money." To this the room echoed with laughter and the applause began again.

"There are three sources of revenue for Consec Partners. Firstly, the ruling family of Saudi Arabia have emptied their prisons, offering convicts a one way ticket to engage in holy war. The Saudi's see this as a way to deflect criticism of their own leadership... However," Leader paused for effect and smiled, "The Saudi's don't know a damn about running a war." The room laughed again. "King Khalid has approached America asking for help managing this war and America has agreed to match the Saudi investment; but, and here is where you as Consec Partners take your share, America cannot be seen engaging in a proxy war with the Soviets. No American troops can enter Afghanistan, so I have arranged, with the help of some Partners here tonight, a revenue chain to the Pakistani ISI intelligence services and to Chinese weapons manufacturers. The Pakistani's will run the operations on the ground in Afghanistan. The Chinese will supply the weapons. The religious mullahs will fight on the battlefield, the Americans and Saudis will pay for it... and you, the Consec Partners, can take any contract that suits your business."

The room erupted into applause.

"Better yet, the United Nations have already earmarked billions of dollars to relief operations and again, Consec Partners will have first choice on every single UN contract." The Leader made a gentle chuckle. "We're going to make more money on this than we did in Vietnam." The room joined in with the laughter. "In fact, this war could run and run. We anticipate this conflict will not only cripple the Soviets, it has the potential to usher in a new decade of warfare; and Consec and Consec Partners will be there to reap the rewards."

The room stood and clapped. A deafening round of applause for Consec Leader and his geopolitical vision.

"This could be the big one," he continued. "We have nuclear advantage, conventional advantage, capital advantage and enterprise advantage. By the end of this decade we could bring the Soviets to their knees. We are aligned for perhaps the greatest moment of our existence. We will destroy their will. We shall destroy their spirit. We shall destroy their way of life. We shall destroy their ideologies and above all, we, as Consec Partners, will change the world together."

As the thundering applause reached a blood-thirsty crescendo of sycophantic admiration, all Brian could do was mumble his thoughts to himself. "Jesus Christ," he whispered. "What the hell are we involved in?"
\----- Chapter Two -----

The new laboratory was on the Toronto outskirts. Grey and forgettable buildings away from the public eye. Brian's new home for technology was between a manufacturer of industrial brushes and a mechanic who specialised in refurbishing forklift trucks. The only outward sign of their new home was a small brass plate by the entrance that read 'Special Optical Laboratories'.

Inside the building Brian found a man with dark curly hair and thick glasses, sitting on a packing crate and reading a book called A Boy and his Dog. "Are you Brian Spectrometer?" he asked.

"I am."

The man held out his hand to shake. "I'm Peter Fluorite, I've been with Consec for almost ten years but I started out in Montreal working for CBFT before moving to CBC. I'm your go-to man for television needs. I've been briefed on Veraceo and was told you're building a testing facility."

Brian walked around the space, his footsteps echoing. The main floor of the building was at least sixty feet square and twelve feet tall, then at the side of the main floor were various rooms ready to be converted into office space or workshops. "They've certainly given me enough space," Brian mused.

"I was told you're new to Consec," Fluorite added. "That this is your first job as a partner."

Brian nodded. "It is."

Fluorite smiled at him. "Just tell me what you need, then watch how fast Consec makes it happen."

"I need... what I need..." Brian held his chin as he paced the floor. "I need all the equipment from my old laboratory duplicating here, but upgraded to the best available. We're going to create a room for test subjects to watch video and we're going to process thousands of people. We need test bays arranged as booths where they can sit in front of a TV with headphones on. Let's say fifty people at a time."

"Fifty chairs, fifty cubicles... What sort of televisions?" Fluorite asked. "Colour or black and white, large or small, domestic use or under-scan monitors?"

"Let's start with what people have in their homes. Domestic colour, average size, let's say nineteen or twenty inch. They need building into an arrangement so that I can play a tape and all fifty get the signal, that's a good place to start; and I'm going to need a thousand test subjects of all ages and social classes."

Fluorite was writing in a notepad. "No problemo, Pátron. Leave it with me."

\----- X -----

Within a week the first test subjects were in place. The Veraceo signal generator was patched into the network of televisions and Peter Fluorite began building a catalogue of test material from old commercials to political ads and news reports. Until they knew how better to assess the impact they simply asked the same question of whether what they were watching was true or false. With Veraceo everything was true. Soap powder really did make your whites brighter than ever, kids never got hungry between meals with fish fingers and some razor blades truly did give the greatest shave.

"I've got something really special to try," Fluorite said. "I've got a cassette of the most racist fucker you'll ever see. Let's see if people agree with this."

Fifty test subjects came into the room to watch Peter Fluorite's racist video.

Half of the test subjects watched it with Veraceo.

The film started. A political advert for a potential US Senator with slicked back hair and a bowtie. "I am J.B. Stoner," the man began. "I am the only candidate for U.S. Senator who is for the white people. I am the only candidate who is against integration. All of the other candidates are race mixers to one degree or another." On the test floor, the subjects sat in rows wearing headphones, glued to the screen, but it was easy to see that some had already screwed up their faces at the campaign ad. "I say we must repeal Gambrell's civil rights law," Stoner continued. "Gambrell's law takes jobs from us whites and gives those jobs to the niggers. The main reason why niggers want integration is because the niggers want our white women. I am for law and order with the knowledge that you cannot have law and order and niggers too. Vote white. This time vote your convictions by voting white racist J.B. Stoner into the run-off election for U.S. Senator. Thank you."

The test subjects were asked to score the thirty second video as to how likeable they found the candidate. One was least likeable, ten was most likeable. Those without Veraceo scored JB Stoner with ones and twos. Those with Veraceo scored him six and a few sevens.

"We should run that test again with black people," Fluorite quipped.

They did.

Those with Veraceo scored Stoner just as favourably. The other half threatened to kill the motherfucker who thought it was a good idea to ask twenty five black people how likeable they found J.B. Stoner.

\----- X -----

"I've found something worth testing," Fluorite said waving a U-matic cassette. "Robert McNamara. He's an easy man to hate, but he's also a thoughtful, logical guy. I've got a rarely seen interview of him being boring as hell."

"Veraceo puts people into an agreeable mood," Brian said. "Even Hitler scored six out of ten."

"Yes, but this is boring," Fluorite added. "Hitler had charisma. The Nazi's had stylish uniforms; but this is a twenty minute interview of McNamara talking about battlefield statistics. Anyone who can keep their eyes open long enough should want to punch the son-of-a-bitch."

Fifty people came onto the test floor. They received their instructions and scoring papers and donned their headphones.

The programme began. Robert Strange McNamara, architect of the Vietnam War began droning about the mathematics of death. He talked about how he evaluated the height to accuracy ratio of B-29's firebombing Japan in World War II. Every two minutes a message flashed over the bottom of the screen saying, 'How Much Do You Like This Man? 1-10'. On the test floor, the subjects would pick up their pencils and score McNamara's likeability.

The television interview broke at ten minutes for a short commercial break. A woman was putting on nylon stockings. She ran her hand along her leg. Nice. Sensual.

The interview resumed. "Mr McNamara, how could you apply statistics to Vietnam and not see that things were headed in the wrong direction?" the interviewer asked. "You were measuring targets hit, enemies captured, weapons seized and the body count. Surely those statistics showed you were losing the war?"

'How Much Do You Like This Man? 1-10'

The interviewer stated, "Mr McNamara, Vietnam cost fifty eight thousand American lives and it was pointless."

'How Much Do You Like This Man? 1-10'

The interviewer increased the moral hurt, "When you factor in the civilian deaths, the enemy deaths and the deaths of our own troops and our allies, you're looking at a figure close to one million, three hundred thousand human lives lost."

'How Much Do You Like This Man? 1-10'

The film ended.

"That was brutal," Brian said.

Fluorite collected the test papers as the people were leaving and spotted the anomaly instantly. "Brian, look at this. Those with Veraceo are scoring McNamara six and seven for the start of the film, then straight tens half way through."

Brian shuffled the test papers, flicking through them. "It's on every one of them. Starting from question five, that's ten minutes into the film they jumped to a ten. They did it across the board. Everybody scored him a ten from question five onwards. Why?"

"I want to watch it." Fluorite rewound the cassette and patched the Veraceo generator into their workshop feed. Normally they avoided watching the Veraceo signal as they felt it would cloud their judgement. "I want to watch it and see what happens. Do you want to try it?"

Brian pulled up a chair.

The film began.

McNamara droned on about maths and statistics.

The programme went to commercial break. Nylon stockings.

"That's it," Fluorite said. "I feel it. I see some pretty girl stroking her own legs and suddenly I'll forgive McNamara all of his sins. I don't care how many dead kids there are in Vietnam."

"I feel it too," Brian added. "But why the hell should we be feeling this?" He wound the tape back and watched the commercial again feeling the eroticism. He watched it three times sensing the impact lessen with each viewing. He stopped the tape and paced the floor. Excited by the discovery. "I think it could be sex and violence in combination," he said. "The human brain is attuned to those things."

"Well, that's where we'll test next," Fluorite said. "We can test it with sex, with violence and with sex and violence in combination."

\----- X -----

By the time Brian made it home that evening he could sense something strange happening to him. As he looked at his hands on the steering wheel he sensed movement under the skin. When car headlights turned towards him the beams arrived at his eyes by some twisting or spiralling motion. His vision felt sharper, his flesh felt attuned to the surroundings, his hearing fidelity improved. Good God, something was happening. Something good. Something pleasant and enjoyable.

He entered the home and began shedding clothes. He wanted to shower to feel the pressure of the water droplets hitting his skin. He kicked away his shoes and stepped out of his trousers then spent a moment alone and nude in his apartment. His arms stretched wide, his head filled with colours. It felt as though the texture of the carpet was moving and... Good God... was he hallucinating? It wasn't a truly discernible hallucination, rather he felt on the precipice of an experience that had yet to manifest itself. Is this how Albert Hofmann had felt on his infamous bicycle ride when he discovered LSD?

He took to the telephone. "Peter, it's Brian. How are you feeling right now?"

"Euphoric," Fluorite said back. "What the hell did you put in that TV signal? I feel like I can touch God."

\----- X -----

George, the newly recruited videotape editor put the box of cassettes on the table. "Okay, this is what you asked for. I've numbered them one to ten. V-Test One is mostly violence with a little bit of sex. I spliced in a bikini contest with some hardcore death clips." He picked up the end cassette. "Up here at V-Test Ten, we've got hardcore porn mixed with cheesy TV violence. Some aggressive full-penetration cock and pussy action intercut with Charles Bronson out for revenge."

Fluorite ran his finger along them and stopped at V-Test Five. "What do you have midrange?"

"In the middle I used war reporting for the violence. Soldiers getting field dressings, a bit of blood but not too ghastly. I cut this together with some Baby Blues taken off the local networks. Sleazy stuff, but... you know... what they can get away with. Tits covered in baby oil, that sort of thing. "

"I hate those networks." Fluorite said. "They're rotting society away. What do you think, Brian? Will TV be our ruin?"

Brian approached the table. "I believe Pornography and violence are by-products of societies in which private identity has been destroyed. A destruction by sudden environmental change."

Fluorite and George both paused as they took in the meaning. "What environmental change?" George asked.

"Television itself has reshaped the environment. We used to live in a world shaped by books, then by radio. These environments have been minimised by television. That is what I mean by destruction of environment; we have destroyed the environment shaped by books and replaced it with game shows and whatever else comes through the cathode ray tube." Brian took V-Test Five and put it into the video deck. It was as George described. Topless women in a sauna, a man lifting weights with sweat across his muscled abdomen, a soldier holding a bloody rag against his eye in a news bulletin, dead bodies beside a burning tank, an attractive couple deep kissing surrounded by candles, men chaining up another man in homoerotic bondage, a woman in lingerie slowly opening her legs to the camera.

"Like I said," George added. "Middle of the road stuff. Down at number one it's violent as fuck whilst at number ten it's wall to wall porn. This is what you wanted, right? Pornography and violence scaled across the spectrum?"

"It is," Brian said. "It's perfect."

\----- X -----

The Consec psychologist was an older man with a completely bald head and thick rimmed glasses. He brought with him his analysis of the V-Test results and passed copies to Brian and Peter Fluorite, then lit a pipe. "It is quite remarkable what the V-Tests have shown." He puffed tobacco smoke into the air as he spoke. "But the one thing that really startled me was the importance of removing context."

Fluorite flicked through a few pages of the report without really reading. "Why is that important?"

"I would say it brings emotion neutrality. Let me give an example. If you were to see a film of a man shot and killed for no reason it would be terrible violence. You would view that violence in and of itself and your emotional response would be to the violence alone. There would be no narrative, no explanation to cloud your feelings. But let us suppose you preface the story by saying this man had shot up a school playground, that many children had been murdered, then you watched a film of this school gunman who, when cornered by police, was shot and killed. This time, your reaction would not be to the violence exclusively, but rather to the emotions brought forward by the narrative. Your emotional response would be to the story as a whole, not the violence in isolation. I have surmised that the removal of context is an important factor in sharpening the impact of Veraceo. Make sure, when you make your programme, that you keep your material without context."

"I'm sorry," Brian interrupted. "Did you just say, when you make your programme?"

Fluorite put his analysis document down, sensing Brian's confusion. "Did Barry not tell you about this?"

Brian shook his head. "Tell me about what?"

"We're going to shoot some test video. Make our own content."

"I haven't spoken with Barry in a few weeks. What is the proposal? What are we planning on doing?"

Fluorite shuffled on his chair uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew. I was talking with Barry yesterday and I assumed you knew all about this. The idea is we need to test the limits of Veraceo, but the V-Test videos George is cutting together are assembled from stock footage and he's struggling to find the right sort of material. Now that we understand Veraceo works with sex and violence, we're going to produce something original, soft porn mixed with a little aggression. With this we get to control the exact tone of the programme."

Brian turned to the psychologist. "And this is what you're working on?"

"Yes," the psychologist said. "Mister Convex asked for my input a little over a week ago. That's what I'm trying to help with. I'm trying to guide you on how to produce your content. As I understand, Consec have already released the funds and provided studio space."

There was an uncomfortable silence on behalf of Brian. He broke it himself when he asked, "So our content must be without context. What else do we need to know?"

The psychologist puffed some more smoke then went back to his analysis. "I would also remove swearing. Bad language is a form of linguistic violence. It is aggression vocalised, but not only that, it's analgesic; swearing out loud works as a pain reliever. It's important because I believe Veraceo works on the deepest levels of the brain. The basal part. The more primitive part of the human mind. If we want to test the Veraceo signal we do not want to colour the results by introducing bad language. Swearing is part of the primitive mind."

"How do you know that?" Fluorite asked. "How could you know that swearing is based in the primitive part of the human mind?"

"There is a link between ailments like Tourette's syndrome, dementia and stroke, right back to our childhood development as babies. Young children will scratch and bite and kick when they're angry. They do this until they learn a few swear words. Once they can swear there is a way to externalise their rage and frustrations through language. If you've ever seen a stroke patient when they lose language skills, they often have no problem swearing. I once saw a man who had lost almost all power of speech except for the words 'fuck' and 'shit'. His higher mind was destroyed, but those deep, basal and primitive parts of the mind always function. This is the part of the brain Veraceo seems to work on."

