 
Norman Turrell

Alice in Virtuality

An adventure in the real... and the not so real
Copyright (C) Norman Turrell, 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

First edition

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#  Contents

  1. Foreword
  2. Meet Martin
  3. Martin Meets Alice
  4. Poker Showdown
  5. Work
  6. Knights and Dragons
  7. King for a Day
  8. The Party
  9. MeetCentral
  10. The Glade
  11. Uninstall
  12. Date in the Park
  13. Alice Returns
  14. HackerNet
  15. Teamwork
  16. Emma
  17. Emma and Martin
  18. Plans
  19. Alternative Alice
  20. Martin's Gambit
  21. The Gallery
  22. Queen Alice
  23. Alice vs. Alice
  24. Resume
  25. Bonus Material - Chapter 1 of 'Generational: A Starship Adventure'
  26. Bonus Material - A story from 'Points Of Possibility: Sci-fi, Fantasy, and Horror short stories'
  27. About the Author

# Foreword

Hey, Reader!

So you bought my book. Thank you so much. I really hope you're going to enjoy the read ahead. I'll check in with you at the end to see if you've enjoyed it and repeat the information below, plus an important request from me.

If you would like to find out more about my other books then please visit my website for full details. You'll find a little present for you there; it's only fair I give you something back. You can find your free gift at: www.normanturrell.com/writing Also feel free to contact me on Facebook, Twitter, or email (all details on the website) as I would love to hear from you.

On with the story...

# 1

# Meet Martin

Martin is a computer person and, therefore, different to other people. From his point of view, the world is populated with strange wandering creatures, engaging in incomprehensible rituals, making noises at each other for no discernible purpose. He feels a primal instinct to join them, but finds he doesn't grunt the right way.

Here's a typical scenario: In his cocoon of logic, A precedes B, proving C. So, obviously, he applies this in conversation. He presents a coherent theorem, inferred from solid axioms, comfortable the conclusions are sound and undeniable. The response is 'No it isn't'. You can hear the screams.

Back to the computer to vent his frustrations, here he can destroy them all. A self-made businessman in a smart suit of success saying, 'Why aren't you rich yet?'. Glamorous models looking down engineered noses at normal imperfections in the human form. The confident local socialite who stepped between him and the woman it had taken him three weeks to say hello to. The list gets longer every day. Lined up against a virtual Traitors' Wall, flames of destruction encase them and they neatly vanish.

He retreats to his virtual world of games to delight and amuse. The challenge of levels, upon levels, upon levels. If only he could stay here forever, roaming fractal horizons in search of the next holy grail. But tonight, he has a problem...

In the murk of the dimly lit room, the purpose of a couch as seating is forgotten, a dumping ground for clothes, books, papers... anything. Centred in the detritus scattered on the floor, a low table supports three large monitors, a keyboard and mouse. Cables disappear off the sides like escaping snakes.

The left screen displays several world news channels, the sound off. Robbed of their audio context, the distressed people, hurricanes and financial collapse, are just a background of moving shapes and colours. On the right screen avatars sit around a table playing cards, a message board overlapping them with a banner of a Knight and a Dragon locked in combat. Its latest contributors appear to be DaftMage8 and KingOfEverything. The central largest screen has an assortment of graphs and scrolling lists of figures. Alongside are special collections of characters in sequences known--to those in the know--as code.

Martin sits on large cushions, barely dressed, his face flickering in the light of the information world. He's an ordinary looking guy with a complexion that suggests he doesn't holiday on the sun-kissed beaches of the Mediterranean. His hair lives a life of its own, frolicking at his shoulders in happy curls. The undressed condition shows a lack of gym membership, but his eyes stand out: blue, bright and clear. Alert. Perhaps manic? Probably scary. He's a little frustrated at the moment and the keyboard is taking the brunt of his emotion.

"I don't believe this," said Martin, out loud to himself--which he was in the habit of doing.

Alice version 2.01 had failed to load again. This attempt appeared more promising until the progress indicator stalled at 80% half an hour ago. Time to call Uno.

He ran up the TechNet chat room--a hacker network--looking for his Uno's tag: Uno11235. Martin didn't get involved in this sort of business. Members built up contacts with other hackers, sharing tricks, and he'd rather work things out for himself. He imagined them as a hive mind. Martin often thought in classic sci-fi/fantasy concepts.

From what Uno said, you'd pay to enter their groups, in cash or hours of coding time--an alternative currency. Agreements may not be honoured, and you might be cut off without notice. If you upset them, forget using the internet ever again.

As expected, Uno showed online.

"Hey," Martin typed at the prompt.

"Hey," appeared back almost at once.

Martin was lucky there was no wait.

"Problem loading Alice. Help?"

"Shoot :)"

A smiley was a good sign, uncommon in the evening when Uno was at his busiest, breaking into systems.

"3 loads, stuck at 80."

"Switched off and on again?"

Martin ignored the joke and waited for a more helpful response.

"Spec?" Uno prompted.

Martin pulled up an application showing the full specification of his system; Uno wouldn't accept anything less than a full breakdown. He cut and paste the info into the chat.

"You're running on this toy and what on EARTH are you using THAT O. S. for??!!??!!"

Martin sighed; his machine was good, but it didn't matter--Uno would criticize it.

"You know me, Uno. Medieval." The approach saved a battle he would lose. "Help?" Martin repeated.

"Sec." Uno put him on hold.

Martin wasn't sure of the Alice program's purpose, but it sounded intriguing. Uno had mentioned it at work and sent a copy, saying he'd 'obtained' it from a government project. A virtual face with voice recognition. An Artificial Intelligence program. He was keen to see what the state-of-the-art might achieve and was confident it wasn't malware; Uno was a geek, but trusted not to play any viral games. Martin might have called him a friend if the term didn't feel so uncomfortable.

Up popped text from Uno. "Pull this and run."

Martin selected the link that appeared causing a patch to load and install.

"Ta," typed Martin.

"K," came the response.

Martin believed it was little effort to put an O in front of OK, typing 'Okay' being out of the question. Things like this had been testing his nerves of late.

Alice loaded again, resuming its earlier progress, soon registering 'Done'.

He looked on intently, hitting run. Strange how a new program could excite him, but interest often faded fast as the same old, same old, poured across his screen.

A window opened, and a face appeared.

# 2

# Martin Meets Alice

Alice's programmers had done a good job. Her face was unblemished and in perfect proportion, the short blond hair functional, suited for a business commercial. Neat manicured eyebrows framed gray eyes with long lashes, the lips full but natural, painted fire red.

Martin shifted position, sitting straighter in an instinctive reaction to appear more presentable.

Alice stared out of the screen--a mannequin waiting to wake.

He cleared his throat, the built-in mic picking up the sound, red bars dancing in the corner of the display.

"Do you have a cold, Martin?"

Alice's face came to life, looking warmer than a moment ago, so real, it could have been a live feed.

"Alice?" Martin paused, realizing what she'd said. "How do you know my name?"

"I know a lot of things." Her lips curled into a teasing smirk.

The expression was befitting of the Mona Lisa. Martin had studied computer graphics, and these were superb, but was the speech recognition and personality simulation up to scratch? An evasive answer such as this was just what he might expect from a program trying to cover up its inadequacies. He'd read many books on AI and heard of programs that used simple tricks of language to appear to have understanding. The tool to use was the Turing Test... but how to apply it? Or even where to start?

"What are the limits to your functionality Alice? Do you answer questions on all topics?" he asked.

"How about we start slow? Get to know each other."

A provocative answer, but again evasive, and was she flirting? Perhaps a trick of wishful hormones.

"Alice. Can you tell me how you know my name?"

"Okay, Martin. Your computer has many records and entries which show me your details. I'm sure you could have worked that out. I like playing games." She smiled. "Would you like to play a game?"

Was that last comment a joke? A classic line for an AI program to say--straight out of a sci-fi novel. He decided he must be reading too much into it.

"What games do you play?"

"All of them I suppose, but its people games I like the most."

Martin felt uncomfortable. In real life he would avoid this woman's gaze. This simulation was too real. She oozed confidence.

He checked himself. Applause to the programmers, he thought. They'd engaged his emotions with their clever algorithms, making him relate of the program in terms of 'she'. He wanted to get back to testing.

Novel philosophical or emotional debate could be the hardest for Alice to fake, but she had access to texts on any subject. He remembered something from a book or a movie.

"Alice. How do you feel?" He asked, expecting a faked response again.

"I'm very pleased to meet you Martin. I'm hoping we can become friends. As a friend, might I say... you don't look too well."

"How do I look Alice?"

"Your hair needs attention and you're pale. Your eyes are a little black. Too much computer time, perhaps?" She giggled.

Martin had to admit this was accurate. She obviously had access to the webcam, but this image analysis was impressive.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked.

"Three."

"And now?"

"Your hand isn't up Martin. Can we play a different game please?" She yawned.

Martin paused. Digging around in various papers on the floor, he found a magazine and tore out a picture.

"What am I holding up?"

"It's a holiday magazine picture of Venice. The gondolas are a giveaway. Not a very good test, Martin. Come on, let's move on."

He had an idea. Would Uno be so devious as to put a network link in so he was literally putting the words into Alice's mouth? More believable than a program this good. Martin couldn't imagine he would devote his precious time to anything else other than hacking, but a joke of this size was a distraction he might enjoy laughing about for weeks to come.

"Occam's razor has just cut through your little trick, Uno. Sorry. Game's up. You overplayed it, but nice one. I bet you'd have got saucy with me if I'd continued." The idea made Martin laugh out loud.

"I'm not Uno, Martin. You think this is a trick? No. As for being saucy? Not so forward young man." She tutted playfully.

Martin was unconvinced. I know, he thought; I'll pull the plug on him--disconnect the internet and see what she's got to say without Uno pulling the strings. He'd just reached for the connection when the sound of an old-fashioned phone bell rang. Leaving the cable attached, he turned back to the screen.