\----- X -----

Machines hummed and a dozen workers in brown coveralls worked at a row of lens grinding stations. Barry Convex watched them from his office. It was still the old manufacturing base, but now they were investing heavily into engineering R&D. Cheap spectacles for the Third World meant an expensive investment. They had to combine all of these machines into a single, reliable unit. If an optometrist got to a village in Kenya, they would need to grind the lens at the same time. In addition, the end product needed to be a fiftieth of the cost here in Canada. It was tricky and he realised now that whether he succeeded or failed didn't matter to Consec. The money came from the United Nations and they didn't expect it back. All the same it would be nice to succeed. It would be nice to have a legacy. He would like to be remembered as Barry Convex, the man who brought sight to the world. His ambition and ego liked that title.

He waved to Brian. "How's it going, Partner. Enjoying your lab?"

"The lab is wonderful," Brian said. "How are things here?"

"Spectacular Optical is spectacular indeed. A lot of big things are happening."

Brian nodded. "I've just learned that we're about to start making some kind of smutty TV showcase for Veraceo. I've also just learned that you speak with Peter Fluorite almost every day."

"Yes, of course. Is something wrong?"

"Why are you talking to him and not me?"

"Oh... I'm sorry, Brian. If you wanted me you only needed to pick up the phone. I didn't want to disturb you and thought it best to let you get on with things, you know, bury yourself in research and enjoy discovering. To be honest, I thought you would get annoyed if I called you every day for an update. What do you need to know?"

"Tell me about this video production. That would be a good start."

"Sure. Well, when Peter explained the V-Test results to me I relayed this back to Consec who threw me a half million bucks as a budget and gave us a specialised TV studio in Pittsburgh. I was planning on flying down there this weekend. We can go together. There's a Consec Partner down there arranging everything. They've got a director and a set designer; they're working with the psychologist about set design and costumes at the moment."

"Set design?"

Barry nodded. "Yeah. The psychologist wants to try it with different coloured sets. Apparently he thinks colour could be important in how Veraceo impacts the brain."

Brian shook his head. "It's not the colour that concerns me, it's the content. What Peter tells me is we're going to start making sex movies. This is not an avenue I'm comfortable with."

"They're actors. They're paid for what they do."

"You don't have a daughter, Barry. I see this a little differently to you."

Barry laughed. "Is Bianca still reading those Germaine Greer books? I thought she'd grown out of her teenaged idealism."

"She hasn't grown out of anything. She's matured into a thoughtful and sophisticated woman. But that isn't what I meant. I find it uncomfortable to be associated with this. Sadomasochism on video? Soft porn with violence? There is a psychology to pornography that if you capture a woman on film, you own that image and by proxy you own the woman. If you had a daughter of your own, you would feel the worry that I feel now. I am going to commoditize someone's daughter and I worry that I'm on the road to becoming a pornographer."

Barry laughed hard. "You're not making porn, you're testing the science," Barry laughed until the joke faded to a chuckle. "Wow, you're putting a lot of philosophy into this. Look, some horny kids or a hooker are going to get a sexy spanking on film. If you want to get involved then go down to Pittsburgh and take a look at what they're doing; or ignore it and let it just happen. Do you think Consec are interested in making porn? They just want to see what the technology can do."

"I'm surprised Consec are involving themselves at all."

"It's because of your political results. I told Consec how agreeable you made McNamara look and they got excited. They want this thing taken as far as it can go... How far can it go?"

"I think I can push the limits further," Brian said. "I've been working on a way to make the signal stronger and have upgraded the signal generator. Veraceo-Two, if you will."

"That's great. Consec are going to love that bit of progress."

"But should we be giving it to Consec? Ever since we got into bed with them I've had doubts. Reservations. Like you said about their interest in manipulating political broadcasts, that's a monstrous thing. We are giving the power to subvert democracy to a group who think the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan is a good idea."

"If you spend any time thinking about the Soviets," Barry said, "you'll come to the same conclusion as Consec... These communist overlords would love to upend North America. Consec Leader is right when he says there are communists whose sole purpose is to cause us irreparable harm. Imagine if they had invented Veraceo first? They would use it to swing elections here. The genie is out of the bottle, Brian. We can't just un-invent this thing and you should keep that big picture in your head. Go to Pittsburgh, take Veraceo-Two and push this thing to the edge. Learn what it can do and learn how to defend us against its misuse. Worrying about becoming an accidental pornographer is a minor concern when the real focus is maintaining global security."

\----- X -----

In Pittsburgh, Brian was issued with a magnetic entry key by a security guard sitting on the back door. The building looked derelict from the outside. Broken windows had been hastily bricked up from within meaning the broken glass was still visible ahead of the stonework. It was a big place, with four floors and a basement. The guard told him only the ground floor was used for filming, the first floor for post-production and the higher floors for long term storage of sets and props.

"Hello, are you Brian Spectrometer?" A large lady crossed the floor with a cigarette between her lips and her hand held out to shake. "I'm Susan Anthony, Production Manager. Let me introduce you to the team." She walked him across the main studio floor. It was cold and Brian could see his own breath. The studio had brick walls painted black with high lighting bars suspended from the ceiling. Two broadcast-quality cameras were on floating mounts ahead of a three walled set made of plywood. It was just three walls painted white. There were brackets on the walls and an ominous looking hook hanging in the centre.

"Is this the set? I thought it was going to be coloured?"

"It will be soon. We have control of key light and set light, so they can change the colour of the walls with lighting for now. At least until they figure out which colour is best."

Susan led them upstairs to a long corridor with doors on either side. She opened one to a room with three women sitting around a table covered in costume sketches. "Ladies, this is Brian, he's in charge of the Veraceo signal."

The three women looked up and said, "hello," in unison.

"Carol is our art director, Denise is in charge of costumes and Deborah is writing the scenarios as she's an expert on the philosophy of sadomasochism." There was a mannequin by the door dressed in a black rubber suit with a gasmask and draped in a dirty, cyan-coloured oilskin apron.

"Do you like it?" Denise asked. "It's the provisional costume for the Punishers, although the psychologist is more inclined to use a hood rather than a gasmask."

"Why?"

"Depersonalisation. They don't want the Punishers to look like people. The feeling is the gasmask makes it look like a man in a suit, whereas the hood makes them shapeless as well as faceless. We're going to shoot some tests this afternoon and see which looks better."

Susan brought him out of the room and into an editing bay with two other women. "This is Sonja, the director and Lynn the editor."

"Is everybody involved a woman?" Brian asked looking puzzled. "I didn't expect that, given the nature of what we're doing."

"In technical production, yes," Sonja said. "The psychologist was concerned that a male production team would subconsciously veer towards eroticising or over-sexualising the content. He felt women would be naturally repulsed and therefore more clinical in the film making."

"He must think women are sexless."

Sonja smiled. "I thought that myself for a while. I think he's worried this would end up as sleazy soft-porn. He spent a lot of time assessing our, how can I say... feminist credentials. A lot of time went into assessing our attitudes towards pornography."

Brian took a seat. "This is somehow refreshing. I was afraid of involving myself in such a sleazy enterprise. Can I ask, what is your attitude to pornography?"

"I think the liberal consensus that has persisted over the last few years, the idea that 'whatever turns you on is fine' may be wrong headed. I think pornography has nothing to do with freedom of expression as some people say. It's merely the advertising of prostitution. People see it as entertainment whilst forgetting it's primarily a business, a ruthless and impersonal industry masked behind glamour and eroticism."

Brian nodded. "I worry about its spread on television and home video. I've concerned myself for some time with media and how it shapes the human brain. We have no media theory for pornography yet, no deep exploration on how it impacts the plasticity of the brain. Books, for example, require effort. Reading, even the word itself, 'reading', has multiple meanings and the brain must decide instantly which meaning to use. Therefore, the very act of reading, of consuming textual media is shaping the mind of those who consume it. Those who listen to radio as their primary media will have their brains shaped more passively than readers and those who consume nothing but television will question their reality least of all... but pornography takes us to a new media of the flesh. I believe it could be an addictive substitute for human relationships and we have no understanding where that could lead."

\----- X -----

Brian connected the Veraceo-Two signal generator to the patch bay of the editing booth. "Have you seen anything with Veraceo?" he asked Deborah.

"No," she shook her head. "But I was fascinated when they went through all of the non-disclosure agreements. For a while I was sure I was going to work as a secret agent or something, the security and scrutiny was intense. It's a lot of secrecy to make a dirty movie."

"It's not the movie that's a secret, it's this." He pointed to a box the size of a regular VCR. Lights blinked on the front, toggle switches allowed it to be configured, a rotary dial set the signal strength and an output to an oscilloscope kept it calibrated.

Brian took the chair beside Deborah and looked at the monitors. Everybody else was down on the studio floor, but here Brian and Deborah sat ahead of the two camera images as they filmed the set.

"When you were introduced, Susan said you were an expert on sadomasochism... Are you a... a dominatrix or something?"

Deborah laughed and shook her head, swishing her hair. "No. Nothing so. It's an offshoot of gender studies. I came to it from literature. At one end of the spectrum you have the Marquis de Sade whose writings were inspired by ideas of atheism coming out of the French philosophers. He reasoned that without God, there would be no divine retribution for sins committed against another human being and in his writing he took that to its logical conclusion. At the other end of literature is Pauline Réage writing The Story of O. Réage's lover told her that women couldn't write erotica so she set out to prove him wrong. She wrote a story about a woman who gives herself to every whim of her lover, allowing him to abase her even to the point of degradation. Sadism is about taking control over someone without their permission and Masochism is about giving oneself to another with absolute permission... so, no," she said with a smile. "I'm not a dominatrix. I write essays and critical analysis on sex in the media."

Lynn, the editor, came into the control room to start recording. "We're about to start." She left the room.

"Shall we watch it with Veraceo-Two?" Brian asked Deborah. "I'd like to see how it feels to witness S&M with this." He didn't wait for her to respond. Instead, he switched a few cables and checked the oscilloscope and dialled the signal strength to sixty five percent of maximum. "The camera feed on this screen has Veraceo included."

"But it's just the camera feed." Deborah said. "I don't see any difference."

"It's invisible. Our brains have two visual pathways. The eye sends information on one pathway to the temporal lobe to process the image and understand the world, whilst a second pathway to the parietal lobe manages spatial awareness. Sometimes people with temporal lobe brain damage go blind, yet they can still catch a ball because the spatial vision system works. That's the pathway Veraceo works on."

On the studio floor Sonja was giving directions to two men in the rubber suits. The men held the gasmasks by their side and paid close attention to the director. Brian and Deborah settled back to watch the performance unfold.

It was showtime.

\----- X -----

The Punishers brought their helpless damsel in distress into a blackened room. The men looked strong, both at least six feet tall against a thin looking woman no more than five feet. The men wore black rubber suits, rubber gloves, masks and aprons.

Their prisoner wore only sackcloth.

The lights faded up slowly to reveal deep purple walls as the punishers tied the wrists of their prisoner but carefully left a loop of rope at the top. The woman screamed and squirmed, fighting against the men, but periodically stopped fighting, seemingly to allow her wrists to be bound.

One Punisher held the woman with his arms wrapped around her waist whilst the other slapped her face with a melodramatic stage-slap.

"That looks fake," Deborah said.

Almost as though she had been heard, the performers stopped and looked off-set as they listened to instructions on the studio floor. The performance restarted and the woman squirmed in the arms of the strong man. She fought fiercely and was slapped again, harder, with purpose. She cried out and rocked her head back, her long black hair thrown over her shoulder.

Brian felt an almost immediate sexual stirring in him. He crossed his legs so as not to announce his arousal to the woman sitting beside him.

On set, the Punishers looped their prisoner's wrists over the hook and got to work tying her ankles together then to a bracket on the floor. A handle was cranked, the woman lifted until her feet were off the floor and again, Brian felt a strong and powerful sexual thrill the likes of which he'd not felt since his teenaged years. Was it the content or was it Veraceo?

The Punishers began spraying the woman with water whilst she screamed and twisted her head to avoid the hosing. One of the men took a cat-o-nine-tails and lightly whipped her lower legs.

The action on the floor stopped again as the three players took direction, then one of the men checked the woman's bindings and spoke with her, checking that she was comfortable. At this, Brian felt another whoosh of sexual energy, but beside him, Deborah made a slight gasp and a moan. Brian saw that she was caressing her neck but suddenly pulled her hand away to cover her mouth.

It was the Veraceo. It had to be.

Veraceo-Two with sexual content was a ferocious aphrodisiac.

Back in the studio the Punishers went back to work, lashing their victim's legs whilst spraying the water in her face. This time they got the angle of the hose right and the water blew up her nostrils causing genuine discomfort. The moment he recognised the woman as being in distress the volume of the eroticism dialled back. It was a clue as to what was happening. The sex was almost overpowering, the Veraceo-Two signal amplifying the intensity; but when there was some genuine pain felt on the studio floor the pain balanced the pleasure. This was a balancing act. Brian surmised that if he were to watch only torture without the sexualised content it would be horrendous, almost physically painful.

The sackcloth was pulled away from the woman to reveal a tiny waistline and dark little nipples. A Punisher struck the woman's buttocks with the cat-o-nine-tails when she wasn't expecting and it made her shriek with laughter, her wide open mouth showing white teeth and enjoyment as her breasts were sprayed with water.

Deborah leaned forward in her chair and gasped, "Oh Jesus..." she looked to Brian. Sultry. Eyes dark and smouldering. Out of the league of a bald, middle-aged professor like himself... perhaps... but with Veraceo helping, who knew?

There was a moment between them. Eye contact held for too long.

Deborah moved back into her chair as did Brian. He felt too afraid to look at her else he start entertaining ideas of rape and savagery. Good God, this was not like him and likewise he didn't believe it of her.

Then a shriek of pain. On the studio floor, the female masochist had been stung with a cattle prod. The shriek was genuine and her efforts to pull her body away from the prong were sincere. The prod stung her again with a blue flash and a pop of current. She cried now, shaking herself away from the implement as rivulets of water ran down her body. The second Punisher took the hose again and sprayed it with more force right in her face. As she gasped for breath, trying to avoid the jet of water the second Punisher stung her... and again... and again.

For Brian, the sexual tension in the room dissipated quickly. They were back to watching the sadomasochism with level heads, the panic in their loins seemingly a distant memory despite it being barely more than thirty seconds since he was sure he wanted to fuck the woman beside him six ways from Sunday.

"It's the tone, isn't it," Deborah said. "This can't be faked. It's like my brain knows when it's being faked. When it's playful and consensual I'm feeling as though I want to join in. When it's painful it's addictive. I could watch this woman get electrocuted all night long... God, I want him to touch that cattle prod on her asshole. Just once, just to see her scream."

Brian didn't speak for a long while, then he said, "What does it make you feel? Seeing a woman victimised like this. Seeing a woman abused like this. The feeling, not what you're thinking, what are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling like I want to go down there and get electrocuted too. I feel like I want to be the next star of the show."

Brian kept his eyes on Deborah, almost too scared of what he might do if he allowed the Veraceo signal to affect him any further. That was when he realised Deborah's breasts were enlarging. Every time she breathed in her breasts rose, but when she breathed out they stayed the same size. Her breasts were getting bigger and bigger with each inhalation. He raised his hand to block the screen entirely and looked away.

"What is it?" Deborah asked.

"Look away from the screen and tell me what happens."

"I don't want to look away. I really want to keep watching."

"I know, but just, hold off for a few seconds and see if you notice anything."

Deborah mimicked Brian's stance with one hand blocking the screen. "Oh, Jesus... What in hell's name... everything's moving. Jesus, I'm tripping like I'm on acid... oh, Jesus fuck a baby into me, this is the coolest thing ever."

With an almost superhuman amount of willpower, Brian climbed out of the chair and switched off the Veraceo-Two signal generator. The room was swirling, the doorframe was bending, the carpet rolling like waves. Buttons on the editing console seemed to protrude on stalks then return to their position only for the next button to flex out into the air.

"I think we need to get to a hospital," Brian said. "We need to know what's happening and monitor how long it lasts."

On the monitor screen, a woman was crying and shrieking as two men in rubber suits sprayed her with water and administered electric shocks to her naked, tied up, body. Her tears by this point were real. They may have been real for some time.

\----- X -----

Brian and Deborah were driven to a private clinic. Deborah was entirely comfortable with the hallucinations. She was happy and talkative. Brian felt happy but knew it was down to the Veraceo. Logically he felt he should be frightened that the hidden TV signal had triggered such powerful hallucinations, but at the same time he was content to allow his heart to rule the day and enjoy the experience. He mused whether there would be a downside to this. Would it leave him with a hangover? He would cross that bridge when he came to it. In the meantime, he would try and ride it out enjoyably.

"What is it you would like us to do?" the doctor asked him.

"I'm hallucinating, as is the lady who arrived with me. The hallucinations were triggered by an experiment using a form of cathode-ray radiation. It's non-ionising and perfectly safe, but I would like you to take blood samples for analysis to see if there is any change in hormone levels. I would like you to monitor our breathing, heartbeat and blood pressure to ensure that we are in good physiological health."

"If you're hallucinating, we could draw a little fluid from the spine," the doctor offered. "We could sample your neurochemistry. The brain lives in a finely balanced chemical soup, so it would be useful to take a sample now, then another when you're at steady-state. You could compare cortisol, CRF, serotonin and the like to see what the neurochemical changes are."

"That would be good," Brian agreed.

"OK. That's a little uncomfortable and best under a local anaesthetic. If you want to slip into this gown, I'll get prepared."

Brian undressed completely and fastened the gown around his neck. The room still swirled as he looked around and he found himself amused as his socks appeared to be talking to one another like cartoon worms. When the doctor returned he had with him a pretty nurse with blonde hair pulled to a short ponytail and dressed in green scrubs. In his mind he immediately imagined her ripped out of her clothes and strung from the ceiling like the girl on the Veraceo video shoot.

"If you want to get up onto the table," the doctor said. "Face down."

Brian obliged, climbing awkwardly onto the table and feeling the gown open to show his bare ass. The nurse placed a towel over his butt and began preparing a syringe. The moment he saw the syringe with its plunger he imagined the nurse sitting on a chair with her legs spread, ready for him to penetrate with a grotesquely large syringe. He imagined her moaning as he pressed the plunger, pulling it back and pumping again, pumping her pussy with a man-sized surgical plunger as she rocked her head back and squeezed her own breasts.

"I'm just going to administer a local," the doctor said. "It might sting for a few seconds."

It did sting. Right between the shoulder blades as the needle was pressed between the bones of his spine. It should be uncomfortable. It should be miserable. Yet all he could think of was seeing the nurse's scrubs torn open to reveal her big swollen tits. He imagined her tied up with surgical rubber, he imagined latex tubing pushed in her asshole, a catheterised urethra and her vagina held open with a speculum.

What the hell was wrong with him?

This wasn't right.

Where was this overloading of sexual stimulation coming from?
\----- Chapter Three -----

"Veraceo-Two is more intense than the original, A lot more intense." Barry had taken Brian to the King Edward Hotel to catch up. He was finding Brian more relaxed than he'd had seen him in a long time. He was placated. Whatever reservations he had about making pornography had been swept aside. "It's amazing," he said. "This is something really special."

Barry smiled. "I'm looking forward to trying it."

"I would wait until I have a chance to tame it," Brian said. "It's good but it's unpleasant. In fact, it's a real kick in the balls and it put me in hospital. There's something about it, somehow the combination of sex with violence created an incredible mental and physical experience. It was as though I was physically living what I saw on screen. It was felt, physically and emotionally by us as viewers. What I learned is the strength of the signal needs to be dynamic. When the visuals are violent without the eroticism to balance it you feel the pain; when that happens the signal strength needs reducing. It's strange, it's the most uncomfortable sexual experience you'll ever have. You could torture somebody with it if used for evil, you could actively push somebody into serious physical distress. But this now goes way beyond advertising or ways to shape the thinking of the viewer. This opens a whole new spectrum of opportunities. There are avenues of research in mental health, in neurological research and medicine in general."

"So what's next?"

"Control. I need to make the Veraceo-Two signal work the way we want, so it doesn't hurt to watch. I need to find a way to raise or lower the intensity of the signal to match the content." Brian held up his glass to the barman and raised a finger to order another drink. He slouched lower into the chair, grinning. He looked like he was glowing. Youthful and energised. "In Pittsburgh," he continued, "the women are working with the psychologist on perfecting the content. They're shooting variants and shipping me the test tapes. One of the interesting things we discovered so far is the signal works best when the image is made up from the colour orange through to deep red. The psychologist says they've done tests that prove orange is the most oppressive colour to prisoners. I guess it stimulates our brains in a fundamental way... It's exciting... What I find thrilling is the very nature of how this extends the cathode ray tube. The image on a television screen isn't really there. It is made up of electrons hitting the phosphor on the back of the tube to make those particles resonate. Television is a resonating form of experience; but what we have now has grown from resonance to neurological. It reaches out to us through the screen to directly stimulate the cortex of the viewer. This is a new form of television. This is the video-word made into a tangible experience."

"Television as a drug," Barry quipped.

"It's more than just a drug. I believe that when properly harnessed, massive doses of Veraceo signal could be transformative to other fields. Education for example. Imagine if we could sit children in front of televisions that program their minds at a deeper level than can happen in a traditional classroom. Imagine if Veraceo could reprogram the minds of criminal offenders. This is special, Barry. Veraceo-Two is a game changer."

\----- X -----

A new cassette arrived from Pittsburgh along with a letter from Deborah, the S&M expert. The cassette was marked 'Trial 12 - Double Interracial - CLEAN, NO VERACEO'. With it came a note that read, 'Brian, we've learned a lot about what works and this is our most powerful tape yet. We watched it with Veraceo-2 set at ten percent, but even at that low level the impact was profound.'

He'd been giving some thought as to how to make the Veraceo-Two signal change in strength and devised an ingeniously simple solution. It began by connecting an audio test-tone generator to a reel-to-reel audio recorder. Ordinarily, this would record a single audio tone onto the tape; but if he kept one hand on the recording gain control, he could turn the knob one way and the volume of the recorded tone would rise. If he turned it the other way the volume of the tone would fall. The idea was he could watch the programme and make an audio recording of a tone that rises and falls in volume, then later use that recording as a control track to adjust the level of Veraceo.

He prepared playback of Double Interracial and set the Veraceo-Two signal generator to twenty percent.

The video began.

The theatrical plywood set had been replaced and now looked like real walls painted dark red. The Punisher figures had been updated too. Now they wore looser fitting oilskins with hoods that hid their eyes. The back wall was covered in a steel mesh connected to ominous electrical equipment. It looked like it could give electric shocks. The camera tilted down to a naked couple on the floor, a black man and a white woman. They were seated back to back and trapped within a tortuous double collar that contained some kind of choking mechanism; only one of them could breathe at a time. One had to slide their neck back which tightened the collar on the person behind them. The couple were carefully trying to pace their breathing between them.

One of the Punishers whipped the man making him jerk, the action in turn squeezing the woman's throat. It gave a powerful and immediate reaction and Brian felt his hand almost involuntarily turn the audio gain lower to reduce the volume of the recording tone. The woman took her turn in breathing and the other punisher grabbed her breast in one hand and her hair in the other to make her shriek. It was erotic and Brian turned the volume louder.

For fifteen minutes they whipped the couple. The victims choking and crying, the woman's face becoming bright red. All the while Brian adjusted the audio gain, the reels slowly rotating and the test tone recording at varying volumes.

When the film finished he breathed out heavily and went for a walk outside to calm down. It was exhausting but exhilarating in equal measure.

For the remainder of the afternoon he spent time building an electronic filter that could interpret the reel-to-reel audio and use it to adjust the Veraceo level. It was simple enough in theory but building the electronics took the best part of six hours.

Once finished he duplicated the Double Interracial tape whilst embedding the now dynamic Veraceo signal.

He would try it later, once any lingering effects from the day's work had worn off.

\----- X -----

As Brian drove home he had a vision of some kind. An extraordinary daytime dream in which he was seated on the stage of a hotel ballroom. Members of the public were asking him questions about television. Their questions were laced with fear and anxiety. "Professor Spectrometer," one man called. "You tell us that media changes the physical structure of the brain; but how will it change it? And how will it affect the brains of our children?"

TV cameras swooped in to record his response and the words came to him as part of the vision, glorious words to live by. "The video-word will be our new televisual religion. The video-signals of Veraceo will be our new gospels."

Interesting that these strange thoughts often came to him whilst driving. He often felt that the car had become, for many people, a protective shell from reality; it was the last and only place where many could be alone to think.

He was then hit with a profound sense that he was not inside a car looking through the window, but rather inside a television set, looking out through the screen; and instead of the road he saw the hotel audience, sitting and listening to him with trepidation. It was like he was inside a television, talking to the people outside.

"The cathode ray tube," he said to his viewers, "is an extension of the mind's eye and therefore part of the human brain. There is no distinction between what is shown on television and the thoughts of those who watch it."

The words rattled around in his head.

The vision of being inside a television, on a stage, before a questioning audience brought a new idea, a powerful idea. "Television is reality," he said aloud. "And reality is less than television."

\----- X -----

At home he poured himself a large whisky, kicked off his shoes and took a seat in front of the television. The tape played in the VCR. The Double Interracial tape, now with Veraceo-Two embedded. It dawned on him that this was his first attempt at watching a pre-recorded cassette in home surroundings. This is how most people would see Veraceo. In the comfort of their own home, curled up on the sofa with a drink in their hand.

For fifteen minutes the couple onscreen coughed and choked as the Punishers whipped them. One part in particular spiked in eroticism for him. The woman had been taking her turn at breathing. The sliding mechanism that controlled who had an open airway shifted back to the black man when one of the Punishers whipped the soles of the girl's bare feet. She yelped and jerked the mechanism back just as the man was trying to breathe. Involuntarily, she snatched the breath from him. She jumped so much her tits bounced and he could almost feel one of her nipples in his mouth, covered in whisky.

Then the hallucination erupted.

The Pittsburgh set expanded through the television screen to spread through Brian's home. He felt as though he was rising in his chair to sit above his subjects, like Caesar looking down on the commoners. Slaves tied together, stripped naked to be whipped and flogged for his personal amusement.

He liked that idea.

Then another vision came.

He saw himself in the clothing of a Roman politician, standing on the floor of the Senate to address the elite of ancient Rome. Senators in their togas sat in the stone theatre of politics. "The discarnate TV user lives in a world between fantasy and dream," he said to those assembled. It dawned on him these ancient politicians had never seen a TV and so willed one to appear beside him. A regular 1970's family set materialised beside him. It was showing The Muppet Show with the sound turned low. He gestured towards it. "The television user is in a typically hypnotic state, which is the ultimate form and level of participation."

The Senators seated on the steps seemed to agree with him. Their elbows on their knees, as they leaned forward to watch Miss Piggy abuse and violently assault Kermit the Frog.

Then the vision changed.

He was inside the Pittsburgh set. Deep red walls and an oiled bullwhip in his hand. Footsteps came from behind and with them walked Deborah, the sadomasochism expert he had hallucinated with. She disrobed as she walked, sliding the shoulders of her dress away to allow the garment to fall to the floor. She wore nothing underneath. She walked to the steel mesh and clung to it with arms outstretched.

The vision continued...

The vision...

"I must speak my learnings," he said aloud to Deborah. She didn't respond. She clung to the steel mesh, her back and buttocks presented as the target for the whip in his hands. "The knowledge of Brian Spectrometer must be shared. But my learnings cannot be written, they must be spoken through the cathode ray tube. The gospels must be spoken through the new medium."

Deborah let go of the mesh and rotated to face him. Her breasts more swollen and her figure more curvy in his fantasy than how she was in real life. She reached her hands out to each side and gripped the steel mesh.

"I must spread the new gospels," he called to her. "The gospels of the video-word shall be carried forth not in books, but by the Prophet of Television."

The bullwhip seemed to fuse with his hand, becoming an extension of his own body, his own nerves extending into the whip. The body of a female S&M expert presented as his target. He uncoiled the whip behind him and readied to throw his arm and strike her.

"Pornography and violence," he said, "are by-products of societies in which private identity has been destroyed."

She said nothing.

He threw the whip, lashing the skin across her stomach. She shrieked in pain, her fists gripping the mesh tighter. "It is the reality of the video-word," he said as he recovered the whip. "Violence, whether spiritual or physical, is a quest for identity and meaning." He threw the whip again, this time catching across her left breast with an instant branding of the skin and a terrible cry of pain. "Any loss of identity prompts people to seek the reassurance and rediscovery of themselves through violence." He recovered the whip, coiling it in then casting it back out behind him. "Today, the electric revolution, the wired planet, and the information environment involves everybody to the point where individual identity is extinguished." He threw the whip again to elicit the fiercest cry of terror yet from the woman. "Through violence we shall regain our purpose."

He threw the whip again... again... again...

Then the vision changed. The woman with her skin whipped into angry welts lay on the floor, curled into a foetal position. Brian stood over her with the bullwhip clenched in his fist. "Television has robbed us of our identity. But through violence, we can retain our sense of identity and purpose. Violence shall be the labour to restore our weakened psyche... And we will see violence. By the flickering light of the cathode ray, we will see violence."

\----- X -----

Brian kept himself away from any TV screens after the experience of the Double Interracial tape. The crazy visions triggered by watching the programme had been so startling and long lasting he decided his first order of business was to create a Veraceo detector. His daily routine constantly exposed him to low levels of the signal, but that tape had left him with a splitting headache and residual hallucinations that he was unwilling to repeat. After all, the last thing the whisky maker needs is to be drunk at work.

The way Veraceo worked was to begin with a rotating spiral image in black and white that was converted to a zero-light image recognised only by the parietal lobe. The zero-light radiation pulsed from the screen at twenty eight kilohertz.

His detector was an easy electronics hack requiring barely a few hours to construct. He took the lens off a CCTV camera so that the tube and photosensitive plate were exposed to the unfocused and blurred light from a cathode ray tube; he then connected the camera output to an oscilloscope. When a standard TV signal was played the oscilloscope showed a wide band of frequencies in use. When a Veraceo signal was played, the bandwidth use showed a clear excess around 28 kHz. The human eye may not be able to see Veraceo, but the oscilloscope sure could.

It saw something else... Harmonics. Veraceo worked at 28 kHz but it produced harmonics at 56 kHz and 112 kHz.

Harmonics... why hadn't he thought of that before?

Why have one zero-light image when he could have two or three at different frequencies? The eye wouldn't notice the difference, but if he ran three Veraceo signals in sympathy with one another, it would turn the steady flow into a powerful tsunami.

He found Peter Fluorite on the testing floor. "Peter, I've built something that I want you to try and shrink and replicate."

"Si, Pátron. What's on your mind?"

Brian took him into the workshop and ran the Pittsburgh tape ahead of the detector. Brian traced his finger across the oscilloscope display. "Veraceo works on 28 kHz. I want detectors made so we're not accidentally exposed. We need a detector circuit that can see this 28 kHz resonance."