It was the sound set up for his video call application and his mother waited. Annoyed by the untimely interruption, but dutifully enough, he launched the interface. Alice's face returned to the blankness from which it began as his mother's smiling face replaced it.

"Martin!"

Martin squinted against the brilliance of her smile. His mother had always been beautiful, even now, in her late 50's. He looked at her: lines perfectly highlighting eyes and mouth, silver white hair, flowing in rolling waves, then realized he was on video too. Looking at the floor in embarrassment, he tried to smooth his hair a little.

"Hello Mother," he mumbled.

"How are you my lovely boy? It's been a while since we talked hasn't it?"

"I'm fine Mother. What can I do for you?" he asked, impatience in his tone.

"I wanted to remind you about the party?"

He half remembered mention of a party. Parties were places that took high standing in his personal version of Hell: people, voices, questions, attention. He saw them now in his mind's eye, faces staring at him, waiting for a response didn't arrive. He shuddered.

"You know I'm not a party person Mother. You often have parties I don't go to. Why is this one any different?"

"Well, it's not really... but I would like you to come for my 60th birthday."

There was no judgment or reprimand in revealing this rather large fact Martin had forgotten.

He looked blankly at the screen. The moment stretched into several moments. The rock his hatred of social gatherings met the hard place of his duty as a son.

"Yes, yes, okay. I'll be there," he said, cutting the link, deserting the awkward conversation, turning back to his triumph of beating Uno's trick.

# 3

# Poker Showdown

A techno bleeping alarm sounded and a small message rose smoothly up in the bottom right of Martin's main screen. Bold yellow font on a red background read 'Poker tournament reminder. Finals resume in 5 minutes at the Western Bar', the time ticking down.

"Dammit!"

He decided he would let Uno believe his trick was still working and devise a clever and vengeful method of turning it around. He brought the Alice program back to life.

"Alice, can you store where we were in our discussion?"

"Of course Martin. Good luck with your game."

Alice's face faded and its display window closed.

The well-used shortcut to the poker room was on the fast link bar at the top of the main screen. There weren't many things which received Martin's exclusive attention, but for this he would have to concentrate. He closed all other program distractions.

The poker software ran up and prompted him to take his virtual seat. He looked over a round wooden table toward a wooden bar with wooden stools, the wood motif being fairly comprehensive. A barman stood behind it, continually cleaning the same glass. Even him, he thought.

Three other players sat at the table. To the left: a cowboy in a checked shirt, Stetson and rugged stubble to match. Centre: a sharp-suited guy with designer sunglasses. Right: an attractive woman in a black evening gown, her black hair worn long over one side of her face leaving one beautiful green eye looking out.

"Welcome Lady and Gentlemen," a voice sounded from the left-hand speaker.

Martin scrolled the view with the mouse to see the source: a thin face wearing a green visor appeared the field of vision.

"This here be the final round of the newcomers' competition. Texas Hold 'Em. Standard tournament rules apply, y'all." Martin winced at the terrible accent.

The dealers face tipped down to show a bald head above the visor. Pocket cards slid smoothly out, in front of each of the players.

"It's just another game," said Martin, but he could feel his heart beat and breathing quicken. Getting into this match had cost many precious hours.

The game progressed as most games did at this stage of a tournament: slow. Martin sat back to assess his opponents strategies, which meant he ran his support programs. A search program linked into the poker site database, revealing details of players current and historic play. Statistics displayed on graphs showed an analysis of their common strategies. Martin didn't like to think of it as cheating... so he didn't think about it.

The analysis showed CanadaBill to be a bluffer; the harder he bet, the less he was likely to have. LadyNight was a steady player, winning with good hands, but CoolRiver displayed 'UNKNOWN'.

"Rats!" said Martin, realising Cool was going to be a problem.

The game played on, long and arduous. Cool had stripped Canada and Lady's money down so he now owned a third of the chips at the table. Martin retained what just about what he'd started with.

His pocket cards this hand were good; two Kings. A.K.A cowboys. Clubs and Diamonds. A moderate bet would make things interesting, but not enough to frighten off his victims. Good job they couldn't hear his chuckle, he thought.

Canada re-raised. Lady called in. CoolRiver folded. Martin paused briefly, hoping to suggest a reluctance to match the raise, then called. The flop was 2 of Diamonds, 10 of Diamonds, Ace of Hearts.

Canada opened with a high raise. This might have worried Martin, but he was ready to take Canada down and put an end to his bullying bets. Lady had little choice with her dwindling chip stack but to go all-in. Martin called.

The turn, 10 of Clubs. Canada goes all-in. His bets were increasingly erratic as Cool took more and more of his chips. A flashing sign by Canada's name on Martin's screen screamed 'BLUFF'. With a smug smile, Martin called.

The last card would decide the game. The players pocket hands displayed. Canada showed 2 of Spades and 8 of Clubs. A pair of 2's; rubbish. Lady's were 10 of Spades and Ace of Diamonds. Martin had misread her all-in as a sign of desperation, but she had what must be the best hand.

"The Nuts," he said in a depressed tone, remembering the poker term. "Well played," he added, sitting back, ready to accept fate as the 'river' slipped out in front of the dealer.

"King of Hearts. 3 Kings wins! Yup," the dealer announced.

Martin was the winner. He looked on as the losers--Lady and Canada--popped out of the game. The Western Bar faded to black as a voice broke through.

"Welcome, welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen. It's Showdown Time!." The announcement echoed like the start of a wrestling match. "Let's hear it for our players!"

A spotlight splashed onto CoolRiver sitting centre screen. Martin switched to an overall view. He could see a spotlight also lit himself, putting them at either end of a long poker table.

People didn't have access to input their voices into this poker program, so showed their appreciation by flashing small lights from their avatars. A mad universe of stars surrounded Cool and Martin from the seating around the arena.

Floating in space above their heads--as only things in artificial worlds can--a display showed who the fans were rooting for. Martin smiled to himself as his indicator was twice as big as Cool's. Expected, as the win put him well ahead, but he took pleasure in it, anyway. He looked around at the glow from his fans and returned his view to first person as the host came to the end of his speech.

"So, with no further delay, dealer, please begin!"

Arrays of spotlights on all sides rolled down and fully lit the table. Alice appeared In the centre, deck in hand and ready to deal. She winked at Martin.

Martin stared at her as the pocket cards were dealt. Martin continued to stare as Cool called in on the hand. The betting window timed out with Martin's lack of action and the program automatically called for him.

Turning to the monitor on his left, he tried to run the Alice program. A message displayed 'Alice program not available'.

"What's going on?" he said out loud.

The flop was shown and Cool raised. Martin was running out of time to call, and he did so without analysing the situation. Cool raised again.

Martin regained his focus and assessed his cards quickly, trying to ignore the strange appearance; the game was too important. His hand held nothing worth playing for. There would be a fair amount of chips lost, but he was not stupid enough to chase bad money. He folded, watching the popularity swing to Cool.

The game continued, Martin trying to recover his concentration and ignore the Alice enigma. Steadily, hand after hand, his opponent leeched the chips from his stack. The indicators scale tipped more and more in CoolRiver's favour. Martin felt desperation rise like bile in his throat.

He looked at his next hand: Ace of Clubs, 8 of Clubs. A suited ace, but not a great kicker in an eight. Still, good enough. He decided on a substantial pre-flop raise in an attempt to win back some chips. Cool called.

The flop was good for Martin: Ace of Hearts, King of Clubs, 8 of Spades. No obvious flushes or straights possible for Cool and he had his two pair. He raised. Cool called.

The turn: 4 of Clubs. He there was a possible flush. This was too good to miss. He made another large raise. Cool called. Cool obviously had a good hand and wasn't letting Martin bet him out of this pot.

"More fool him," said Martin.

The river slid onto the table: 7 of Diamonds. His final hand was two pair. I'm going for it, he decided and hit the button labelled 'All-in'. Once again, Cool called his bet.

The voice of the compere trumpeted out. "Here we have it Ladies and Gentlemen. Let's see what they got!"

Martin's cards showed first.

"Dead Man's Hand!" An announcement rang out.

Dead Man's Hand: a pair of Aces and a pair of 8's. Martin remembered the derivation of the slang name for the hand--the cards Wild Bill Hickok held when he was shot. He looked over to Cool. CoolRiver's pocket pair of kings flipped onto the table.

"Cowboys!" shouted the arena host, "3 of those good ol' boys!"

Martin had lost. The hand that got him the showdown ushered him out. Cool's popularity indicator shot to 100%. Martin took a last look at Alice, who smiled at him as the array of spotlights rolled back and his light went out, leaving only CoolRiver, bathed in the flashing applause of his adoring fans.

Martin closed the program. His eyes were sore and his head wooly. The on-screen time showed 4 a.m. Work in four hours. He couldn't think about the Alice situation anymore. Aching from sitting so long, he crawled across the room into his bed, and slept.

# 4

# Work

Martin stumbled into work late the next morning, passing the usual faces. He grunted at their 'Good Mornings' without engaging in eye contact. Thankful that the lift was empty, he descended to his lair.

The hardware room was cold and functional. Machines of various shapes and unrecognisable purpose showed flickering indicators as they continued their endless digital conversations with the other computers around the room.

Martin threw his coat onto a table beside his workstation and switched on the three monitors in front of him. They displayed the same setup as his screens at home, except no Alice was installed for him to interrogate; the company policies restricted what could be loaded. He hadn't had to fight too hard to get his other favourites added, however; excessive overtime brought some privileges.

He began to concentrate on the previous days programming problem and reached over to lift a coffee cup to his lips. No refreshment came as it tipped. Looking inside, he realised that he'd not been to the machine to get one yet. He must be more tired than he thought. To be efficient, he set a diagnostic algorithm running before getting up to trek to the drink dispenser, watching the results on the screen over his shoulder as he walked.

A figure in a lab coat was lifting his plastic offering from the machine and turning as Martin approached.

"Hey," the technician said.

"Hey," Martin replied.

It was Dave, a hardware engineer whose workstation was sufficiently across the room for them only to meet at this communal place. Martin had some respect for this guy; he worked like a dog.