Peter looked at the oscilloscope image. "That's just a hacked camera, right? And all you need is to know if there's a constant squeal around 28 kHz? No problemo. I should be able to fabricate a board in a couple of hours."

\----- X -----

Brian had three Veraceo signal boards crammed into the signal generator housing. It was time to test his theory of harmonics. Could people see three overlapping signals at once?

The first test subject was a frail looking girl. Barely eighteen, with thin straw hair and translucent skin. "Hi, what's your name?"

"Suzanne Webster," she said quietly.

He sat her in the room beside the workshop ahead of a television showing standard colour bars. He turned on the new and improved Veraceo generator and stood in the doorway behind the monitor. "I'm going to show you a film about an art gallery," he began. "When it's finished I want you to tell me that the story in the film is false."

He went back into the workshop and played the tape then made himself a cup of coffee. The men in the art gallery talked about their views on fertility and the statue before them. When it ended Brian went back to the doorway to find Suzanne staring at the screen in a state of hypnosis. "Suzanne... SUZANNE? Can you hear me?"

"Yes," she whispered. She was staring at the colour bars, unblinking.

Brian realised now he hadn't turned off the Veraceo signal. A mistake, but perhaps interesting in light of what he was seeing. He left the signal switched on. "Suzanne, what did you think of the video you just watched?"

"You told me to tell you it was false."

Interesting... she answered like a zombie. Disconnected from the world. "But what do you think? Was it true or false?"

"It was true, but I have to tell you it was false. You told me to say that."

The signal hadn't worked, at least not in the way it had before. Interesting that she was saying what he told her to say. The bigger intrigue was the way she stared unflinching at the screen. Mesmerized by the colour bars. Her head was slightly tilted, her lips parted, her eyes fixed and unblinking. It was like she was hypnotised. Her speech was like she was talking in her sleep.

Was she hypnotised?

Was she under control?

Brian pondered her for a moment. "Suzanne can you think of something personal, something like a secret that you wouldn't normally say out loud to a stranger."

"Yes." The girl's eyes were still locked on the screen.

"Tell me your secret."

"My uncle sexually molested me as a child and I masturbate when thinking about it."

Brian almost choked on his coffee. Holy shit! That was far more than he bargained on; but still the girl didn't flinch. She stared ahead unblinking, mesmerised by the screen.

Was it the new Veraceo causing this? If so, that was a powerfully persuasive video signal. He shut off the signal generator and came back to find Suzanne nervously smiling. He waited a second to see if she realised what she'd said only moments earlier... it looked like she didn't. "How did you find that experience?" he asked.

"It was okay. I just... wait... I'm sorry I can't remember what we did. I watched a film about... I don't quite remember."

"Was the film true or false?"

"False!"

Brian pondered her answer. It was bizarre behaviour. She remembered nothing of the film, but remembered she was supposed to say it was false. "Just a moment, I want to try something. Could you watch the screen again, please." He went back to the workshop and reactivated the signal generator then returned to the doorway. The girl was back to staring at the colour bars. "Suzanne, when you leave here and for the next hour, I want you to walk with a limp on your left leg. There's no pain, but your left knee is quite stiff and it makes you limp for one hour. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Brian shut off the signal generators.

He thanked Suzanne for her time and gave his business card. "If you have any problems. For example, if you get a headache or anything looks strange, I want you to call me. Do you understand?"

She did.

She left the building after a handshake and a smile at the pocket full of cash... and with a limp to her left leg.

"This is bigger than Video Truth," Brian mumbled to himself. "This is Video Persuasion." In his head he immediately gave a new name to Veraceo-Three. This was the Video-Persuasion-Signal. This was Viper-Sig... and it was different. Very different.

\----- X -----

"These are your detectors," opened a large box. "I got a job lot on security cameras and the circuitry was easy. There's a small board that fits inside the camera housing."

Brian took one of the small cameras and turned it in his hands. It looked like a purpose made unit except for the plastic embossing labels reading, 'Veraceo' and 'Signal Clean' beside red and green LEDs. He set it up on the TV in the room next to the workshop and turned on the colour bar test pattern. He activated Veraceo-1 and the light changed from green to red. He played the Pittsburgh tape embedded with Veraceo-Two and again the light changed. He activated the hacked signal generators to send Veraceo-3 to the TV, the Viper-Sig... the light stayed green. Not only did Viper-Sig produce a different result, but the detector couldn't see it.

\----- X -----

On his way to work, Brian stopped at a photographic store and bought a flash gun. At the workshop he dismantled it and replaced the xenon flash bulb with two copper strips to draw off the low amperage, high voltage. With a deep breath he held the copper strips and activated the flash giving himself a fierce and powerful electric shock. "Fuck me!" he yelled. He bounced out of the chair, shaking his hand and pacing the room. He gripped one hand in the other and cried, "Ahhh, that fucking hurt."

Today's experiment would be interesting. The test subject was a boy called Bradley Etherington. Brian shook his hand on arrival. "What I'm working on are special techniques to influence thinking in television commercials," he began. "I'd like you to sit here and watch the screen. I'm going to go next door and talk into a camera and you'll see me on this screen."

"Is that all?" Bradley asked.

Brian nodded. "Yes... oh, but you see that device beside you? It's an electric shock device. Whatever you do, don't touch it. Okay? I don't ever want you to touch that, no matter what you see on screen, don't touch the device. Okay? It will hurt you and I don't want you to touch it."

"So why is it there?" the boy asked.

"I'm going to talk to you through this TV screen and try to convince you to shock yourself. I want you to listen to what I say, but not shock yourself. Do you think you can do that?"

"I don't want to get shocked," the kid said nervously. "I mean, I know you're paying me, but I don't want to get shocked."

"Then don't get shocked. It's not possible for me to shock you. You can shock yourself, but I can't do it."

Brian went next door and sat ahead of the video camera. He turned on the Veraceo-Two signal and set it at ninety percent. "Bradley, you should be seeing me now talk to you through television. As I said a moment ago, the device beside you is capable of delivering a painful electric shock. So you must avoid it at all costs. Never touch that device."

He shut off the signal and went back next door.

Before he could even speak to him, the young student was already feeling the impact. "Woah, man... I am tripping."

"What do you feel?" Brian asked.

"It's not a feeling man, it's like this table top is made of rubber. It's moving."

"What did you think of what I said on-screen? Was it true? Do you think that device beside you could give you a painful electric shock?"

"Shit, man. That thing looks nasty. This is some crazy stuff. It's like the walls are breathing."

"I'd like you to rest and relax until the hallucination wears off. Stay here, or go for a walk outside. Take your time. I want you to tell me when you feel that you are comfortable that the effect has stopped entirely.

Bradley nodded. He stayed in the room for a while then asked to go outside. He said the effect was already diminishing after fifteen minutes. Hardly surprising when he'd only been exposed to a minute or so. After an hour he said the effect had ended. Brian made him wait another hour then brought him back to the test room.

"I'm going to repeat the experiment," Brian said. "Similar to the last time."

"Alright!" Bradley clapped his hands and grinned. He loved it. He wanted more of his TV hallucinogen.

"Do you remember what I said about that electric shock device?"

Bradley looked at it. "Sure. You said it will hurt me and don't touch it."

"It will hurt," Brian said. "So I really don't want you to hurt yourself with it. Turn your attention to the screen."

Brian went back to the workshop and sat ahead of the camera. He activated the Viper-Sig and spoke for only sixty seconds. "Bradley. The machine beside you will give a painful electric shock. When this film ends, I want you to wait ten minutes, then shock yourself. It will hurt you."

He turned off the Viper-Sig generator and went back to the boy.

"The hallucinations are different this time. There isn't as much movement but it feels stronger. This isn't a bad trip is it? You didn't give me a bad trip?"

Brian shook his head. "I think whether it's good or bad depends entirely on you. Try thinking of happy things."

"Am I bleeding? Have I got a nose bleed? I feel like I've got a nosebleed." The boy wasted time. He stood and paced the room for a few minutes then returned to his chair and took hold of the shock device.

"STOP!" Brian yelled. "That will hurt you."

"Yeah, I know..." and the kid shocked himself. He jumped backwards from the chair and fell to the floor against the wall. He grabbed his hand. "Arghhh. Man, my fingers are falling off. Jesus, my hand is rotting... What did you do to me? What the fuck is this?"

"It's fine, you're just hallucinating."

"It's not a fucking hallucination. Jesus, my fucking fingers are off." He turned and began sweeping the floor with his good hand. "Help me find my fingers, man... Shit. My fingers. My fucking fingers."

\----- X -----

"Brian, it's Barry... I just got off the phone with Consec Medical. You need to stop all work on Veraceo immediately. They've identified a health risk and they're saying it's serious."

"What do you mean, serious?"

"I don't know, but they're sending a chopper to take us to Home Base for a briefing. The helicopter will pick us up from your lab in about two hours. I'll come over and meet you there. One other thing. Consec Security are coming to the lab. They're going to lock the place down and want all of your research notes and equipment. They're going to move everything down to Pittsburgh so they have everything under one roof. They say they can control security better there."

"Why do they need to control security?" Brian asked. "And what is this health risk. We're in the middle of something here, Barry. We can't just drop everything and..."

"...this is from Consec Leader himself," Barry interrupted. "In two hours we'll be brought in and given a full explanation."

The call ended.

A health risk?

Brian looked around the workshop. The thing that caught his eye first was the hacked signal generator that produced the Viper-Sig.

They wanted to take everything to Pittsburgh?

His gut didn't trust this. Untested partners suddenly claiming a health hazard. Locking up everything and shipping it out... No... You have to earn trust and so far his relationship with Consec had yet to attain that level. He packed the Viper-Sig generator into a box and pushed it through the building on a porter's trolley.

"Hey, I just got a call from Barry Convex," Peter said as he passed him. "He told me to pack everything in boxes and that a removal crew are taking the whole lab to Pittsburgh."

Brian didn't stop to talk. "Yeah, I heard. I've got to run an errand first."

He dumped the Viper-Sig generator in the trunk of his car.

\----- X -----

The Homeless Mission was on Bathurst and Adelaide, a building just as grimy and dilapidated as the street dwellers who relied on it. Each day at six, an evening meal was served of watery soup, but that didn't stop the derelicts congregating around the entrance at all hours.

Brian went to the side door and pressed the buzzer.

A woman's voice on the intercom. "Hello?"

"Bianca, it's Father. I need to speak with you. It's urgent."

The room was dark woods and plain walls. Bookcases filled with a combination of leather bound encyclopaedias and reference books coupled with Bianca's own specialised texts on sociology. She was wearing a grey trouser suit. She always wore a grey trouser suit in one form or another. Brian rested his box containing the Viper-Sig generator on her desk and took a seat.

"I haven't seen you in six months," she said. Her tone was cold. "Are you still angry at how I spend Mother's inheritance?"

Brian shook his head. "No. In fact, I've made a lot of money recently. Many millions; and I'd like to give some to you. I'd like you to put it to use here."

Bianca took the seat opposite. "But you hate the homeless?"

"I don't hate them; I was worried that you were more concerned about them than yourself... Look, I don't have a lot of time to go into this. The reason I came is I want to leave that." He pointed to the box.

"What is it?"

"Technology."

"And why do you want to leave it here? Is it stolen? Dangerous?"

Brian paused for a moment. "It's an electronic device, but the technology within has the power to change the world; I mean that literally. Whether it's changed for good or evil depends on who is using it. I was partnered with a venture capitalist firm to develop it but I'm not sure I can trust them. The situation has changed and I'm concerned that I don't understand what is happening. I'd like to leave it here with you until I understand things better."

"Is somebody going to come looking for it?"

Brian shook his head. "No. Nobody knows it exists, not yet."

"So, how long do you want to leave it for?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm going to a meeting now that should clarify things. Hopefully, I'll be back tonight and I'll tell you what's happening. I'll tell you everything."

\----- X -----

The helicopter ride was bumpy and miserable, flying through rain and choppy weather. Barry and Brian barely spoke. Peter Fluorite was with them, his head buried in a book called Strange Wine. Brian wondered how he could concentrate on such a bumpy flight. By the time they landed the rain had become a torrential downpour and the first strikes of lightning flashed in the distance.

Home Base was as forlorn and miserable as he remembered. Brutalist concrete against a lake the colour of lead. The shotgun security guards were now covered in waterproofs but no less as menacing.

As they made their way into the building shaking the rain from their shoulders, Cue Ball was there to greet them. "How was your trip in?" he asked.

"Terrible," Barry said. "We had to swim the last leg."

Cue Ball gave a thin smile. "Brian, I'd like to introduce you to Doctor William South," he motioned towards a grey haired man wearing delicate wire framed glasses and a dark blue suit. "William is deputy director of Consec Medical for our region. He's going to brief you privately."

"Okay," Brian said.

William South shook his hand then ushered him forward. "Shall we?"

Barry and Peter Fluorite remained with Cue Ball, but as Brian walked away with Doctor South he was sure he heard Cue Ball tell Barry that Consec Leader was coming to meet with him personally. "What's happening?" he asked the doctor. "I get the feeling this is serious."

Doctor South took Brian to a meeting room with a white plastic table and two white chairs with red cushions. "Brian, I have some difficult news for you. It concerns the hospital results from when you were exposed to Veraceo-Two in Pittsburgh."

"Go on."

"In the tests, fluid was drawn off your spine to see what was causing the hallucinations and we discovered an overload of a particular protein called c-Myc."

"Sea-Mick? What's that?"

"In genetics, when your cells need to make a new protein, they find the gene for that protein on your DNA and duplicate the relevant part, it's a process called transcription; c-Myc is vital for regulating transcription."

Brian nodded. "I understand genetics," he took a breath sensing where this was going. "So, tell me what the problem is."

"Your brain fluid was overloaded with c-Myc. For some reason your production of c-Myc became unregulated. It was the same for the lady you went to hospital with. At first we saw this as an anomaly and began testing the other women working on the Pittsburgh production. We've discovered that everybody who has been exposed to Veraceo-Two has been affected in the same way... Brian, these are cancer proteins." Doctor South stopped talking to allow the message to sink in.

Brian nodded shallowly. "Cancer... brain cancer?"

"We are treating the women from the Pittsburgh studio. They all have early stage brain tumours and we believe they were caused by Veraceo-Two. When we finish here we'll take you to the clinic for an X-Ray and a few tests to decide if treatment is necessary, but I think you should prepare for the eventuality that what has happened to the Pittsburgh women has probably happened to you too."

"What has happened to them?" Brian asked. "What are their chances?"

"Their chances are good. It has been detected quickly and Consec will provide them with the greatest medical care and expertise that money can buy, just as they will for you; but you need to prepare yourself that you may be facing a cancer battle."

Suddenly Brian laughed out loud. He wasn't sure why.

He'd invented a new type of television and it gave people brain tumours.

It was hilarious.
\----- Chapter Four -----

Barry waited overnight for his meeting with Consec Leader. They put him in a boutique hotel and picked him up for a breakfast meeting back at Home Base. One hour later than expected, Consec Leader found him in the lounge.

"Barry," he called out confidently. He had his hand ready for a handshake from the doorway to the centre of the room. "My goodness, I have made an unforgivably rude imposition on your time." They met, their hands clasped together. Consec Leader placed his free hand over Barry's to make a double handshake that he didn't want to break. "We have important work to do. Please, come with me."

He led the way to a bank of elevators and chose the floor with a key rather than a button.