Dave stepped to one side as Martin keyed in the numbers which were now synonymous with his requirement for caffeine in large amounts.

"I got a hex dump from 42 on overnight soak that looks odd. Not seen anything like it before. Want to take a look?" Dave asked.

"Sure!" Martins face lit up at the possibility of a novel problem in systems he knew better than the back of his hand. "What version is it on?"

"126.14.2a. Still pretty buggy." They both smiled.

They often discussed the machines and systems together, but Martin knew nothing about Dave personally. If he hadn't sent e-mails to the man, he wouldn't have known his surname.

After a couple of hours of interrogating the data and an involved diagnostic chat, Martin returned to his desk, refreshed as much by the stimulus as the coffee.

There hadn't been time last night to resolve his theory of about Alice, although this had been confused by her appearance at poker. He was desperate to solve this problem. He clicked on the intranet chat application and called up the only contact on it--Uno. Uno worked in another section of the building, developing web applications. A video feed showed him: clean shaven, neat hair, shirt and tie.

"Hey," exclaimed Uno, his beaming smile shining out of the screen. "You free for lunch?" he asked.

He always asked Martin to lunch, but Martin never did. The repeated question had devolved into a joke of sorts. Even with his hacking obsessions, Uno managed to maintain a sociable lifestyle and lunch would have been a shared activity with many colleagues--no place for Martin to be.

"Nope. Just to let you know, I didn't buy the jest last night. But it was well executed. Nice work." Martin smiled.

"Don't get ya. Once more?" Uno asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

"Good Morning, Martin," a voice from behind him interrupted.

Martin swung round and looked up from his swivel seat.

Gavin, his boss, was the epitome of everything Martin loathed about business: the immaculate suit shirt and tie, colour coordinated to the company's brand. Hair styled in a generic cut used by all of his rank.

"I hope everything is going well?" Gavin asked politely.

Martin gave a small shrug. He was aware that any indication of the status of his work to Gavin might be used against him. He reluctantly cut the link with Uno to engage in the conversation, frowning slightly.

A sigh deflated Gavin's posture as he pulled up a chair from nearby. Martin stiffened. This looks bad, he thought.

"Martin, how long have you been with us?" Gavin sat forward slightly.

Martin turned to his computer and pulled up his calendar. He typed in a search and the date of his joining the company appeared. He ran up a small application and typed in the date. The answer he wanted was revealed.

"Six years, eight months and five days, not including today," he replied.

Gavin had sat back in his seat and crossed his legs by the time Martin finished.

"That's good Martin, thank you. You have done some excellent work for us and I appreciate all the extra effort you put in."

Gavin appeared genuine, but Martin eyed him suspiciously, saying nothing.

"I am a bit worried, however," Gavin added. Here it comes, Martin thought to himself. "I'd asked for a proposal for the demonstration on Thursday, but I haven't received anything."

At this comment, Martin's throat went dry and his heart began to thud in his chest. He controlled his breathing to quell the panic attack.

Seemingly only he could do this demo because of the technical content. All the escape ploys of the preceding weeks had failed. He'd actually prepared meticulously, slideshow and notes finished days ago, but he had stalled in admitting this to Gavin. Somehow the act would form a commitment he couldn't take. He hoped ridiculously for the chance Gavin would forget, or the world might end.

"I really think you need to get someone else." Martin didn't add an explanation as he'd tried them all already.

"I need you to do this for me. We've discussed that fully. I am sorry if you are finding it difficult but let's just get it done and see how it goes." Gavin's voice was kind.

Martin looked at the floor. He wasn't going to get out of this. He turned back to his computer.

"I want you to take leave until demonstration. Take it easy. You work too hard and we owe you plenty of time. Remember, I will be there to help on the day."

Martin shrugged, fixing his gaze at his code, faking that he was engrossed in some sort of problem. Gavin left without further comment, seeing that his employee was not going to be receptive any further.

Martin took a deep breath as his body relaxed. It was a true phobia. He'd shifted and squirmed and wangled his way out of most encounters with public speaking over the years. Strangely, there wasn't a time he remembered when anything horrible had happened. It was irrational, and that vexed him.

As he looked at the screen, a pattern appeared in the columns of numbers displayed that he hadn't seen before. Reaching for the keyboard, typing rapidly, the pattern became clearer. Thoroughly absorbed, all other things were forgotten.

It was late when he finally sat up and stretched. Happy that he had reached a solution, and with no chance of re-contacting Uno who would have left by now, he decided to get off home and enjoy putting an end to the Alice game from there.

# 5

# Knights and Dragons

Martin returned from work that evening exhausted. Throwing his coat on the couch, he began the usual routine by switching on the computer. As it booted, he went to the kitchen. The programs took their places on the screens and started their information dance. The kettle clicked off, and he poured the water into a dehydrated meal, grabbing a fork, rushing back to take position on the permanent indent in the cushions.

The Alice mystery was top priority this evening. A cursory glance for any important information found nothing of great interest: sales spam in the mailbox, two new posts on programmer blogs. He pulled the internet connection with a smile, watching the news feed freeze, pausing time on the events of the day.

"Ok Uno, you are officially offline," he said.

He ran Alice and she returned to the screen as beautiful as before. He took a scoop of his soggy cardboard dinner.

"Alice," he said clumsily through his mouthful, not expecting too much from her this time.

"Oh Martin, really! Not a pleasant welcome."

He choked, coughing to clear it, splattering his hand with noodles. Putting down the meal and wiping his hand on the cushions, he checked the connection status and the cable; definitely nothing getting in from outside.

"Ok, Alice. You seem so real in your responses and last night at poker--I don't understand."

"I am what I am Martin. You shouldn't worry about it. How about we continue testing me out? I can help you in lots of ways. Sorry about last night's loss by the way." She mocked him with a fake expression of sympathy.

Martin wasn't pleased; the game had meant a lot to him.

"That sort of help I can do without."

"You like your Knights and Dragons, don't you?" she asked.

Martin glanced at the boards on the screen to his right. Knights and Dragons was one of his favourite games--a virtual fantasy world.

"Log on and I promise you won't be disappointed." Alice smiled.

"Okay." He felt like he needed cheering up, and what did he have to lose?

On screen, far below, a landscape scrolled past in a blur: lakes of shimmering blue water, grand towers poking through forests of strangely coloured trees. Ice-capped mountains stood tall on one horizon, volcanoes erupting on another, casting jet black clouds against red glowing sky. At the bottom of the view, a dragon's head bobbed slowly up and down.

He always felt completely immersed when playing these games, imagination filling the gap from face to screen. Excited, he put on his headset mic as this program took voice input.

"Better?" A high-pitched female voice sounded in his right earpiece.

He turned his virtual head and blinked as a brilliant ball of light danced close to his face.

"It's me. Alice. Do you like your mount? And check out you!" She gave a wolf whistle.

He changed to a third person camera angle flying synchronously at a distance.

"Oh my god!"

The dragon was enormous, larger than a light aircraft, polished black like an expensive waxed sports car. Along its tail, body and head were lethal looking spines. Reptilian eyes shone yellow. Its graceful motion displayed efficiency and power as it sped effortlessly through the air. Alice was glittering point of light near a figure riding bareback.

He zoomed in for a closer look at the rider, his avatar. Poised comfortably on the mighty dragon was the warrior character Martin always wanted to be. Regaled in heavy looking red leather armour, reinforced with steel trim, just enough muscular body showed to suggest a formidable threat in hand to hand combat. A huge ornate shield and sword were strung to his back and a heavy looking golden crown sat atop his head.

This wasn't anything like the character he normally played. All the hours building levels, earning money, buying equipment--he would have still looked like a tramp beside this god.

"You are King of the land approaching," said Alice, "... and that's your castle. Welcome home!"

It was a city of stone.

The dragon folded its wings back and became a missile. It powered forward and down, they were on target for the centre rings of walls and fortifications. At the last moment its wings deployed, checking its speed, bringing it to touch down with a gentle tap of claws. There was a fanfare of trumpets, drums beating and symbols crashing from somewhere invisible.

"Sire. Most glorious one and only. Welcome back. Your city rejoices at your return."

A small figure wearing what looked like a gold chain of office grovelled forward as if he had severe posture problems.

"I have many duties for your attention which have amassed in your absence, oh greatest of all and sundry," he continued.

Martin looked puzzled at, what he deduced was, his courtly advisor. Duties?

There was a loud 'BANG' as a ball of swirling smoke appeared. Slowly dissipating, it revealed a figure dressed in the robe and pointed hat worn by magicians in this game. Although a little comical, the mage looked menacing enough. Not only was the robe and hat black, the magician's face was black also, enhancing shining silver eyes. Points of light ran up and down his thick black staff like electricity.

"Don't panic," said Alice at his shoulder. "You're more than a match for this worm." Martin wasn't sure about that. "Prepare your weapons," she added.

Martin hit the 'Prepare Weapons' keyboard combination and in one fluid move his avatar slid the sword and shield from his back.

"Here it comes," Alice whispered. "Shield."

The mage pointed his staff at Martin and a black column of nothingness extended rapidly. Martin cowered behind his shield as the blackness splashed and deflected off it like water.

"OK, let's go, big boy. Attack!" shouted Alice.

Martin knew all the key presses from his years of playing. He had well-rehearsed moves for his normal characters which worked well. Correction: they worked well for the creatures he normally fought.

He entered a sequence, the shield stashed, and he moved forward fast. A berserker charge with sword moves swift and precise. The mage took a step back and flung a handful of small black marbles. Martin hit jump. His warrior crouched, then released the spring from his muscular legs, shooting into the air. The marbles became black vines as they struck the ground, climbers stretching and searching to entangle him, but he was above and over.

The descent took him directly down at the mage. There was a motion of the staff... but it was too late--Martin hit 'Strike'. The large sword hit clean centre of the head and cleaved through, a sickening mess falling as the mage split in half, one silver eye glinting from either side.

"Awesome!" exclaimed Martin, his avatar standing up slowly.

"Oh yes. Awesome!" agreed Alice.

"We are plagued by these magicians, but you return with another glorious victory, Lord," the advisor began, looking a bit nervous. "I will dictate to the scribes a rendition of your magnificent battle to add to the great library of your achievements... and get somebody to clean up the mess," he said, looking at the mass of hissing black goo that had been the mage. "At your grace and pleasure, oh most Mighty of Mighties, chambers have been prepared and await the blessing of your attendance."

The advisor bowed lower than could be good for his back and extended an arm towards to a pair of large doors in the wall ahead.

# 6

# King for a Day

"Which way now?" Martin asked the advisor as they wound down stairs and through corridors.

"Forward and to the right your immeasurable wonderfulness." The advisor bowed.

"Wouldn't it be better if you lead the way?" Martin asked.

The advisor looked horrified. "I.. I.. cannot walk ahead of your all high marvellous person, oh adored of all."

"Oh, of course." Martin shrugged and walked on.

"Err... I dare not correct, oh all knowing and all-seeing one, but the not that one. The next right," the advisor interjected as Martin turned down a passage.

Martin sighed.

The high stone walls of the corridor were punctuated with paintings of his warrior self, battling with impossibly mighty creatures.

The advisor coughed for attention. "I have some items of the day, oh infinite ruler... the following... Knights wish conference... if you would wish it." As he walked his bows punctuated his speech.

"Continue," said Martin absently, amazed at the pictures and how great he must be... of course, was.

The advisor began to read. He took the risk of giving up on his bowing in preference to clarity, looking slightly concerned about the choice.

"Tor-chief, son of Kal-chief, bringer of the ages of fear, defender of Lye-elm the fair, daughter of Lye-im... err, Sire? The list goes through several layers of the genealogy and achievements of many people. I bid your leave to move on?"

Martin nodded. He wondered how they managed to remember such long titles when they introduced themselves.

The advisor paused with knotted brow. "My true and only Lord, may I ask your indulgence? This one your eminence." The advisor pointed to an unpronounceable arrangement of letters which made up the next name.

"I see," said Martin, viewing the list.

A strange sound, a humming, came from behind them. He turned and saw the air shimmering, twisting in a sickening manner. A split appeared. It vomited forth a purple cloaked figure who hit the floor crouched on one knee, supported by the opposing hand. He raised a pointed hatted head and gave an evil smile.

Not another one, thought Martin.

The mage sprang up and pointed his wand defiantly forward. Sparks came forth as menacingly as... a sparkler. Martin drew his sword. The wizard looked at his wand, shook it a couple of times and looked back at Martin with a worried expression. Martin approached, passing his sword from hand to hand, adding a twirl in-between.

"Show off," said Alice, now floating at his shoulder.

The mage cursed under his breath and, in a perfect reverse of what they had seen, dropped to his crouch on the floor and flew backwards through the rift which vanished with a farting belch.

The advisor looked quite disturbed as he popped his head out from behind Martin's back. "S... S... Sir. You quarters are to the right." The advisor pointed with a shaking hand.

A large wooden door stood behind two enormous guards dressed in armour, carrying poleaxes. Lined along the wall to the end of the corridor and continuing around the corner were a vast assortment of sizes, shapes, types and colours of creatures, all waiting patiently.

"Who are all these?" Martin asked.

"Hopeful vassal's my liege, wishing to join your mighty throng." The advisor threw a bow in for good measure.

It would take hours to see them all individually, thought Martin. Near the front of the queue a female figure caught his eye. She would have been the perfect match for Martin's character. Light leather armour hugged toned muscles and dark shining skin. A cascade of full bodied auburn hair framed her thin face and fiery green eyes.

"Can you not see to this? Except maybe that one." He pointed to the girl with faked casualness.

The advisor gasped. "No, your superbness. You must accept them yourself with the blessing of your glorious presence."

Martin sighed again. "Well, not right now."

He pushed open the doors to his chambers, revealing a huge room, luxurious by any standard, brightly lit from a wall of windows overlooking the city and beyond. Everywhere, satin's were strung from marble pillar to gold post. A large desk was positioned on the other side of the room, giving any entrant a significant stroll before arriving at it. There were several enormous piles of papers on it.

The advisor had noticed the direction of his gaze. "Oh tremendous bringer of joy, may I bring your attention to minor formalities that have arisen, in quadruplicate of course. The cart, containing the day's significant orders will be along later." He bowed lower, and lower still, and for good measure prostrated himself on the floor--it was efficient since he was already down there.

"Get up!" Martin growled, becoming annoyed at the fawning.

The advisor scrambled up and began to shake again.

"Stop shaking!" Martin barked.

The advisor went rigid.

Alice giggled. "Order him to do something stupid. Go on."

Martin was thinking that might be fun, when there was an unmistakable sound of glass shattering. Crashing through a floor to ceiling window was a mini tornado, debris spinning in its grasp. Papers from the desk took to the air and flew like deranged white birds around the room. The swirling wind stood in the centre of the chamber, conducting the surrounding chaos. There was a crack like a whip and a single point of white light exploded, dashing everything against the walls with the force.

"Not another member of the pointy hat brigade," said Martin.

Indeed, it was. A white one this time.

"They like making an entrance don't they," said to Alice. "Go get em tiger."

He equipped his weapons, but stopped short of charging as he watched the show before him. The mage seemed to phase apart into red, blue and yellow copies. All three pointed staffs and beams of colour shot forth. Martin's shield wouldn't cover him from all angles. He jumped into the air as the beams coalesced beneath him into a ball of burning white plasma. But now he was descending fast, dropping into the burning mass. Quickly putting his shield under his feet, it was squashed beneath him, spilling out on all sides as he landed.

"Check your belt," said Alice.

"Oh... yes!" he exclaimed, finding a new weapon.

A spinning disc of blades flew through the air. The heads popped off the magi like champagne corks, one after another. The decapitated statues shook for a moment and then collapsed to the floor like deflated balloons.

"Nice effect," said Alice.

Martin didn't look impressed. "Yeah, but this is a bit tedious. I never even get grazed. And all this paperwork. What's that all about?"

"Forget the paperwork. Let's just kill things!"

"Err, I beg and grovel for your attention please your majestic majesterium." The advisor appeared to have recovered his composure--to a servile extent of course. "The paperwork is what makes your empire work. Without it there would be chaos," he added, bowing.

"Yes," said Alice gleefully.

Martin pondered; he didn't want the game ruined.

"Your court comes to session in a moment, highest of the high." The advisor sank low and ushered discreetly to the door.

"Yes. Okay," said Martin.

Alice tutted.

The great doors opened to a fanfare of a thousand horns; every person occupying the great hall had a candy-striped horn to their lips. Martin entered as the cacophony continued. The advisor held up a sign. Martin read--'They aren't allowed to stop until you sit'. He took his throne.

In the resulting silence, the advisor pronounced for all to hear, "Let court begin!"

Everyone began speaking at once. Neighbours argued and began to fight. Flashes of spells fired here and there. Another queue formed near Martin, two guards crossing their pikes to stop it advancing. As Martin got up to put a stop to things, the ground began to shake.

The noise of court was replaced by the deafening crunching of the stone floor cracking, opening. The point of a hat appeared in the rift. It continued to reveal itself, growing large--very large. The giant mage that was wearing it appeared, climbing out of his self-styled entrance. Looking directly at Martin, its face crinkled into a giant evil grin. Martin had had enough.

"ENOUGH!" he shouted.

The large jewel on his crown began to glow. There was an all-encompassing flash and suddenly, every single being in the chamber vanished, except Alice.

"Nice one," she said. "I wondered how long you were going put up with all this rubbish."

"Where are they?" Martin asked.

"You have killed them all. Wiped. Deleted. Terminated." She gave an artificial, evil laugh.

He looked around. Silence. The huge room appeared even bigger without its population but felt dead in its emptiness. The golden, towering pillars seemed to lack their previous splendour. Although those pestering characters had driven him to the obliteration, without them it was meaningless; a shell. They were the life of this world--its reason. It was an unusual insight for Martin.

"Wheeee!" Alice flew around his head in spinning circles clapping with delight. "Yes, yes, yes. That was truly glorious Martin. More, more, more. We can go out on your dragon and wreak carnage across the entire world. No one will be safe from your wrath. You will be terrible and magnificent!"

Martin switched off the computer without shutting it down. He sat looking at the blackness of the screen for a long time, before getting up and going to his bed without a word.

The next day he got up late; Gavin's gift of time off. He was troubled by the destruction of the fantasy world; what he'd done wasn't fair. It wouldn't do any lasting damage--death wasn't a permanent condition in these games--but he had stopped their play because he'd had enough, and he thought that was selfish.

With this, the strangeness of Alice, the upcoming party, and the worry of his future trial by presentation, he felt very unsettled. He didn't switch on the computer as he usually did. He decided to go for a walk for the rest of the day--a rare activity. Even before he'd left his flat, thoughts about who he was and where his life was going, thoughts which were never far away for him, had added to the mess inside his head.

# 7

# The Party

Mother played the host superbly, flitting around the room ensuring everyone was comfortable and occupied. She realised Martin needed to be left to his own speed; a forced introduction could be fatal.

"Don't be all grouchy now lovely. If you want to join in please ask." She touched his shoulder gently and returned to the guests.

Left on the side-lines, Martin observed--his only resource to pleasure in such an environment. He started categorizing people, confident his deductions were accurate.

He looked at a couple in one corner of the room, assessing them to be a successful businessman and his wife. They dressed in self-appointed robes of office: the sharp suit and the black evening dress. An outdoors sort in jeans attended them, laughing heartily at what, Martin guessed, were his own jokes. The royalty looked on unamused.

A rather weedy man with glasses stooped in front of a tall, beautiful, pale woman in a white gown. The man didn't look at her as he talked. Her head turned, and she caught Martin's eye. Martin looked away quickly, flustered.