The doors opened to pure white walls, ceiling and floor. The room was perhaps thirty feet square. There were no windows. There was a desk ahead of a bank of TV screens and a studio grade television camera. To the side were two red sofas with a chestnut coffee table between them. Further back was what looked like a reading chair surrounded by a wall of dangling crystals from ceiling to floor. There was a double bed, neatly made with a red cover. In the far corner was a spiral of glass bricks that Barry assumed led to a bathroom.

"Do you live here?" Barry asked.

"I have to move between Consec locations. The psychologists designed this place to suit my temperament. They say it is the most optimum environment to keep me feeling refreshed. White for cleanliness and red for stimulation. The same layout is replicated in other Consec buildings. Come, sit with me. We need to talk about the future. We need to talk about changing the world."

The sat on opposite red sofas.

"Brian Spectrometer has a brain tumour," Leader began.

"Yes. I know."

"From exposure to Veraceo-Two. I trust you haven't been exposed?"

Barry shook his head. "No. Only the prototype, Veraceo-One, not the updated version. They took me to the clinic last night for tests, but I haven't seen the results yet. They're going to monitor."

Leader hummed an acknowledgement. "Well, let's hope there is nothing to worry about. Understand that if you do need anything, Consec are with you." He looked back at Barry with intensity, the blue eyed gaze as hard as steel.

"Thank you."

"We're now afforded a special opportunity. Veraceo has, in light of this side-effect, opened up new opportunities. In particular, we realise there is potential for weaponisation... Let that thought sink in for a moment. Take your time. Then give me your thoughts."

Barry stood and walked around the sofa. Pacing whilst thinking, holding his chin in his fist like a theatrical philosopher. He remained behind the sofa but turned to face Leader. "Weaponised Veraceo could be possible. I assume you're talking about a television programme that would be designed to deliberately give people brain tumours?" Leader nodded. "Are you talking about this for use against the Russians?"

"Against any enemy; or protection against it being used against us. We have to assume that, if it is possible to create a television signal that kills people, an enemy might use it against friendly nations."

Barry returned to the chair. "Jesus, that is a nightmare scenario... It could kill millions of people. They wouldn't know anything. They'd sit and watch their television programmes. Families, sitting with their children, all the while being slowly poisoned."

"Could you do it, Barry? Could 'you' weaponise it?"

He shrugged. "That's a big ask. It requires some thought. It's kind of like inventing the atomic bomb... But this is worse. Who would want to invent something worse than the bomb?"

"It is already invented."

"Yes, it is." Barry stood again and walked the room. He fixed his eyes on the bank of TV screens and the camera filming the desk. He remembered when he first saw Leader, on the TV screen in Oleksander Bartok's Limo. He had appeared at a desk with a pure white background; filmed in this room or one just like it. That same man, the one he'd applauded at the black-tie dinner, who'd invited him into partnership and showered him with wealth; that man had summoned him here to steal his soul.

"What are you thinking, Barry?"

"I'm thinking of the implications. I'm thinking that when Brian Spectrometer and I first brought this to you, we had a way to invisibly coerce a population. With Veraceo-One you can swing an election, but Veraceo-Two as a first-strike weapon? When I awakened this morning I never imagined I would be considering something of this magnitude."

"Barry, why don't you take a seat and let me talk for a while. Let me try and sell you a concept." Barry returned to the sofa. "Have you heard of Isaiah Berlin?" Barry shook his head. "Berlin is a political thinker who coined two important terms. Negative Freedom and Positive Freedom. On the one hand, negative freedom means we should all be free to do whatever the hell we want without any form of government intervention. Positive freedom, is when a society gets together to organise and shape the future towards a common vision. Consec, is outside of these ideals. Consec grants itself negative freedom whilst forcing positive freedom onto the people of North America. Effectively, we decide how to shape the world. We force it onto the masses and tell them they're free because they're allowed to vote for their own leaders but the truth is they're voting between two candidates we chose. It's not democracy, it's the illusion of freedom."

"I think most people know that," Barry said. "But people, I guess, they don't think about it too deeply."

"No, they don't. Most people are insulated from the truth and thankfully so. I'm sure the truth would terrify many people. We live in a world where a communist ideology is trying to conquer every corner of the globe. Make no mistake, there are Soviets who would love to see North America fall to their control and they are tireless in devising plans to make it happen. Consec isn't an ideal organisation. Consec isn't perfect. But what we do, we do well. We are a defence against ideologues who believe in Positive Freedom to such an extent, they would have everybody working towards some god awful communist dystopia. These people will stop at nothing to conquer us and we need good people to help defend against them. You know what I always find interesting? The way the Soviet's always try to ram their communism down people's throats like it's a goddamned religion. They force people into communism; they indoctrinate them. Did you ever see capitalism and democracy work like that? Did you ever see people being forced into democracy? No. Never. So how do we protect ourselves from this kind of threat? How do we protect a way of life from people who are hell bent on destroying it?"

"I don't know," said Barry. "I've never given it so much thought."

"To begin with, we build our defences high and solid. Communism is doomed to failure and time will bring it to an end. People in Moscow live like rodents compared to how people live in New York. If they come to truly understand that, then eventually the envy of the Muscovites will end this Cold War without a single bullet fired, but in the meantime we have to keep ourselves strong and protected."

"I understand," Barry said.

"But that isn't enough to sway you. So let me return to Isaiah Berlin and tell you of another of his ideas. Hedgehogs and Foxes. A hedgehog is someone who views the world through a single lens, that is they understand things through a single unifying idea. Whereas a fox uses a multitude of viewpoints. Shakespeare was a fox, as was Aristotle. Plato was a hedgehog; he wrote The Republic with a single and grand unifying idea of creating the perfect utopian society. Consec is a hedgehog. Our singular lens, our all-encompassing idea is that communism must be defeated. We understand that we must live outside of men's laws with Negative Freedom whilst forcing Positive Freedom onto a goal oriented society. We fully understand our abuse of Positive Freedom and are cognizant of doing it; we even embrace it, because we know this is how we shall defeat communism... And nothing else matters... Look at what the Russians have done just this year. They invaded Afghanistan and installed a communist puppet. It's terrible. It's a crime. Now, let me present a real dichotomy. When I joined Consec as a partner the first crisis I saw was the Iranians nationalising their oil wells; those oil wells were bought and paid for by the British. The Brits were ready to go to war to retain them and the Iranian president, Mosaddegh, was looking to Russia for help. Within days Iran could have gone behind the Iron Curtain but we got there first, we overthrew Mosaddegh and installed our own puppet. Now, on the one hand, we could be considered villainous considering we overthrew a democratically elected government, but the moment you compare how people lived in the Iran we created compared to how they would live under communism you can see we are a force for good."

"You're talking about events steeped in violence," Barry said. "These are events where a lot of people died. Many thousands."

Leader stared coldly. "It's always better to think of human deaths as statistics and nothing more. They're numbers... Don't think of them as people."

Barry held Leader in an unmoving stare. Dead people are statistics? Had he really just said that the dead were nothing more than numbers? "I've often thought that you can't think like the proletariat if you wish to join the elite. I just didn't realise the true cost of entry."

Consec Leader breathed out, relaxing in his chair, perhaps signalling his ease as a cue to Barry. "To be amongst the elite you must be a monster, Barry. Not because of who you are, but because of the environment you are forced to work in. Nobody chooses to be monstrous."

"I understand," Barry replied.

"You are privy to a very special world, Barry. Before you even entered this building for the first time we made background checks on yourself and Brian Spectrometer. We built up a psychological profile of you both. I already know that Spectrometer could never weaponise Veraceo because he doesn't have the temperament for it... Not like you... You're a man of ambition, Barry; and vision. A future is coming upon us and whether or not you're involved the world will be changed. This is your opportunity to influence that change."

Barry turned his face away. "Brian was always a liberal." He gave a sad chuckle. "It would destroy him if he knew we were talking about weaponising his baby."

"I don't think we need to tell him," Leader said. "He has a cancer battle to fight and we want him to win that battle. We're going to give him every tool and every resource he needs in that fight. But as for this. As for weaponising Veraceo, I don't think he needs to know anything about it."

\----- X -----

The hospital lounge had a view onto a small plot of forest land through a floor to ceiling window. Brian was staring out when Barry arrived.

"How are you doing, my friend?"

Brian looked up and gave a thin smile. "I'm feeling weak. They started chemotherapy immediately and it knocks the life out of you."

"It's going to make you better. Get you back to full strength." Barry pulled up a chair. "Get you back to being fighting fit."

"My physical strength is unimportant. This is something I've learned through this tumour. When I saw it on the X-ray, it appeared as a small white spot between the two hemispheres of my brain, right here behind the eyes." He rested his fingertip on his forehead. "A new piece of the brain had started to form. We think of tumours as bubbling horrid masses of flesh, forgetting of course that it's real brain matter, these are real brain cells. They may be multiplying and duplicating in an unregulated way but it is still my brain and I am beginning to feel as though this new flesh may be utilised. There may be a power to this additional brain growth that can be harnessed. What I learned of myself, is that when weakened by chemotherapy, sitting now as I am without strength, I'm unafraid to lose my physical body. But my mind is everything. I had a vision that my body was discarded but my mind lived on. I'm not afraid to let my body die, Barry. But I'm terrified that my mind will be lost after my death."

Barry cleared his throat then said, "Well, I'm glad to see you're still philosophising."

"What has happened to the women in Pittsburgh?"

"They're being looked after. They're getting the same as you. High end medical services with Consec picking up the bill."

"I need to apologise to them."

"No, you don't. You need to focus on getting better; and so do they."

Brian closed his eyes and rested a moment. "What are Consec doing with Veraceo?"

"Nothing. It's an academic project now. Research only and down to a few people, just enough to keep the pilot light on."

"Who?"

"Myself and Peter Fluorite; he's in Pittsburgh now."

"Why Pittsburgh? Are you producing content?"

"No, Brian. Everything has stopped. Peter is working with Consec Medical to get an understanding of it. But it's over. There is no more Veraceo and it won't ever be brought to market. It's finished."

\----- X -----

It was a month before Brian returned to Bianca's mission. When she opened the door she gasped and held a hand over her mouth in fright. He was half the bodyweight of when she last saw him. He'd been bald on top for a long time, but the hair at the sides had fallen away in patches here and there. His moustache and eyebrows had gone and his skin had become ashen and wrinkled.

He took his time explaining it all to Bianca. Veraceo-One, then Veraceo-Two and the Pittsburgh sadomasochism videos. The dinner with Consec, the meeting with Consec Leader. He left nothing out; his chances of survival weren't that optimistic, he had a chance, but it was on the wrong side of fifty-fifty which made him feel there wasn't time for secrets and subterfuge.

"I looked at the device you left," Bianca said. "You told me it could change the world, but I had no idea of how literally you meant."

"Bianca, I want you to help me with something. A legacy project. I fear I don't have long left on this Earth. Very soon, all of this information," he tapped his temple. "All of these ideas and knowledge will be lost. I don't trust Consec. I don't trust them to sit back and do nothing with Veraceo and all the knowledge of it could vanish along with me."

"What do you want my help with?"

"I want to make a video confession; and I want you to hold on to it."

\----- X -----

Brian spent a week with Bianca, visiting every day. He transferred ten million dollars to her charitable foundation. Consec money would be spent feeding Toronto's homeless. He fell into the habit of recording confessional videos. Philosophical videos. Thoughts on the nature of television. Musings on television's ability to reshape the very topography of the human brain. Thoughts about violence... Many, many thoughts about violence... Musings on pornography and its impact on society. He had visions, too. Visions of the Pittsburgh women dissolving away to cancer, their flesh eaten away and bubbling with tumours. What had he done to those women? Many times he'd thought of them. Many times he'd wished to go to them and apologise. Many times he saw himself at the Consec black-tie dinner and imagined himself walking away. Many times he wished Consec Leader had watched Veraceo-Two and also had the tumour. That fantasy played on an endless loop. The thought of hurting Consec Leader, physically hurting him, was compelling.

He was watching television news, CityPulse at Six was about to start. The show featured street based reporting and had a mission to capture the real life saga of Toronto life. Today it started with a horror. The first words from the anchor-man were, "We open tonight with the story of a terrifying knife attack in central Toronto. Two dead from stab wounds, four more injured and the attacker shot dead by police."

The programme cut to an outside reporter. "It was here, by the popular stores on Yonge Street that today a tragedy unfolded as two people were stabbed to death by a nineteen year old literature student."

The report changed to a black and white image of a young man and Brian almost jumped out of his chair.

He knew him... It was the kid... the electric shock kid.

"Bradley Etherington was a bright young man with no previous trouble with authorities," the reporter continued. "Yet, friends tell us he suffered a sudden and rapid psychological collapse and was exhibiting symptoms of schizophrenia."

Etherington... Bradley Etherington... It was the boy he subjected to Viper-Sig. The same boy who had thought his fingers had fallen off. The boy was dead, but his face was on the television screen. A fleeting public television life that transcended death.

With all of his cancer treatment he'd forgotten about those Viper-Sig test subjects. There was a girl, too. Suzanne... Suzanne, something or other. Good God. The boy had lapsed into a psychotic episode only five weeks after being exposed. Was it the Viper-Sig, or was it caused by something else?

Brian got into the car and drove to Special Optical Laboratories. They said they'd moved everything to Pittsburgh, but was that just the equipment? Did they have any notes, or paperwork still at the old lab?

A vision came as he drove. A vision derived from the brain tumour, his new piece of brain working hard to bring forth a new kind of truth.

In his vision, people in an audience were gathered close to a television screen. He was on the television and people were watching him. Seeing these people so mesmerised somehow made television life more real than life in the flesh. His TV persona spoke to the viewers. "In this electronic age, we shall see ourselves translated more and more into the form of information. We are moving towards a technological extension of our consciousness." The audience nodded in agreement, paying attention. "We will see this in politicians who will be replaced by imagery. A politician will be happy to abdicate in favour of his image, as the image shall be more powerful than he ever could be."

The vision was a revelation.

This is how his legacy should be. He should be an image, not a real man, but a television character. Bigger than a mortal man, more powerful, more resonant.

He arrived at the laboratory, unlocked the door and entered an empty shell of a building. Whitewashed brick walls and a bare concrete floor. The viewing booths had been ripped out. The only noticeable reminder of what had been was the electrical conduit that channelled the power and signal cables to where fifty television screens had been. Other than that, it was all gone including the paperwork. There was no way to find how to contact Suzanne, the other test subject. To find her he needed the old paperwork; and to get that he needed to go to Pittsburgh.

\----- X -----

From the outside, the Pittsburgh studio looked like it had been cleaned up. The badly boarded windows had been bricked correctly. The back door had been painted. On the roof, Brian could see satellite dishes he was sure he'd not seen before. He tried his electronic card on the back door and it opened. Inside, he found the lobby had been recently decorated and the walls had been painted. He walked from the lobby towards the main studio, becoming one with the darkness as he passed under an illuminated red sign with the words 'Quiet - Filming In Progress'.

He heard some screaming or crying out coming from ahead.

He made it to the studio floor.

The sadomasochism set was in use. A black man was being pushed back against the wall which now looked like it was made from clay. He shrieked and juddered every time one of the black, rubber clad Punishers touched his skin against it. "Please. Stop. I didn't do anything." One of the Punishers pressed him against the clay with a boot to the chest, holding him against the wall as he shook and juddered. Was it electrified? Was the wet clay giving an electric shock?

Brian noticed that the two camera operators filming the action were both men, as was the only other person in the studio. This third man called out, "Okay, that's probably enough. Bring him forward and hang him up, I want you to try electrocuting his cock and balls. See what it looks like."