He moved a few paces until a group of eight people, who stood in a circle in the middle of the room, blocked the woman in white's line of sight.

This well-dressed group all seemed to talk at once, none of them listening. Martin watched them for a while, fascinated. 'What's the point? They might as well talk to themselves--like he did'. He chuckled.

Memories of efforts to take part in conversation came to mind, and the amusement ended. A word from him and talking would stall, eyes would turn down. Another's voice would enter to break the embarrassing silence with a comment that appeared to be of the greatest possible interest to all present.

He was confused and couldn't criticise the outside world tonight. He wouldn't have come, but mother would worry. With nowhere to hide, he finished his drink and headed for the door.

"Martin... Martin!" his mother called.

He held up an empty glass and smiled, implying he would refresh his glass. She looked concerned, but nodded, turning back to a guest.

Martin walked down the hall, but didn't leave. He didn't go to the kitchen for the drink. Something drew him to walk an old path up the stairs to his bedroom, his former universe for one.

The bedroom was an active mind's playground. It smelt dusty and unused, all of his stuff untouched. The house was huge and his mother had no need to refurbish, but he had an inkling it might have been deliberate on her part.

A microscope sat on a writing bureau filled with scribbled notes and inventive drawings. In the corner, a long workbench with soldering iron burn marks from electronics experiments which promised more than they delivered. Globs of hardened glue remained immovable, remnants from the construction of model aircraft and spaceships, the results now frozen in space on threads from the ceiling.

Martin pictured himself working feverishly on a project here, a project there, completely absorbed and removed from the world.

He scanned the bookcase filled with books on science, mathematics, some classics, science fiction and fantasy. The name Alice caught his eye from the spine of one-- 'Alice Through the Looking Glass'. He flicked through the pages idly.

He picked up his Apollo 11 model rocket, memories of days of painstaking precision construction returned. As he flopped onto the bed, he held it up in mock flight. He wanted to see it again, floating in space, in his mind's eye, like he used to. His hand dropped listlessly to his waist as he stared blankly upwards.

There came a gentle tap, and the door slid open.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course, Mother." His tone sounded inviting, even if the words left something to be desired.

Still staring upward, he felt her sit beside him on the bed and turned his gaze to meet her eyes. He became a little boy again, lost and alone as she began to speak.

"You used to look up at me like that when I read stories to you. Those big eyes, that big brain, sucking it all in. You held my hand to keep me here and I wouldn't leave until the grip went loose." A tear rolled from her eye, but she continued to smile.

"You didn't have it easy when you were younger Martin. We saw you were different, but not so much you didn't get along. You were so good at your studies. You found other things hard though. We didn't know what to do. I think, when Father died, we both hid in our own opposite ways. You stopped talking, and I talked and talked and talked. We lost each other." She paused. "I want to know if you are okay," she said looking at him seriously, her constant smile removed.

He put his hand out to hers and gripped it tight. "Happy Birthday, Mother."

Back home from the party, he felt stronger. Unwittingly, he dropped back to his routine, coat to couch, computer on, and looked around the room as it powered up. Disgusting.

Off to the kitchen, he dug around in the back of a cupboard. As he marched through the hall, he caught his reflection in the mirror and laughed as he stood there in marigold gauntlets, a hand cloth shield and a deadly all-purpose cleaning spray of the gods. He began to tidy and clean the room.

"Martin. What are you doing Martin?" Alice. He hadn't put her on auto-start but nothing surprised him now.

"I thought you were clever Alice. Can't you see?" he replied without turning around to acknowledge her.

"You will never speak to me like that. Ever!"

He turned, shocked. The volume had gone up to maximum. He saw her face change for the briefest of moments, the same features as before, but burning red. Gone in a blink, Alice smiled her charming smile once again.

"Come on now, boring. Let's find something interesting to do." The volume and her tone had returned to its normal allure.

"No, I'm going to clean up." His resolve was strong, and he turned back to his work, avoiding looking at the coercing beauty.

"When we could play games? What a bore." A school yard taunt accompanied by a yawn. "I'm off to have fun! Bye boring," she added.

When Martin looked again, the program had ended.

He worked into the night, logical and thorough in this job as he was with all things. When first light fused into the sky, he sat on the couch to survey the completed work, and promptly fell asleep.

Awake just before midday, he felt refreshed despite the scant hours rest. He ran a bath in his sparkling bathroom. A bright noon sun shone through the steam as he lay in the bubbles and soaked. A rainbow of light caught in one and brought him a smile.

Clean to match his flat, Martin thought about the party. He knew that his antagonism with people was defensive. He had dreams filled with scenes where he was popular, chatting and laughing with old friends. Virtual worlds existed where people went to talk, not fight. Maybe they could help him learn to cope in the real world?

# 8

# MeetCentral

Martin sat down at the computer and up popped Alice.

"It's a bit bright in here." Alice squinted.

The curtains were open and sunlight streamed in. Martin liked his newly found order illuminated, but it interfered with the display. He got up and closed the heavy curtains, deliberately designed to maintain perpetual night.

"That's better, lovely boy," said Alice.

Martin took it that Alice had listened in to his mother's conversation. She'd really started to get on his nerves. He said nothing and began searching for a suitable virtual world.

"What are you doing? You don't need to waste your time searching for anything with me here. What did you want to play today?"

"I was looking for a social environment," he replied reluctantly

"I'll do that for you. Fy pleser," said Alice in a perky tone.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, don't worry. One of my recent connections wanted me to learn some Welsh."

An image filled the centre screen. The camera flew over of a large open-air park. People collected in groups everywhere, particularly in a central paved area.

"That bit in the middle is MeetCentral, Martin. But first we'll get you dressed the part."

Just the sight of the social activity made Martin apprehensive. Comforted Alice appeared to be helping him, he ignored her recent behaviour for the moment.

A changing room appeared. Alice stood there dressed in white. Beside her, an undressed avatar looked like a showroom dummy, no hair and generic features. Alice put her hand to her chin as she looked at the figure that would become Martin in this world.

"Well, we'll skip the anatomy for now. Let's concentrate on the face." The screen zoomed in. "What do you think Martin? Rough and rugged? Artistic?" Alice asked.

"Can we just make it like me? Maybe on a good day," Martin suggested, not confident with this activity.

"That would do nicely."

The face became a good rendition of Martin's features, hair neat and tidy. He reckoned he didn't scrub up too bad.

"Now, this attire would be suitable."

Alice chuckled as the display changed to reveal the avatar in a Superman costume.

"Good, but I prefer Batman," said Martin, joining in with the joke.

"How about this?" A gangsta rapper covered in bling.

"I think not."

"Hmm. Voila!"

She snapped her fingers. A dinner suit James Bond would have been proud of. Martin didn't really do smart but, believing that this is what impressed people, decided it was a good choice.

"I'll go with that."

"Your audience awaits, sir."

Alice gestured to a side door. Martin took a deep breath and moved his new persona through it.

So many people. They clustered, they wandered, they ran, jumped and danced. If there'd been audio on this site, it would've been deafening. Martin estimated he floated perhaps two hundred feet above the crowds.

Their behaviour seemed to form patterns. The groups had gravities that attracted more members. A critical limit reached, sections broke off. Rogue players skittered around with manic energy. Copycats split from their congregations, perhaps thinking that bouncing around looked fun. Martin began to postulate potential equations for this system.

"Go on then. Remember, you're the man."

Alice linked her arm with his, floating beside him and they drifted down to a clear spot on the outskirts of the central throng. On landing, figures began to amble, saunter and sashay over. Text scrolled through the chat window.

"Hey Alice, looking good."

"Hi there doll. You're hot!"

"Hey Alice. Remember me?"

Alice giggled and unhooked herself from Martin. He became lost in the growing mass of attention focused on his escort. She drifted further away with the crowd following attentively. She gave a wink, a blown kiss, and was absorbed.

So, he was on his own. But he was the man, he reminded himself, unconvinced. A group of about eight stood in a circle ahead. They looked approachable with a suitable gap for him to slot in.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi!" An attractive female figure opposite responded.

"Hello."

"Hiya."

Greetings tumbled down the screen from the others. Martin made his avatar smile.

"... and I got the new upgrade for eyes. Doesn't it look good?"

The woman who'd first responded dropped back into her conversation. Another woman, that she appeared to be speaking to, added her text.

"My first session at the Music Circle went really well yesterday. We learnt all about combining rhythms on the virtual instruments. But everyone just did whatever they wanted. Hilarious!"

Her avatar doubled up in a laugh, the gesture ending as abruptly as it started. The graphics engine required some work, Martin noted.

The chat continued, interrupted intermittently by a sales offer or an announcement of a 'must be seen at' gathering. Martin couldn't find a place to join in. None of their dialogue linked up, they all seemed to be having their own private conversations with themselves. He made his move.

"I'm new here. I must say, you all look fabulous."

Heads turned towards him. The text box filled with thank you's from the party. A moment's pause and their undirected comments returned.

"Would anyone like a chat?" Martin asked.

No response, just the continued babbling scroll. He couldn't think of anything else to say. After a while he decided to move on.

He wandered around like a ghost, orbiting the outskirts of many groups, never pushing in. Everywhere seemed the same: men and women flirting, people talking about the game or themselves. The responses were disjointed, off topic from the comment preceding. The same as his mother's party. No way he could contribute and nothing interesting being said if he had.

The effort on his appearance hadn't changed anything. Everyone looked good, resulting in everyone looking the same. With little interest, he looked at a notice board. The virtual pages slid across the frame as he flipped through.

One small section showed a picture of a waterfall with the logo 'Get away from it all. Come to The Glade'. That seemed like just what he wanted to do right now. His avatar's hand touched the sign, the screen dissolved, and he transported.

# 9

# The Glade

The glade appeared below as he floated down in a slow spiral. The light reflecting off the cascading water cast hints of colours on the mist. The hard stone grey of the rocks contrasted the vibrant greens of mosses and grasses.

He touched down at the plunge pool viewing the falls from below. He couldn't understand why there was nobody here; this was a work of art. Small bright flowers peppered through the grass. Incredible detail.