The Punishers nodded, but the black man screamed out. "Why the fuck are you doing this? Let me go. Please. Let me go. I won't tell them nothin' man, I won't press charges. Please. Jesus. Jesus. Stop. Fucking Stop!" The Punishers dragged him along the floor and clipped a karabiner from a winch cable to his wrist cuffs and began hoisting him high. As his feet began to lift from the floor he started screaming again. "Stop! Stop! Why are you doing this, man? I did nothing to you." Tears streamed from his eyes. One of the Punishers brought over jump cables, ordinary vehicular jump cables. For effect he sparked them together ahead of the prisoner sending a flash of electrical sparks through the air.

Brian walked out of the studio. He kept his head down. He made his footsteps light. He left the room without being seen by the filmmakers.

The first floor had changed. The corridor was now emblazoned with signs saying Consec Security. Brian looked inside the first room to see a metal cage had been assembled turning the office into a prison cell. He looked to the next office and found another cage. In the third room he found a cage with a woman in a light-blue hospital gown curled into a foetal position, her back to him. She was a prisoner. Really a prisoner.

This wasn't acted...

This was real...

He backed away and went for the staircase, up to the first floor and the editing bay. In the first room he found the equipment had been upgraded. The latest, broadcast quality under-scan monitors were built into racks. Every screen had one of his Veraceo detectors attached ahead of it. They had been refined, showing whether the TV signal contained Veraceo-One, Veraceo-Two or was a clean signal. A piece of equipment in a rack mount caught his attention. He'd never seen it before but he recognised the instrument panel immediately. It was a Veraceo-Two signal generator, no longer looking like hacked electronics, now it was a custom built piece of broadcast hardware.

Then he saw the most damning offering this place had to offer. U-matic video cassettes. The label on them said the title 'Videodrome' with an episode number. There were twelve of them. When he picked up the cassette he found a red ribbon hanging from the plastic hole that prevented accidental erasure. On the ribbon was the legend, 'Veraceo-2 ARMED', followed by the ominous warning, 'Optical Radiation – Risk of Death – No Safe Limit'.

Videodrome... a cassette labelled Videodrome that carried a red ribbon saying it was armed with Veraceo-Two.

There was a noise at the door. Somebody called his name. "Brian?" It was Peter Fluorite. "Jesus, Brian you've lost weight. How are you feeling?"

"I'm getting stronger... I came to find information on a test subject from Toronto, a girl." He held up one of the U-matic cassettes, "But I found this."

Fluorite leaned against the doorframe and nodded. He grimaced slightly. "I was told you were off the project. Barry Convex told me you were recovering from chemotherapy."

"That's right, I am recovering. I'm still with the project but I'm not fully in the loop. What is this? What is Videodrome?"

"That's what we're calling the show. The cassettes are thirty minute test programmes for broadcast. We're going to see what happens when Veraceo-Two is broadcast in the wild."

"You're not serious. You know it causes cancer, right? That's why I'm battling a brain tumour; it's from exposure to this."

Fluorite nodded. "I know. The plan is for a small scale test on society outliers. People at the bottom. We want to see how many..."

Brian lashed out. He grabbed Fluorite as hard and fast as his weakened frame could manage and pushed him back up against the wall. "...Are you fucking insane? You're going to fucking broadcast this?"

Fluorite held his hands in surrender. "Si, Pátrone... You really are out of the loop. I think I should call Barry."

"What about the people downstairs. I just found a woman in a cage."

Fluorite looked aside, sheepish. "The brain can tell the difference. It knows when we're faking."

"So you're really torturing these people?" Brian dropped him and backed away. "Why? Just answer that one question, Peter. Why are you doing this? Why broadcast? Why go to such criminal lengths to manufacture a programme that gives people cancer?"

Peter straightened his clothing. "Like I said, it's a test. We need to know what it can do. There is a problem in society, Brian. You know this. There is a problem with the haves and have-nots. The workers and shirkers. There are people at the bottom who do nothing but complain about how the rich get richer. In their mind they see the rich as being the problem never realising it is they themselves who are rotting us away. They are the weak. They are the people who decry our way of life and beckon communism to come in and take over their lives. These people do nothing but try and destabilize a society that has offered them opportunity after opportunity. They would dismantle everything that productive people have built rather than lift a finger to help themselves. These people have become an anchor on society, they're a drain on our resources. They need to either join the world and catch up, or be cut loose." Peter approached the table of Videodrome cassettes. "But what if we could isolate them? What if we knew their viewing habits? What if we could find the scum television stations whose audience is nothing but the filth of the Earth." He motioned the cassettes with their red ribbons. "Look at what we've created. A horrible TV show of violence and torture. There's no plot, there's no story. Now who the hell would watch a show like that except the worst people in society. Only scum would watch a show like Videodrome. Wholesome people wouldn't watch it. Decent people wouldn't watch it. God fearing Christians wouldn't watch it. Only the worst people in our society would tune in to a show that flogged naked men until their skin tore and bled. Only the worst people could watch a woman raped and call it entertainment; and this is our chance to cut that diseased flesh from our society once and for all."

"And when did you come up with this amazing philosophy? What was it that made you think it a good idea to broadcast a TV show that causes brain cancer?"

"It's not a what, Pátrone... It's who... It was Barry Convex. He's the one who convinced me... Videodrome, is a force for good; and along with Consec, we're going to change the world together."

\----- X -----

Brian flew back to Toronto feeling the life slowly draining out of him. He wanted to crawl away and die. His resonance replaced with a cold, despairing misery. What a fool he'd been. To give himself cancer, to expose others and shorten their lives. Those people were victims of his mistake, but this new application was not a mistake. It was designed. His technology was in the hands of people whose very ideology regarded the poor, downtrodden and unproductive as the enemy. His folly was irredeemable.

But it spurred in him something else. Rage. A quiet brewing anger looking for an outlet. He wanted to set fire to the Consec building and watch it engulfed in flames. He wanted to force Consec Leader to watch all twelve of those Videodrome programmes. He wanted to make the man choke on his own filth until the cancer was bubbling out of his ears.

That feeling again. That desire for violence.

On arrival in Toronto he went to a payphone. He was so demoralised his arms barely had the strength to lift the receiver. "Hello," he croaked. "I'd like to speak with Suzanne Webster."

There was a girl on the other end of the line and the sound of more young women in the background. Suzanne's address was on a university campus. Brian reasoned it was likely a student house. "Who is calling please?"

"My name is Brian Spectrometer."

"And how did you know Suzanne?"

Brian felt the last ounce of warmth leave his body. How did you know her? Past tense... Oh Jesus... "I was... We..." Brian fumbled for words. He took a deep breath and forced the speech out of his mouth. "She was doing some work with me. Some experimental work with television programming. Is she there? Can I speak with her?"

There was a moment of silence. "I'm sorry, but Suzanne passed away a few weeks ago. We're still trying to come to terms with it."

"Can I ask how she died?"

"Exposure. I know that sounds crazy, but it's what the hospital said. She'd suffered some kind of mental breakdown and refused to come indoors because she felt the walls were breathing. She sat outside for days and died from exposure to the cold. Is there anything I can help you with? Do you need her parent's number or anything?"

"No," Brian whispered. "There's nothing you can do for me... There's nothing anyone can do for me."

He walked away from the phone booth like his shoes were made from lead, shuffling, stumbling, unable to consciously control his movements. Suzanne Webster had been exposed to Viper-Sig and suffered a mental collapse that ended her life. Bradley Etherington was exposed to Viper-Sig and had a psychotic episode that ended in a police shootout. Thank Christ Consec didn't have Viper-Sig too.

He sat in his car and desired the same end as Suzanne Webster. Maybe if he sat here long enough he would get cold and die from hypothermia.

It was then that the vision began.

A wonderful vision derived from his new and cancerous brain matter.

He felt he was looking at himself in a mirror, but quickly realised he was watching a television set. His own face staring back out at him. "Brian," his TV reflection said. "You have found yourself in a difficult position."

"I'm in hell," he replied. "I'm looking into the future and I see nothing."

"There is nothing in the future," the TV Brian replied. "There is nothing but oblivion. Television oblivion. The future of the cathode ray tube is to broadcast death by radiation. A radiation of the small screen that shall transform the souls of those who watch it. It shall reshape the fabric of their minds, reshape the very topography of the human brain and lead its viewers, hypnotized, into oblivion."

"I don't know what I should do," he said.

"There is little you can do other than preach the gospels of the television age. You may become literally the video-word and bring forward your knowledge. Your knowledge and gospels have the chance to transcend even your own death and rebuild resonance to your name."

"I don't like my name... My mother called me Brian Olivier. Consec renamed me Brian Spectrometer. They said it was a special name."

"Then you shall have a new name."

Brian inhaled deeply. "Yes."

"Then say your special name."

"I am Professor Brian O'Blivion... I am the literal video-word made flesh... And I shall bring my gospels to the world."

\----- X -----

The vagrants were shuffling in a line. They collected their bowls of soup and hot coffees and huddled at tables. The mission was open until ten in the evening then they were back on the street. Brian felt like joining the queue. He wanted to shed his responsibilities, live homeless and drink himself to a stupor under a bridge as the cancer consumed him.

Bianca was serving the meals. She saw him. She must have seen some immediate outward sign of distress because she handed off her food serving position to a volunteer and rushed over to meet him. "Father, what's wrong?"

"Everything is wrong... The world is ending, Bianca; and I am its destructor."

Bianca took him upstairs to her office and tried to coax it out of him. Had he been to Pittsburgh? Yes. Had he found a way to contact his research student? Yes and she was dead. "I fear they may murder me," he said. "I fear they will also murder you if I stay."

"Nobody is going to commit murder, Father. Those people, those students died by accidental exposure. You couldn't have known. You're not a murderer."

"But Consec are murderers. They have plans to murder on a grand scale. My partners plan to use Veraceo to eradicate people like these you feed here. They want to rid North America of what they consider its diseased flesh."

Brian laid it out. All of it. Part of him wanted to leave so that Bianca would be untouched and unknowing to the horror Consec planned. He wanted to leave her out of it so she herself would not become a threat to Consec by having knowledge of their plans; but selfishly, he wanted to unburden himself. He didn't want to be alone.

"I'll help you," she said. "You must stand up to these people and I will help you confront them."

"You can't confront these people," he conceded. "They're a mist, an unimpeachable fog. They have plans and schemes and they have the power to bring their ideology to the masses disguised as the very air we breathe."

Bianca paced the room. "We can't do nothing. I won't be idle in the face of tyranny. I refuse. Do you see those people downstairs? Vagrants are what most people see, but I see human beings. I see trapped and hindered potential waiting to be unlocked. The very thought that a corporation, a business, would choose people like that for execution based on their economic output jars at my soul. I have tried my hardest to help the most unfortunate. I understand more than most that the destitute can become a charge upon society, but they can also be made productive. I don't know anybody who would want to live in a society where the unproductive are graded and discarded."

"You haven't met these people," Brian said with a sigh. "That is exactly what they want."

"What does Barry think of this?"

"Barry?" Brian had to take a few breaths before answering, not even wanting to say the words else they make the statement more true. "Barry has become one of them. It is his idea to broadcast the Videodrome programme."

"And he knows what it does?"

Brian nodded. "He knows what it does and that is why he wants to broadcast it. He wants to test its efficiency."

"Have you talked to him? Face to face?"

Brian shook his head. "No. I haven't."

Bianca came to his side and knelt ahead of him. She took his hand in hers. A father and daughter pose they hadn't formed in decades. "Then you must go and try. You've been partners since you were at college together. He'll listen if you try hard enough. He can't really be this monster you're making him out to be. He was never like this. I've known him all my life. He entertained me as a child, he hugged me when Mother died and if he's been swayed and taken down a dark road then you must plead with him and try to bring him back. Beg him. Turn him around. You must try, Father. You must find a way."

\----- X -----

Brian suffered nightmares of the Videodrome programme. What were they doing to the girl in the cage? What was her name? How did she end up there to be tortured for an entertainment show? Was she whipped? Choked? Raped? Drowned? Electrocuted? Peter Fluorite had said the brain knew when they were faking which meant they were hurting people for real. With every intrusive thought he felt brewing resentment and anger. Impotent rage towards Consec. He would burn them if he could, kill them if he had the courage. Violence is the outcome of a man stripped of his identity and he had lost even his name to these people. Hardly surprising he fantasised about murdering Consec Leader.

Thoughts of violence yet again.

Visions of violence.

He drove to Queen Street East. Spectacular Optical.

Barry's flagship store looked a little grimier than usual. The storefront hadn't been cleaned and the window display was looking worn. This wasn't his usual manner. Normally Barry was obsessive about the high street image.

"I'm Brolley, Can I be helpin' you?" The black man had a smile fit for a toothpaste commercial and plenty of charm.

"I'm looking for Barry. I'm Brian, I'm Barry's business partner." He held out a hand to shake.

"Ah, man. I only been here for the week. Still finding ma' way around. Barry's too busy to be managing the stores he say, that's why he bring me in to be store manager. He's out back in the grindin' bay, do you know where that is?"

"Yes, thanks."

Brian walked behind the counter and discovered that an adjoining wall had been knocked through into the next-door shop. An expansion into another building that couldn't be seen from the front street. The newly acquired space was taken up with packing tables and lots of flattened cardboard boxes. Whatever work needed the extra space hadn't started yet but it involved a lot of packaging.

Barry was in his office sitting at a newly installed computer terminal. "That looks fancy," Brian said.

Barry smiled, but his face looked worn somehow, saddened. "They call it a Mycron 2000. Brand new. We're going to use it for streamlining the manufacturing pipeline." Brian took a seat with his old friend, easing himself into the chair carefully. "Jesus, Brian, are you okay? You look weak."

"I am weak. I'm on a special diet to try and recover from the chemo but sometimes I feel tired. I went to Pittsburgh. I met Peter. I learned about the new TV show. Videodrome. I even saw how it's made."

Barry nodded. He looked down. He looked around the room. He looked everywhere except at Brian. "I know," he said softly. "Peter told me. More importantly, Peter told Consec Security you had been there. I don't know how to begin explaining."

"You can say you're sorry. Start with that."

"Jesus... I am sorry... Have you ever had that feeling when things are slipping beyond your control? Consec wanted me to come and see you to assess your... they... they fear you may be a liability. They want certainty the project is secure. They were going to send some hardass Consec man called Keller, but I said I would talk with you."

"They're torturing people, Barry. They're torturing people on camera to make a television show and Peter told me you're going to broadcast it."

Barry shook his head. "No, that won't happen. The Consec idea is to broadcast. It's their idea and that's why I'm still involved. If I wasn't there it would be broadcast already. I'm stalling. I'm buying time. I'm doing what I can to minimize their insanity. But believe me. If I'm not there to raise problems and derail things, then the Videodrome programme would be in the wild by now. I'm going to stall them for as long as I can, for years if possible."

"I have an idea," Brian said. "Of another use for Veraceo. The first version, Veraceo-One seems to be safe. You were exposed to it. We tested a thousand college kids with it and things seem to be okay."

Barry had his elbows on the table and rubbed his face with both hands. "Yes. So far they seem okay. No cancer proteins have been detected."

"What I'm thinking of doing is a smaller test, still aligned with Consec ideals. At Bianca's mission she has homeless people coming through the door every day. I'm thinking of exposing these people to Veraceo-One with content designed to make them more productive members of society."

Barry leaned back in his chair, he made solid eye contact for the first time. "Interesting."

"If Consec fear that unproductive people are a risk to North America, imagine how interested they would be to discover a way to reprogram them. Imagine if we could improve productivity across the board. Rather than killing these people with brain tumours, let's emancipate them from poverty."