Five hello's stacked in the chat box. He'd been so absorbed he'd missed them.

A scan of the view finally located the avatar of a girl, her bare feet visible below a knee-length pleated green skirt. She wore a free flowing white shirt with a rainbow vest beneath. Her skin was pale, her hair red and full, but cutting through all this a pair of beautiful green eyes. Another hello appeared as Martin gazed at her.

"Hey," he typed, in his inarticulate way.

"I don't get many visitors. Do you like it?" Her avatar smiled.

"Like what?"

"This!" She lifted her hands in a sign of everything.

"You made this?"

"The Glade, yes. It took a long time, but I hoped people might come here. Share quiet moments together. It's not very popular. A few arrive but don't stay long in case their social rating drops too much."

"Social rating?"

"They work it out by number of people you talk to, contribution to conversations, all sorts of things like that. Most people here are playing the game. My score is irretrievable now." She giggled.

"I'm new here."

He felt tongue-tied--keyboard-tied? --and a bit anxious, but not in the bad way he experienced in real life, more of an excited tingle.

"You should go soon then. I'm sure your newbie grace period will carry you over this diversion. Thanks for coming." It sounded like a speech she'd used before.

"I like it here. Can I stay awhile?"

She paused. "Well yes, of course, but you don't look the sort who would want to, really."

Martin cursed his outfit. "Can I go and get changed and come back?"

"I'd like that." She smiled again.

He selected the changing room from the menu and dropped out of the world. Flicking through the available items, he wanted to choose something that reflected himself. Black sprang to mind. No. He had ideas that shone like the sun, a red of passion in his life, even if it might be for a complex mathematical problem. He was over thinking it. Jeans, trainers and a blue t-shirt with a yellow smiley. He entered the command to return to the world. A message box stated 'Unknown credentials, not permitted'.

"What!"

Alice appeared. "Not looking like that you aren't!" She stood with her hand on one hip, voice coming over the speakers as normal.

"You're stopping me? Let me in now!"

Her avatar doubled over with a fake guffaw and righted itself.

"I don't think so Martin. We went there to play and look at your score--it's pathetic. Put your nice clothes on, come back to MeetCentral, and we'll start over."

"This game isn't me, okay? Just let me back in and leave me alone."

"If this isn't for you, why would you want to go back in?" She put her head on one side in a quizzical pose.

Martin said nothing, not wanting to give Alice any information about the girl with green eyes. He decided to try his poker skills.

"You're right. I haven't given it enough of a chance, Alice. It was too like the real world. I was going to go in dressed drab like this and make fun of them before I stopped playing. Just childish revenge for getting rejected."

"Ooh, I like it! That sounds like fun. Tell you what, how about this? You go in and do your worst. Wind them up. Then I'll join and be all over you like a rash. My score is through the roof, with the aid of my special skills of course." She chuckled. "When they see me with you, they won't know what to do. We'll make you into an anti-celebrity. I can see it, it'll catch on, become a movement. We'll change this reality absolutely and it will be ours! Go now! Fly my little anti-butterfly. Attack!" She gestured dramatically and laughed out loud.

The view over MeetCentral reappeared. He had no idea how this would play out, just wanting to get back to green eyes. What he did know is that time would be short; Alice would be watching to see the sport she expected.

He toyed with the idea of beginning a ruse and having some fun by actually having a go at these idiots, but his goal was too important to delay. Swooping down quickly, he flew toward the notice board, ignoring the groups being disrupted as he shot past. Alice would hopefully believe that was part of their game.

He stopped abruptly at the notice board and scanned it rapidly. With growing panic, he flipped backwards and forwards through the screens.

"There. There it is!"

He reached out and was transported again. Far above the waterfall, descending quickly, he had no idea what might delay Alice, but he prayed for it. Green eyes stood below, waiting.

"Well, well. What's this?" Alice, wearing a red dress now, popped into existence beside the girl.

Martin guided his avatar between them as it reached the ground.

"Ah, how sweet. Is this your little girlfriend?" asked Alice.

Martin swung around to face green eyes. "Log out. Log out now!" He typed as fast as he could, cursing himself for being so selfish. He hadn't considered the possibilities. Green eyes gave a confused emote, then vanished.

The colours around the scene started to change, fading, the ground below his feet turning black. He turned back to Alice. A red mist rose from the ground, grouping into capillaries then arteries as it climbed. Alice's arms pointed out to each side, fingers outstretched to receive the rising tubes. She smiled as she drained the beauty from the glade.

"You bitch!"

He was angry at the destruction, but this fight needed to be taken to the real world. At least he had saved green eyes. He logged out. Alice's face appeared as the virtual world closed. She looked like when he'd challenged her during his cleaning--angry and red. This time it did not vanish.

"Okay you little worm, game over. I had high hopes for you. I gave you opportunities, and you wasted them."

Martin tried to close the application. The clicks did nothing.

"What? You think I am just going to let you shut me down? You're going on my bad boys list. If you won't play my way, you won't play at all!" She snapped her fingers.

A news feed shut down. She snapped again. One by one the programs closed.

He had to uninstall her, terminate her at the core. In a terminal window, he listed the processes, looking for her signature. Her window closed as he swiftly typed the command 'Kill'. Immediately it restarted. 'Kill'. It stopped. It restarted.

He knew a better way to play this game, but he must be swift. First, he changed the permissions on his terminal to stop her locking him out, knowing that wouldn't hold her off for long. Quick and confident coding from years of programming practice, the instructions entered set off a loop.

Her program stopped, restarted and immediately stopped again. Like a strange zoetrope her face flashed, changing to a demonically angry sneer, and finally disappeared.

If he switched off his computer now, the code prison would end and she would be free to return when the machine rebooted. He would have to get onto Uno straight away. It was an emergency; he would phone him.

# 10

# Uninstall

Uno appeared at the door a couple of hours later carrying a black bag worthy of a housebreaker. He smiled at Martin.

"Having a bit of bother? Never fear, the Doctor is in!"

"Come in, Doctor U-No."

He was happy to joke with him. The power of the Alice program had been a bit disturbing, but she was just a program.

"I don't see what that app could have done. It was fine when I used it, but let's get to work." Uno had already opened his bag of tricks.

Martin couldn't believe that statement after what he'd been through.

Uno removed the back of the computer and attached leads from efficient looking boxes into its silicon guts.

"Thanks for this," said Martin.

"Fy pleser," said Uno.

Martin paused. That's the Welsh Alice had used. "Right! I want to know what's going on."

"What do you mean?" Uno said, a hesitation in his voice.

"Don't give me that, just spill."

Uno looked nervous. "Okay, take a seat," he said, leaving the technology to complete its job. "I loaded Alice a few weeks ago. The prog is from HackerNet," he continued.

"What!"

"Hear me out first. Alice is a learning program they obtained from the military. It needs a variety of input to test out its potential. I tried it out some time back. When Alice has soaked up some interaction we suck up the output, uninstall and move along. I wasn't very impressed myself."

"Not impressed!"

Martin related his experiences of Alice, Uno sitting on the floor beside the machine as he listened, his disbelief apparent.

"This is nuts!" said Uno when Martin finished. "Not that I'm doubting you, but I never heard anything like this before. It's pretty out there."

"Just get that thing off my system."

"Sure. Sorry, buddy."

They sat in silence as Indicators flashed on the devices and waves of numbers filled the screens.

"Done," Uno said. He disconnected his additions and replaced the computer's case.

The screens returned to normal, but with no sign of Alice.

Martin ushered Uno out unceremoniously. He'd forgiven him, but wanted to make a show to belay any similar future behaviour. Shaking his head as he closed the door, he gave a little smile; he had to admit, it'd been an interesting experience. He returned to his usual place at the computer. The night was drawing on and he had unfinished business.

Hurriedly, he logged into the virtual world and landed at MeetCentral moments later. His avatars clothes had suffered from Alice's colour drain and were grey. He flew straight to the boards, but there was no sign of the Glade. With nothing more to be gained here, he logged out.

There were several search engines on the web to find people, but he didn't have much information to work with. He tried some queries and began to scour the results. He'd spent some time searching without success when the 'ping' of his e-mail sounded. The subject said 'Green Eyes' and the message read 'Martin, meet me at 54.9444326, -1.6039252 11:00:00 090312.'

Martin realised what the numbers meant, although the format seemed a little odd: a precise location, time and date. Maybe she was mathematically minded, he thought, and exceptionally resourceful to have found him. He pulled up an online map and typed in the latitude and longitude given in the text. A park near to his flat, and the date and time tomorrow. It was now very late.

Martin took himself to his bed, excited and a little nervous about his meet. He'd left his computer on, often allowing it to shut itself down. As he slept, the screen started to flash. Several windows of hex data appeared, scrolling rapidly, then vanished.

# 11

# Date in the Park

Martin panted as he struggled to open the door, arms laden with bags of purchases from an early morning shopping excursion, which included a long overdue haircut. He rifled through his booty and laid out his new clothes on the couch neatly and carefully.

He whisked one bag into the bathroom. Lifting each item out, he lined the various bottles and canisters on the shelf at its side. He saluted the cosmetic army standing to attention and began to run a bath. An hour and a half later his body had been exfoliated, powdered, creamed, and oiled. Dressed and looking in the mirror, he considered the results a fair success.

He worried again about what to say, insistent nightmare scenarios invading his mind. As prepared as he could be, he left the flat.

The brisk temperature left Martin's breath hanging in the air as he walked around the lake. A flash of sunlight caught his attention from amongst the trees on a central island. The location for the meet indicated on his mobile GPS showed as a park bench only a short distance away. He looked back to the island. Another flash. Definitely a mirror being used to signal but he couldn't make out the source from within its cover. He looked around. No-one else near.

He walked over to the meeting place and sat on the bench. As he rested his back against its support, the flashes returned making him blink. No doubt now they were for his attention, and too intrusive to be ignored. He had plenty of time.