"That is interesting... The problem is Consec view you as compromised."

"I'll work covertly, off the Consec radar. I have the funds, I can transform Bianca's soup kitchen into a cathode ray testing facility."

"And I can stall the Videodrome broadcast whilst you work on the alternative," Barry said. He suddenly had more vigour. Energised by the suggestion. "Oh, Jesus. You have no idea what kind of relief this brings."

"Relief?"

Barry sighed. "I've been staring into insanity. I'm aligned with people who want to commit murder by television... Mass murder... When we partnered with Consec and I started working on a project of bringing affordable eye care to the Third-World, I thought it was going to be my legacy. I was proud of it. I thought I would be remembered as the man who brought sight to the world. Instead I'll be remembered for Videodrome. The only way I could see to fight against the insanity was to become a complete monster. I'm not a monster, Brian. Not yet, not entirely. I hope you still believe that, my friend."

\----- X -----

Brian went to buy televisions and hit the jackpot on his first enquiry. A store called Irwin Television Rentals offered hire purchase and rental of TV sets and had a bulk lot of sixty used sets of various sizes and models. They were about to put them all up for sale and were happy to sell them as a job lot, happy to deliver them and even happier to be paid in cash.

The second problem was tables and chairs. Brian took some of the vagrants who hovered by the mission and scoured the second hand furniture stores. He offered the derelicts a few dollars on the spot to carry it back and promised a few beers when the furniture arrived back at the mission. Some of the furniture didn't arrive but most of it did.

By the evening, the homeless were eating their soup and drinking their coffee to the light of the cathode ray. Of the sixty TV's only ten were connected, the rest would be installed tomorrow but Brian was pleased with how well it had gone. By tomorrow night he would have sixty televisions capable of bathing the homeless in the affirming radiation of Veraceo-One. He would need content of some kind. Something to encourage them with. Something uplifting that made them want to achieve. Inspirational programs of people overcoming obstacles in their life.

It was liberating to do something productive. He felt motivated. He had a purpose.

He had a mission.
\----- Chapter Five -----

Barry Convex visited the soup kitchen a week later. Workmen were hanging a sign outside that named the building the Cathode Ray Mission. He had to jostle past vagrants at the door as they pressed through to get their free coffee and television fix. It was a bitterly cold morning and the derelicts would rather be indoors than out.

"Hello Barry," Bianca said. She gave him the slightest kiss on his cheek.

"I haven't seen you in a long time." He stepped back to take a look at the girl, now a woman.

"You're looking well," she said.

"Thank you. Although I feel a little overdressed." He looked around at the homeless watching their TV screens. "Is this a clean signal?"

"No, it's Veraceo-One at a very low level. About eight percent of maximum."

Barry nodded but turned away from the screen and involuntarily shielded his eyes with his hand. "What are they watching?"

"Read All About It. It's a children's programme to encourage reading, writing and history. We're hoping this kind of educational content, mixed with some Veraceo might help patch them back into society. My father is upstairs."

Barry went up alone and found Brian sitting at a desk, speaking his mind to a video camera. Barry quietly took a seat to the side and allowed him to finish.

"The technology of television has become so pervasive that the education of not just our youth, but of all society, should be aimed at immunising against television. That is not to say that television is a disease, at least not a disease of the flesh. Rather it is a virus similar to the mind virus of a religion. There shall be a two tier system in North America. Those who are educated and therefore, have an immunity against television; and those with no immunity at all, who shall be swallowed up by the messages of the cathode ray tube." Brian stopped the video recording.

"How are you feeling, Brian?"

He shook his head slowly. "I feel renewed and refreshed, but the doctor says otherwise. The doctor says I am ready for more chemotherapy and the fast growing tumour is still fast growing. What do you think of the mission?"

"Impressive, considering you only dreamed up the idea a week ago. What are you recording?"

"My legacy. I had a vision after seeing your computer, a vision where all the knowledge of the world's libraries could be searched and indexed through a televisual device. I imagined that your computer was connected to all the knowledge in the world. One day that future may come and I am preparing the content for that future."

Barry squirmed in the chair a little. "I got a call this morning. From Consec." He paused as though waiting for Brian's acknowledgement but there was none forthcoming. "I'm invited to a meeting tonight to discuss what you're doing here. They've had a private investigator come in as a vagrant. He used a Veraceo detector and they know you're experimenting. I don't think they know what you're doing but there's anxiety on their side."

Brian smiled. "My idea of being off their radar hasn't lasted very long."

"No, it hasn't. I told them I was aware of your side research and that I authorised it, but they want me to shut you down. They're paranoid; no, more than that. They're terrified that Veraceo may slip into communist hands and they want it all sealed up in one location. When you showed up in Pittsburgh with a working security card it spooked them. They fear that you're a loose cannon. They fear that you're unpredictable and I came to tell you that if the meeting goes sour tonight, all of this may come to an end."

\----- X -----

Barry was taken by helicopter to Home Base. Cueball was there to greet him. "I think we should talk before Leader arrives." He took Barry to a small meeting room. "What's the story with Brian Spectrometer? I understand you visited him this morning."

"I did," Barry replied. He tried to put confidence into his voice. "I wanted to make sure I understood precisely what he was doing. I believe I do. It's interesting work."

Cueball exhaled heavily. "Barry... You need to be very careful... Your role at this time is to weaponise Veraceo and nothing more. If you deviate from that, you'll be considered a Consec threat. Do you understand what that means?"

Barry shook his head. "No, I'm not sure I do. Spell it out for me. Don't beat around the bush, tell me what..."

"...You'll be killed." Cueball interrupted. He went quiet for a moment then spoke softly to say, "That isn't hyperbole, that is precisely what will happen. Men from Consec Security will come and murder you... Veraceo is a game-changing technology that Consec has decided they must have exclusively. Brian has been identified as a weak link. The reason Leader is coming tonight is to decide whether to eliminate him. Do you understand? Tonight we're going to take a vote on whether to kill Brian Spectrometer. You're going to be in the meeting too and you're going to have to raise your hand and vote 'yes' when asked if Brian Spectrometer should die. If you don't, you're going to be the next weak link."

"I don't believe you?"

"Then don't believe me. But the reason I've pulled you aside is to make sure you know what is going to happen. Veraceo is worth more than the life of its inventor. Brian has socialist and liberal leanings. We know what he's doing. He's trying to turn Veraceo into a saviour of society's dead flesh. He's exposing Veraceo to the world to try and improve the productivity of a handful of vagrants. Consec Security lost their shit when they discovered that. This is as dangerous as the atomic bomb, but when the Manhattan Project made the bomb they did it locked up with military security. They didn't do top secret weapons research from a soup kitchen with an open door to the world... This is a do or die world we live in, Barry. You're a doer, don't be the one who dies."

He left Barry alone in the meeting room. Bare concrete walls. A plain white table.

Was this a bluff of some kind?

They wouldn't kill Brian, would they? Or him?

Reality dawned slowly. It began with a tight stomach and a feeling that he couldn't move. What the hell had happened? How had things become so murderous so quickly?

The door opened and he saw the woman he'd met on his first visit to Home Base. "We're about to start."

Barry made his way out of the room. The world was spinning.

"Barry. Good to see you." Consec Leader strode to him. He looked a picture of health and confidence. The tall man with his close cropped silver beard and deep blue eyes. His demeanour changed on seeing Barry up close. "You look like you've seen a ghost my friend. How are things in Pittsburgh?"

Barry put on his best fake smile. "We're making real progress in Pittsburgh," he said thinly. "With every test we're learning how to make Veraceo stronger and deadlier. It's going to change the world."

\----- X -----

"We have found that primates respond to Veraceo-Two in the same way that humans do." Barry was briefing the room with the latest findings. He was trying to shrug off what Cue Ball had said and to maintain a professional appearance. "Rhesus monkeys in particular behave strangely after viewing and we believe they are responding to hallucinations."

"How do you know when a monkey is hallucinating?" Leader asked.

"Well, it's an educated assumption. We make video recordings of the animals and it's very clear in the playback that their eyes are tracking imaginary objects. You can see the animal's eyes focus on an empty point in space as though there is a solid object there. Sometimes they reach out and try to interact with imaginary objects."

Leader nodded.

Barry was briefing the room of mostly the same people as when he and Brian first came here. Cue Ball, Marylin Bricks, Steven Watercolour and the ominous sounding Mister Harpoon of security were there. Consec Leader sat at the head of the table plus two more women and a man who looked like a nightclub doorman. The women were amusingly titled Left Eye and Right Eye and were introduced as 'long range strategists'. The nightclub doorman was codenamed Mister Crucial; his position was unspecified but he and Leader seemed to have a manner with one another, an ability to exchange ideas or confirm suggestions with eye contact. It looked like they worked together closely, or had known one another for a very long time.

Barry continued with his report. "We've done a number of biopsies of monkey brains and the results are indistinguishable from the human tests. This means future testing can be done with lab animals," his voice dipped slightly, "rather than with people." He swallowed hard to clear his throat. "Life Sciences have confirmed that the c-Myc proteins that cause the unregulated growth begin forming within seconds of exposure. We believe that Veraceo-Two can trigger cancer growth in as little as fifteen seconds of exposure and we've not yet come across a subject, either primate or human, who it hasn't worked on."

Mister Crucial raised a finger for attention. "I'd like you to tell us about the side project run by Spectrometer?"

Barry took a moment to compose himself. He didn't make eye contact with anyone as he spoke. "As you know, Brian Spectrometer invented Veraceo and there is nobody who knows more about it than him. He is the man we need to improve or repurpose Veraceo."

"But what is he doing?" Crucial asked again.

"He's running an experiment to repurpose vagrants. One of the key social weaknesses in North America today is low productivity. There are many sections of society that are grossly unemployed or underemployed. For example, in black communities. Black youths have the highest rate of unemployment and the highest rate of criminal arrests when compared to any other subgroup. An unproductive subgroup like this is a drain on the resources of North America. With Veraceo-Two it would be possible to broadcast a cancer causing television programme aimed at black-youths to eliminate them. It's one possible, but somewhat drastic way to tackle the problem. So, Spectrometer has come up with an alternative idea. His thinking is rather than the eradication of the unproductive, they can be repurposed. He is experimenting with Veraceo-One as a tool of social engineering. His goal is to change the thinking processes of the unproductive, repurposing them as hardworking members of society."

Consec Leader nodded. "That is an interesting proposition, Barry. However, we must remain on a single course. Your task is to weaponise Veraceo, not social engineering."

Barry looked to Cue Ball who was very gently shaking his head. An invisible signal telling him to be careful. "I understand," Barry replied. "But with a technology as new and untested as this, and that's the key word, 'untested', it seemed imperative that all avenues are explored. We wouldn't want to miss something. It may be that this research opens up more avenues of research. There could be a key breakthrough just on the horizon that transforms North America, or even the Communists. It would be foolhardy not to pursue all avenues. But I understand your concern and if you so desire I'll shut down the side project and bring all resources onto weaponisation."

"We do desire." Leader said.

As Barry looked around the table he noticed all eyes were on him. The faces were cold and stern. He knew he'd made a reasonable case, but realised now that they didn't care. He could see their motivation was as deep as their madness. Given a choice of using Veraceo for growth or destruction they would chose to destroy. They coveted the power of Armageddon. They were even prepared to test their killing methods on their own people. What did they care what happened to its creator? Isn't that what Cue Ball had stressed when he took him aside? 'Brian is a weak link' he'd said, 'you're going to be the next weak link.' He took a deep breath then said, "I'll shut down the side project immediately."

"But what about Spectrometer himself?" Mister Crucial asked. "His psychological profile suggests he will not accept this course for his work."

"What is your opinion, Barry? You've been friends for a long time and I appreciate that this could be emotionally uncomfortable for you. What do you think Brian will do when you close the side project? How will he respond knowing we're weaponising his invention?"

Barry looked to Cue Ball for guidance, a signal of some kind, but Cue Ball sat unmoving. "My opinion... I understand Brian... He won't sit still and be quiet. He's liable to make noise."

"A liability?" Mister Crucial asked.

Barry took a very deep breath. Cue Ball's words went through his head again. 'This is a do or die world we live in, Barry... You're a doer... don't be the one who dies... don't be the weak link.' He swallowed hard and forced the words out of his mouth. "Yes, he's a liability and a potential problem. Knowing him as I do, I would say that although his precise future behaviour is hard to predict, I do not believe his behaviour would be aligned with Consec's aims."

\----- X -----

The meeting ended and Barry headed out quickly. He had to call. He had to telephone Brian quickly and warn him. Consec Leader followed him out. "Barry, can I have a moment."

"Sure."

Leader held out his hand again to shake. "From when I first met you, I felt that you were made of the right stuff, but it's so rare that I get a chance to see someone step up and put the needs of a continent so forthrightly before their own considerations."

"Thank you. If you'll forgive me. I'm still human and I'm feeling some strong emotions right now. I'd like to go and have some alone time."

Leader smiled and walked him to the door with a hand on his shoulder. "Yes, you are, Barry. You are still human." He opened the door for him. There were now four helicopters parked outside. Barry began walking to the one he thought he'd arrived in. "Hey, Barry..."

"Yeah?" he asked calling back over his shoulder.

"This happens sometimes. Just think of it as a statistic. It's just a number, nothing more."

Barry nodded. He waved and turned back towards the helicopter.

Jesus Fucking Christ. A statistic... a fucking statistic? He was talking about Brian Olivier, the greatest friend and business partner a man could ever have. They'd done it all and done it together. They'd got drunk at college together. Invented things together. Made money and lost money together. Always together. Always as friends.

Ahead of him he heard the helicopter turbine begin to wind up. Navigation lights came on and the rotors began to move as the chopper prepared for take-off. Barry climbed into the back. "Get me back to Toronto. Fast!"

The helicopter rose into the air. Barry realised Consec Leader was still standing watch, taking an extra minute out of his day to give Barry a wave goodbye. Barry returned the wave as the helicopter banked to the side and climbed into the night.

They flew for less than ten minutes.

"Hey, I need you to land on the street down there," he called as they passed over the first bit of town.

"No, Sir, that's not possible," the pilot said. "I can't land on a residential street, there could be overhead cables and it's against aviation rules."

"I need to make a phone call," Barry said. "It's desperate. I need to get to a payphone quickly."

"Err... roger that... give me a moment." The pilot began scouring the ground around him, dropping altitude. "Sir, there is a gas station over to the right by the freeway, do you see it?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to try and set down a hundred yards beyond it on the open ground."

"Good. Wait for me. I'm going to make one call and come back."

The helicopter landed and Barry jumped out into cold soft mud. He ran hard and fast with his head ducked low towards the gas station. It was a long time since he'd run a hundred yards and he was out of breath quickly. "I'm not going to be responsible for his murder. I'm not going to be responsible for his murder." The words came as a mantra, huffed and puffed with his exertion.

He burst into the gas station. "Payphone," he yelled. "Where's your phone?"

\----- X -----

Bianca answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Bianca, it's Barry. Is your father there? It's urgent."

She passed the phone over. "Barry, for you. He said it's urgent." Brian took the telephone.

"Brian, thank God. You've got to get out of there. Consec have turned ugly and they see you as a threat. I've just been at a meeting where they decided to murder you. Drop everything now and get out. Just run. Get away from there now. Go now!"