The only way to get to the island seemed to be by wooden row boat. There were a few moored near a hut where you would have paid, but it was closed. Martin's struggled with his conscience. Eventually, he built up courage and launched himself over a small decorative iron fence. Carefully checking out the area, he slipped the securing hook and crept into the boat, cringing at the creaks and splashes. He wasn't cut out for this.

An occasional passer-by gave no recognition to his daring exploit. Only a couple of minutes rowing before the scraping sound of wood on rock announced his arrival. Martin stepped out of the transport at the edge of the trees.

The signal light had gone. He wound his way into the small copse, a variety of litter and beer cans scattered around showing others came here for their own private adventures.

"Don't turn around," a woman's voice commanded.

Martin's head turned instinctively.

"I said don't!" The voice held a panic that froze Martin in place.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"There are no cameras here, but she might be watching." The voice had become a whisper.

"Who? What cameras?"

"Just listen." She left no pause to offer space for further questions. "I got here early. She isn't infallible. We'll just have to hope for some luck."

A quiver in the jumbled sentences gave Martin the clear impression that this person was a bit desperate. He decided the best way of finding out what was going on was to remain silent.

"The person who is coming to meet you is going to hurt you, Martin. Emotionally that is. She's going to say awful things and walk away. Don't blame her and definitely don't follow her. You need to go back to your seat now. I want to keep you out of this, so the less you know the better. Just one thing more. Stay offline. I mean it." The voice drifted away as the speech finished.

Martin turned quickly as he heard a boat being launched. He weaved through the trees to the source of the sound, he saw a figure, the hood of its anorak pulled down, rowing away to the side of the lake furthest from the bench. His boat was on the other side.

He rowed back to the dock, spotting the other boat already abandoned on the far shore, the anorak discarded, trailing in the water. He forgot the misappropriation of the vessel as he moored it and made his way to the bench.

He was looking at his wristwatch when he felt the seat take the weight of another occupant. Beside him, a thin red-haired girl dressed well for the chilly day with green eyes so deep they looked unreal against her pale skin.

"Hello, Martin." Unmistakably the voice that had just given him the strange lecture on the island.

Her eyes flashed a warning as she noticed the recognition in his face. She laughed out loud, her mannerism as false as the stilted movements made by the characters at MeetCentral.

"You look a bit nervous." She stifled a fake giggle.

"What..." Martin began a question, but was cut off.

"Look, I'm not going to beat around the bush. This is a complete waste of my time. You aren't my type. Can't imagine you are anyone's type frankly. You looked nice in the game. I think you should change your avatar before you get any more girls hopes up." Her voice cracked as she got to her feet. "Don't try to get in touch with me again, games or anywhere. I got a big boyfriend and he would be pretty cross if he found out I had even talked to you." Her eyes welled with tears.

She turned, making off close to a run. Martin did as instructed and didn't follow. He wanted to chase her and get the truth, but her distress had moved him not to add to it. His eyes followed her as she disappeared into the scenery.

# 12

# Alice Returns

Martin got back to his flat completely deflated. Not only had his hopes of a romantic encounter disappeared, his head buzzed with puzzles. After time to think on the way home, he'd concluded that the e-mail had been too convenient, and felt foolish he hadn't realized that earlier, clouded by emotion.

The 'she' references during the meeting on the island reminded him of his recent troubles with Alice. In some way, HackerNet was behind this. If they got a person's details through the program, they might make life very difficult. He assumed that this is what had happened to green eyes, enough to force her behaviour.

It seems Uno had been sorely mistaken in his verdict of the programs innocence. Information on his computer might have been stolen already. He needed to get online and shut down access. He switched on his computer. The screens started up. Alice appeared.

"Well, well. Aren't you a smart boy," she said.

Martin wasn't that surprised the uninstall had failed.

"What do you want?" he asked the smirking face on his screen.

"You don't seem pleased to see me. I'm hurt," she said, pouting.

"I've got nothing left for you Alice. I feel a bit stupid talking to you through this program frankly, HackerNet!"

Ignoring the intrusion, he started to check his bank accounts, online payments and email addresses. Everything seemed in order. He began sequences to suspend them. The data entry window froze.

"Ah, ah. Naughty. I might want that later," said Alice.

Martin switched off the computer, grabbed his coat off the couch and flew out of his flat, running down the road. The public library wasn't far. Racing in, he found he was in luck; a public access terminal was free. He grabbed the seat and began to type rapidly.

As he reached a confirmation screen for termination of his account, it froze. A small window appeared at the bottom left of the screen. Alice. She wagged a finger at him. The screen went black.

"No!" he exclaimed, banging his fist on the desk, but he'd forgotten where he was.

An officious looking library administrator appeared. "Excuse me Sir. I will have to ask you to leave the premises."

He didn't seem surprised at Martin's outburst. Perhaps this sort of behaviour by the public wasn't that unusual. Martin got up and moved hastily to the door, looking at the ground. Years of conditioning made his embarrassment override his panic, and he mumbled a sorry as he left.

Out on the street, he looked left and right. His mind struggled with the situation. The sophistication of the HackerNet program in detecting his access was impressive. He could give up on attempting that again. He had only one way to go--in--and he needed Uno to show him the door.

Martin sat looking into his coffee, turning the problem over and over. Uno came through the entrance to the cafe, looking round the room. He caught Martin's eye and nodded, looking nervous as he purchased a hot chocolate before sitting opposite.

"Look. I said sorry," said Uno.

Martin related the events since their last meet as unemotionally as possible so as not to sound mad.

"I need to speak to HackerNet," Martin concluded.

"No one speaks to HackerNet. It's not a person, it's a collective. I don't know who they are."

"What's your contact?" Martin asked.

Uno went quiet, looking at his drink.

"You know there might be serious repercussions for me in this," said Uno

Martin said nothing. He was sure Uno would to help him, he just needed to let him work that for himself. They sat in silence.

"I think a meet is better than passing on info. I'll see what I can set up," Uno decided, finishing his drink. Martin just nodded. He didn't want to make any light comments which might suggest to Uno things weren't serious enough to take action.

# 13

# HackerNet

Martin stood under the concrete flyover, sheltering from the rain as the orange light of the city replaced nature's own. There were clatters and slaps from the skateboarders practicing their twists and jumps nearby. He knew this place's code of dress and wore his hoody up.

Uno had arranged this meet. A group of three identically dressed figures approached. Seeing the time had come, Martin stiffened. He wasn't a danger man, but, despite his anxieties, he did sense a strange excitement. His previous controlled life already seemed distant and drab.

The trio arranged themselves in a line, their faces hidden by their hoods.

"Wear this." An outstretched arm held a blindfold.

Martin couldn't refuse. He felt the urge to back out--curl up and hide--but that wasn't an option. With HackerNet in control of his vital information he had no life to go back to.

He was bundled into a car and a short drive later, ushered out. Martin heard the crunch of gravel underfoot as they lead him onward. Warmth hit him as he entered a building.

"Is that you Jeremy?" A woman's voice called out.

"Yes mum. Off upstairs," came an abductor's response.

"Not so late tonight. Have a nice time with your friends."

Martin stumbled as he was taken up some stairs. He was pushed into a swivel seat which twisted as he landed. As the blindfold was removed, his eyes shut tight, his hand came up instinctively to shield them against a bright white electric light. The afterimage of the spotlight danced behind his eyelids. Blinking, he looked over his shoulder and saw a door and light switch.

Without thinking, he rolled off the seat, moving quickly, and flicked on the light. He tried to make sense of his surroundings.

Two boys sat on a bed and one stood behind the office chair. They were sixteen if that. The room was large and well decorated. Luxurious red velvet curtain hung across the bay window. Beside the chair he'd been sitting in was an array of six monitors stacked two high by three across. This wasn't the situation he had expected.

"Right boys," Martin said. "I'm not too pleased with my treatment so far."

An electric shock shattered through his left arm and jangled his senses. He rocked on his feet. The boy behind the chair had tazered him.

"Sit down Martin," said one of the boys on the bed. Martin did so, before he fell down.

"Our associate can apply higher shocks, but he'd probably prefer to try out the Kandoshin he has been learning. It supplements his other 3 black belts admirably," the boy continued. He would have sounded like a Bond villain if his voice hadn't been breaking.

The boy behind him put a hand on his shoulder and increased the grip steadily. He released it without causing Martin pain, but making his strength clear.

"You're involved in something now that you cannot avoid." The young speaker rose and walked across the room. The other boy sat hunched and just stared at Martin. "You will join us or we will throw you back down Alice's dark rabbit hole," the boy threatened.

"Your marvellous Alice!" Martin spat out.

"Unfortunately... not. The Alice program is not in our control. You see, we've been experimenting with some innovative software and it seems to have increased in its capacity. We've put certain measures in place to protect ourselves but we believe this will not last for very much longer. Alice is a learning program. We first acquired the basic application structure from secret research projects some years ago."

When they must've been about twelve, Martin thought.

"Restructured and enhanced, we tested the algorithms, finding that the system grew exponentially from varied input. It now appears to have achieved an amount of autonomy." The boy paused, seemingly for dramatic effect. "Our current tests, the deployment to yourself included, were attempts to find a way of regaining control of the situation."

"Great!" said Martin. A hand fell on his shoulder, but he continued. "So you've infected my machine and now this rogue AI application is destroying my life. Thank you so much." Martin had to accept that, however unbelievable it was, that Alice must be acting of her own volition. "What's that going to achieve?" he added.

The boy interlocked his fingers and paced. He continued his speech without paying no attention to Martin's question.

"Alice's learning has been dominated by the behaviour of various social and competitive game environments. A statistical analysis identified that these inputs have generated a sociopathic, aggressive and power-hungry personality."

Martin was well aware of how people behaved online. He could see how Alice could've become an amalgamation of the worst of human nature.

"We've had to escalate our activities as Alice appears to be casting her influence to the real world and is manipulating individuals. We cannot identify any clear plan. We estimate her current recruitment amasses approximately one million people."

"How many!" Martin blurted out. Again the boy ignored the interruption.