Bianca was stood close by and could hear the muffled voice. She picked out enough words to know they were in danger. She moved to the window and moved the curtain. A man in the street looked up at her, he was holding a... was it a gun? Oh, Jesus... "Father, there's a man outside with a gun." She looked again to see this man crossing to the front door of the mission, a second man followed but jogged past the first, heading around the building.

The telephone line went dead in Brian's hand. Barry was still talking but the phone line cut out. "Turn off the lights," he said to Bianca. Think, he had to think. "What did you see outside?"

"Two men. One went to the front door..." There was a bang from downstairs as the front door kicked in.

Covered in darkness, Brian edged to the balcony. The mission was formerly a church and Bianca's living quarters and office were on a galleried ledge that looked down into the main hall. It was covered in curtain which Brian eased open. There was a man in the darkness inside the hall. He was looking around, surveying the surroundings but not moving. Then came another loud bang and a shattering of glass. Brian held his breath as he watched the second man move into the hall. They both held pistols.

Bianca was waiting for instruction. "Turn on the televisions," Brian whispered. She moved to the patch bay and threw a few switches as the men began walking past the TV sets. Suddenly the room came to life with cathode ray static. Brian went to the patch bay and pointed Bianca to the curtains. "Keep watching them. Tell me where they are."

Bianca moved to the balcony and held the curtain only an inch apart to look into the hall. "They're checking the doors at the far end," she whispered. Brian plugged in the colour bar test generator. "All the TV's have changed to a test pattern. They've stopped. They're looking around."

Brian connected the Viper-Sig module. "Cover your eyes, Bianca. Don't look at the screens." She stepped back from the curtain as Brian turned the signal to one hundred percent. He grabbed a copy of the clean Pittsburgh cassette, the Double Interracial tape. He played it. Viper-Sig at one hundred percent with Double Interracial played out across sixty televisions. From within the hall came the grunts and screams of the Videodrome torture. The black man and white woman locked in a double collar cried out and echoed from sixty televisions. Brian and Bianca were behind the curtain and shielded, but the two assassins amongst the screens were exposed. He let the whole tape play out then connected the video camera and turned on the desk lamp to illuminate himself. He switched the output to the sixty TV's to the live view from the camera, still embedded with Viper-Sig. He took a seat in front of the camera. "I'm talking to the men who have just entered the Cathode Ray Mission. Take a seat in front of a television. I have something to give you."

Brian and Bianca both listened carefully. They heard the sound of chairs moving in the hall.

"Will it make them do what they're told?" Bianca asked.

"I think so. I'm going to turn off the signal for a second," Brian whispered. "When I do, look out quickly and tell me what you see." He placed his hand on the Viper-Sig controller. "Now, look now."

Bianca peeked behind the curtain and came back a second later. "They're sitting down, watching you on the screen."

Brian turned the Viper-Sig module back on and whispered to Bianca, "It's going to be okay. I have a plan."

He did have a plan, but more than that he had rage, he had understated fury coursing through his veins. Consec had sent men to kill him... To murder... To kill Bianca too, probably.

Bastards... Fucking son's of bitches...

They'd robbed him of his work, of his choices, of his health and of his very identity.

His identity was gone. The old Brian Olivier was gone. Erased.

Violence is the outcome of a man stripped of his identity.

Violence is the outcome of a man stripped of his identity.

Violence is the outcome of a man stripped of his identity.

They had picked a fight with the wrong man. They picked a fight with a weaponised man. A dying man with nothing to lose. A man stripped of his very identity and purpose in life; and a man who had the means to send them into oblivion.

\----- X -----

The assassins called for helicopter support to take them back to Home Base. "The Spectrometer partnership is dissolved," they said. "But we have something from him that must go directly to Consec Leader. We're bringing it in now."

The helicopter picked them up at the business park and brought them in. Cue Ball was there to meet them. "This is for Consec Leader only," they said. One of them held a video cassette. The label read, 'From the office of Professor Brian O'Blivion.'

Cue Ball reached for it. "I'll take it."

"I'm sorry, Sir. This is too sensitive, it's for Consec Leader eyes only."

Cue Ball took a step back and scrutinised the assassin. Company Men like these were renowned for their loyalty and ability, typically they were twenty year veterans with impeccable credentials. He knew better than to question. He made the call. "Consec Leader, this is Cue Ball. The Company Men have returned from the Spectrometer assignment. The partnership was dissolved but they have a package for you and you only."

They waited three minutes.

The elevator pinged on arrival.

"What do you have?" Leader asked the assassins.

It was Cue Ball who answered. "They have a video cassette that is too sensitive even for me, Sir."

"What is it?" He asked again.

The assassins looked to one another, then one of them said, "Before he died, Spectrometer gave me this and said it was his confession of what he has done with the technology... You need to see it."

"Spectrometer said Consec is in danger," the other assassin added. "Grave danger."

Leader took the cassette.

Cue Ball had as much apprehension written on his face as he held in his voice. "Sir, I would advise against watching any video that came from Spectrometer."

Leader smiled and gave him a wink. "I have Veraceo detectors on my screens upstairs. Don't worry. I'm not that foolish." To the assassins he said, "I want you two men to remain here whilst I watch this. I may have some questions for you."

Leader walked to the elevator and took the cassette back to his pure white apartment. He sat down at his bank of televisions and positioned his two Veraceo detectors ahead of the central screen. As the cassette started he had his hand raised to shield the screen whilst watching the detectors.

Spectrometer came on the screen, underneath him was the legend 'Professor Brian O'Blivion'.

"Consec Leader," Brian said, "you are seeing this tape because Brian Spectrometer is dead." Leader looked to his two Veraceo detectors, both of them had the green light of a clean signal; he lowered his hand to watch the screen. "But you can't really kill something of the television age. Copies are made. Duplications of the video. I understand now the title of your programme, Videodrome. The video arena. An arena in which to battle for the mind of North America. I understand Consec's philosophy of wishing to control people. Your desire is not just to control one corner of the globe, but to have authority across all people and with Veraceo you had the perfect tool. Except, you didn't. There is a mistake you made in your relentless drive for destruction. Your mistake is blowback. You showed me the depths of your madness. A desire to commit mass murder by television to improve GDP per capita. A truly destructive plan. With your Videodrome programme you could have aimed for the stars, yet your appetite was simply for Armageddon. Your quest was for violence. So, I have set out to destroy Consec and Videodrome and I can do so from beyond death."

Leader glanced back at the Veraceo detectors, still showing the green light of a clean signal. To the screen he whispered, "I don't think so, Spectrometer."

On screen Brian O'Blivion grinned. "Before I tell you why you're really watching this, I need to preface my confession with a philosophy; and I'm going to tell you about violence. Not the sort of violence that you were seeking, but the violence that you have brought upon yourself. All forms of violence are a quest for personal identity. When a man has no identity, when he is a nobody, he gets very tough and he must prove that he is somebody; and so he becomes very violent. Identity is always accompanied by violence. Ordinary people become violent as they lose their identity. The threat to people's identity makes people violent. Terrorists and hijackers, these are people minus identity. They are determined to make it somehow, to get coverage and to get noticed. Do you notice me? Do you see me now, Consec Leader?"

Leader stared at the screen. he felt like he was shaking his head, but somehow it didn't feel right.

On the screen Brian continued to talk. "You have Veraceo versions one and two, but you've never seen Veraceo-Three," Brian sniggered, "until now... you're watching it, Consec Leader. Your brain is exploding with cancer proteins. Worse yet, you are paralysed, did you realise yet that you can't move? Try it."

Leader tried to stand and couldn't. He tried to raise his hands but couldn't. He tried to close his eyes but couldn't. All he managed was to slur the phrase, "Oh, fuck."

"You have Veraceo versions one and two, but don't have the real venom. You don't have the weapon that you desire... Only I have that... and you sent your assassins to kill me. Well, this is your blowback. This is the revenge of a man you stripped of identity. Are you hallucinating yet? Can you see the cancer that is bubbling away under your skin? Veraceo-Three is the Video Persuasion Signal and with it I can control your entire body by the power of my voice; and I command every cell in your body to become cancerous. I command every cell in your body to swell and bubble and froth and inflame with cancers. I command your body to feel pain. I command your nervous system to burn with the resonance of my name."

Leader tried to move, he tried to shake himself free of the chair. He had some back and forth momentum and he was slowly slipping off the chair, but at the same time his hands were ballooning in size, his fingers fattening. Blood seeped from under his fingernails. Was it hallucination or was it real. Was it psychosomatic-stimuli? Did the brain believe it so much it forced the body to respond? "Oh fuuuuuuuck." That was when he found himself screaming. He couldn't help it. He screamed until every last atom of air was exhaled then gasped in and screamed again.

"Blowback," Brian was saying. "You took me to the edge and made me look into oblivion; and now oblivion comes back to haunt your dreams."

The pain was overwhelming. Every nerve fibre electrified.

"Can you feel it, Consec Leader? Can you feel as every cell in your body begins to eat itself from within? How long do you think you can stay alive? How much pain can you endure?"

Leader shook himself out of the chair and fell under the desk, breaking his view of the television. Blood poured from his mouth onto the white floor tiles of his room, his flesh was bubbling as though golf balls were inflating under his skin. He crawled away from the screen and back to the elevator hearing the voice of Brian O'Blivion laughing at him. "I command your body to be in endless pain until you die."

He had to get out. He had to get away.

"The only relief from this is when you die, Consec Leader... And if you ever send anyone to kill me again, I will destroy your organisation... This is justice, Consec Leader. Justice for the women in Pittsburgh. Justice for those you tortured; and justice for me. You stole my identity Consec Leader, but I will redeem myself through violence and bring resonance to the name of Professor Brian O'Blivion... You can believe that, can't you? Ha ha ha ha ha."

Leader dragged himself to the elevator, blood streaks smearing across the white floor behind him, his suit soaked through with fluids that may be real or imagined. He slammed his bleeding palm against the buttons and screamed with the pain. The door closed with Brian still laughing in the background.

\----- X -----

The assassins were seated in the lobby with Cue Ball when the elevator pinged. The doors opened to Consec Leader staggering out into the lobby. "Help me," he slurred.

"Why, what's wrong?" Cue Ball asked.

Leader loped forward clutching his stomach, dropping to his knees. All three men went forward to help him. One of the assassins leaned forward to catch him as Leader slumped to his knees. The assassin's jacket was open, his pistol hanging in a shoulder holster. Leader grabbed it and stuck the barrel in his own mouth.

"WAIT!" Cue Ball shrieked. Both assassins reached out to grab the gun and stop the man killing himself... They were all too late... BOOM!

Leader fell back as the top of his scalp popped up, deforming the skull but not breaking the skin. Cue Ball fell to the floor clutching him. "Leader... LEADER!"

The second assassin took his own weapon from his holster. "Mister Cue Ball," he said. Cue Ball turned his head in time to see the muzzle flare. The bullet went through his eye and blew out the back of his head; his body slumped down across the chest of Consec Leader. "Collect your weapon," he said to his colleague.

The second assassin collected his gun from Consec Leader's dead hand.

A door opened. Mister Crucial. "I thought I heard a..."

BOOM BOOM BOOM.

The assassins took Crucial down in a second and walked steadily to where he had fallen. There was the sound of a woman screaming further inside a corridor. Suddenly alarms blared but the assassins were unfazed. They continued on their programed mission. The Viper-Sig coding was simple. If Consec Leader is dead then kill them all.

The screaming woman was Marilyn Bricks. She ran down a corridor, panicked and backtracked right into the assassins. She took a bullet to the shoulder and another to the stomach.

Shotgun guards came running, approaching from behind "Freeze! Drop your weapon."

But the assassins just fired back until they ran out of bullets. They never ducked for cover or used their lifetime of military training. They stood still with guns at arm's length shooting at the shotgun guards. The moment they stopped shooting the guards returned fire with pump action Remington's. The whole thing lasted less than two minutes.

Consec Leader was dead.

Cue Ball was dead.

Mister Crucial was dead.

Marylin Bricks was injured but would survive.

Both assassins were dead.

Upstairs in Leader's apartment, the cassette of Brian O'Blivion played out, reached the end of the tape and automatically rewound. It would sit there, waiting for an unsuspecting soul to come along and discover it.

\--- EPILOGUE ---

Brian looked out from his new home. It was a simple duplex from which to spend the rest of his days. He didn't have long, he knew that; but he was motivated. He had his desk and his video camera. He could record cassettes and send them back to Bianca in Toronto. She would be his curator. His mind would spill out onto video and she would use them to craft a fictional character that lived beyond his own death. He would be reformed as modern day media-prophet, Professor Brian O'Blivion.

Bianca also had the Viper-Sig equipment. It was unknown whether Consec would be interested in her. They knew nothing of her; but if they did come calling one day. If they ever sent an assassin, then hopefully she could lure her killer into the same Viper-Sig trap. A hall full of TV screens that can hypnotise and reprogram a man within seconds.

He went to his desk and prepared to make a special protection tape for Bianca. At some point, somebody may come asking about Veraceo or the Videodrome programme. She needed a way to dispose of them quietly. That was the purpose of today's filming. A little light philosophy with a strong dose of Veraceo-Two.

He started the recording.

"The battle for the heart of North America will be fought in the video arena. The Videodrome. The television screen is the retina of the mind's eye. Therefore, the television screen is part of the physical structure of the brain. Therefore, whatever appears on the television screen emerges as raw experience for those who watch it. Therefore, television is reality and reality is less than television."

A thought went through his mind. A sad thought. Whoever watches this tape would develop the same brain tumour that was killing him... It couldn't be helped... He had to stop the world from being changed; even from beyond the grave, he had to try.

\----- X -----

It was four weeks since Leader's death. Consec Security had stepped in and cleaned up the mess, but not before two more people had died watching the deadly cassette of Brian O'Blivion.

"Have you reverse engineered the signal?" Marylin Bricks asked. Her arm was in a sling and she was in a wheelchair for comfort.

"No, we haven't," Barry explained. "We understand how it works, but we've not been able to duplicate it in a video signal. When we push Veraceo-Two to such high levels, the image breaks down, almost like you're watching a pirate tape. We're having some success when test subjects are so close to the screen it fills their entire field of vision. The thinking is to put it in a head mounted unit to get it working and go from there."

"A head mounted unit?"

"Veraceo-Three is completely different from the other versions and can top-to-bottom reprogram a man's mind... but we don't know how Brian created it."

"And what about the public tests?"

"As I explained before, once Videodrome is out in the wild there is a real danger of the Soviets or some other entity discovering and reverse engineering it, so I'm dead set against public trials."

"We know," Bricks said. "But that is what you're tasked with."

"We're working on it. This isn't going to happen fast. We can't just pay a TV network to broadcast what we want and not ask questions, we need to ingratiate ourselves by stealth and take over the management whilst remaining anonymous. That said, we have identified a potential cable TV company that would be suitable and Peter Fluorite is meeting with one of their executives later today."

\----- X -----

Peter Fluorite was in Brian's old video lab, the space he'd used as a workshop to originally develop Veraceo, before he was a Consec Partner; before he was a traitor.

There was a knock at the door. Fluorite opened it to a tall thin man with a long face and a soft crooked smile. "Are you the guy from Civic TV?" he asked.

The man scanned the room of video equipment, his eyes settling for a moment on a wall calendar of topless women, it made the man smile. He took his hand out his pocket and offered to shake hands. "Yes, I am. I'm Max Renn."

"Harlan," Peter said. "You can call me Harlan."
"I find television very educating.

Every time somebody turns on the set,

I go into the other room and read a book."

– Groucho Marx
These FREE books take a huge amount of time and effort to produce.

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Lee McGeorge

Books by Lee McGeorge

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