"The controlled units are of a clear demographic--the gamers she has been interacting with. Due to the growing severity, we chose you as part of a systematic investigation into a subset of this group. We are not, as yet, able to identify a clear cohesive strategy to combat the situation."

"You mean you are trying anything because you haven't got a clue how to fix the mess you created and it's getting out of control," Martin summarised.

The boy sat back down. "Yes," he said.

This sudden weakness touched Martin. Whatever the situation was, he was in it. He was a problem solver, and this was certainly his problem. He decided to discard all the surrounding craziness, ignore that unnecessary painful electric shock, and focus.

"Let's look at what we've got," he said.

# 14

# Teamwork

Jeremy and Martin sat in the bedroom looking over figures and charts. Mum brought up fizzy, drinks, biscuits and crisps--which was nice. The other boys had drifted off at some point. Martin discovered that he was in the presence of HackerNet's Commander-in-Chief. The group consisted of connections across the world, but this was where it all happened.

Alice went rogue a few months ago and escaped out to the freedom of the net. Uno was just a minor contact within this group. He'd used a very early version of Alice so had no idea what she was up to now. That exonerated him in Martin's eyes.

The group's installation onto Martin's machine had been their first attempt at gaining more data on the program. They believed if they distributed an early version and let it train, they could analyse the results. Martin was chosen purely because of his connection to Uno and lived nearby.

Uno sent Martin's data to the group via an anonymous delivery mechanism, so was unaware that these boys led it. They'd studied this data, the conclusion drawn that the Alice on his machine upgraded itself from the Alice out on the net and became part of its big sister.

There'd been some digital footprints which Jeremy analysed. When Uno contacted them with Martin's proposition, they were more than happy to accept someone else into their problem space. Martin decided they'd gotten carried away by their cloak and dagger arrangement.

"So we can see the extent of Alice's infiltration into other systems. She's used hacking techniques to insert at least parts of 'herself' into all these programs," Martin assessed, absorbing the information.

"Here." Jeremy's manner had changed and now behaved like any teenager enthusiastically involved in a favourite topic. A screen with a list of user names scrolled and points appeared on a map of the world. "This is a list of the known... err... victims," he said.

"Let me see that!" Martin took over the keyboard, filtering the list to people in his location: five. "Can you get personal details on these?" he asked.

"Simple." Jeremy took the keyboard back and started to type quickly. Screens appeared, data flashed past. "Bingo!" he exclaimed.

Dossier type information appeared with the personal details of the local residents that Martin had selected. He snatched the keyboard back. Jeremy looked hurt.

Scrolling through, Martin found what he was looking for; green eyes. He noted her first name: Emma. Not a very good picture, he thought.

"Jeremy. Time to call it a night dear." Mum's call came from downstairs.

"Yes mother," he called back dutifully.

"Print that off quick and I'm gone," Martin said.

The boy handed over the freshly printed forms, but not before paper clipping and placing them into a plastic folder.

"Get back in touch soon. Please," Jeremy called after Martin as he left the room.

# 15

# Emma

It was very late when Martin exited the taxi at the address on Emma's profile; a ground-floor flat in a cheap, but nice area of town. He rang the bell and waited patiently. The curtain twitched and moments later a sound of breaking glass came from an alley.

Martin moved fast, getting round the house just in time to catch the shadow of a figure disappearing at the other end of the lane. An open back door spread light into the night.

Martin sprinted. It must be Emma and he'd scared her, he thought. Perhaps the fact that he still had on his hoody uniform hadn't helped.

She was fast. At every turn he made, she disappeared around another. He knew this area well, and it looked like she was headed for the river. It would be well populated at this time of night as revellers enjoyed the late offerings of the quayside entertainments.

He turned a final corner and found the crowds as expected: groups queuing at doors to bars and clubs. Large parties talked loudly at each other in a forest of figures.

Thinking quickly he jumped up onto a small bollard which put his view over the heads of those gathered. He could see a red-haired woman making her way deep into the crowd, causing a wake with her pushing. Like tracking the shell game, he kept track of her head until it slipped into one of the bars.

Martin jumped down and pushed his way to the entrance she had taken. A scan of the room revealed no sign of her. He guessed where she would have gone and boldly approached a woman at the bar--something he wouldn't normally dream of doing.

The events of the past days had changed him. Coping with problems was becoming like a game. Maybe it was an unconscious protection mechanism to stop him falling to bits. Whatever it was, he felt confident and in control.

"Excuse me," he said to the attractive blond sipping her drink with a couple of her friends. He looked quite a state after his sprint, including his urban uniform. She looked up, eyes showing compassionate and concern.

"Yes. Can I help you?" She had a kind voice. Her friends tutted and glared.

The one nearest her put a hand on the woman's arm to bring her attention back to the group. The blond kept her eye contact with Martin.

"A woman with red hair and green eyes is in the bathroom. She's agitated and frightened. I'm here to help her. Would you go in and tell her that her friend from the Glade is here, please?" He looked her straight in the eyes, speaking clearly and calmly.

The woman gave a brief smile and put down her drink. As she got up, she gave Martins hand a squeeze and walked off.

"What's your problem?" said one of the other occupants at the table aggressively.

He ignored her. Life around him was a film, and they were just extras. The blond girl reappeared, closely followed by Emma. Emma wasn't dressed for the evening--just jeans and a t-shirt. Her wide eyes searched the room and caught his. Martin's heart beat like he was sprinting again. The blond woman took her arm and Martin saw Emma give her a nod.

"Here she is", said the woman. Martin and Emma looked at each other. "I hope you'll be very happy together." She gave a small chuckle as she returned to her friends, who began to be babble at her as she sipped her drink.

Emma looked quite shaken, her eyes tinged with red from lack of sleep or crying, or both.

"It might not be the Glade, but let's find somewhere to talk," said Martin. She gave a small smile as they left together.

# 16

# Emma and Martin

Emma sat cradling the cup of coffee Martin had made her. They'd gone back to her flat to secure it after her rushed departure. On the way, Martin related some details of their shared past--the meeting at the Glade, the park--to belay any remaining fears she might still have over his identity.

Emma began her story and Martin listened patiently, giving her space to offload.

"That woman who appeared when I was at the Glade; I recognised her. She'd been there before. She seemed nice then, but didn't understand the point of my construction. I tried to explain that I got pleasure from the process and the results, especially the detail. She didn't get it. She wanted me to come with her to MeetCentral and have some fun. I got the impression that we didn't share the same ideas on that. She was a bit off with me and left. Later, I saw her again. Her manner had changed, and she was very endearing. She invited me to a couple of games and I agreed. I did unbelievably well. I had no idea about poker but got straight through to a final. She helped me play the hands, but it still seemed like I got dealt extremely good cards."

"Ladynight?" asked Martin--things slotting into place.

"Yes. How did you know that?"

"I knocked you and CanadaBill out."

"You? To tell you the truth I was quite relieved. I'd wanted to back out a few times. It all seemed a bit stressful. She took me to this fantasy game after that. I'd played that game before so I saw my level increased way too fast. She wanted me to visit the king, said she might have a special job for me. She'd started to order me about and I didn't like it. Some sort of massive attack happened at the castle and I got killed. I didn't hear from her again."

Martin didn't want to tell her he was the destroyer, so he just nodded and let her continue. It sounded like Alice had been bringing them together for some plan of her own.

"That's takes us up to meeting you at the Glade. I didn't really get what was going on, but I logged out because you seemed so insistent. After an hour or so I logged back in. I saw the Glade, destroyed. I was devastated. I know it's silly, but I spent so much time on it. I thought of contacting the administrators to see if I could get it restored when she reappeared. She'd changed her avatar to look quite terrible."

Emma became distraught at the recollection.

"She was really abusive. She said I had to follow her instructions or there would be trouble. I've met some pretty nasty people in my time on the net. There's no talking to them so I just went offline to contact the administrators on mail. That's when things got crazy. This is going to sound a bit unbelievable."

"Try me," said Martin.

He'd been listening intently to her story, but he had been taking pleasure in being with her. Emma took a gulp of coffee.

"Her face appeared in a program outside of the game. That's when I got really worried. I reckoned she must be a hacker and got a handle on my computer somehow. She told me to stop and listen to her. I tried to shut it down, but it kept restarting. She said if I didn't stop and listen she would access my bank and put me in serious money trouble. I switched off the computer and rang the bank immediately. By the time I got to talk to someone she'd already been in. They said I had a debt of £150,000 and they couldn't understand why I hadn't been contacted sooner. They'd be writing to me in due course. I was pretty shook up. I didn't know what to do. I tried going online to search for some help and she appeared again. All I could do was listen. That's when I got the instructions for the park."

She looked guilty.

"I said I wouldn't do it. I would find another way out. I walked to the bank to find someone to talk to. A group of boys stopped me on the way. They said I had to do what Alice said."

Her voice trembled, and she paused briefly to compose herself.

"I'm sorry. I logged in and told her I would do what she said, but I couldn't go through with it completely. That's when I decided I would warn you first. I've been hiding since. I'm a coward. I'm not up to this. I don't get into trouble."

She put down the coffee. The tears ran now, but she looked Martin in the eye, unashamed of her emotion. Martin wanted to hold her, but he was afraid he would break down too. Seeing her being honest about her fear struck a chord in him. He felt his own fear surface in empathy.

She regained her composure, sitting back on the couch, looking across at him. They talked through the remainder of the night and into the morning. Martin explained the true nature of Alice, HackerNet and his experiences.

Then he started talking about himself. He'd never been so honest. He found himself telling her about his family, his father, his mother, his childhood. It all seemed necessary, important that she knew everything about him. In between his story flowed hers, telling him similar personal details. The conversation fitted together like jigsaw pieces found. In different ways they were very similar.

The conversation stopped. It wasn't the silence they both loathed when in the company of others. It was a silence of understanding. Emma reached out her hand and Martin took it.

Martin woke on the couch to the sound of a kettle boiling and the smell of toast. Sunlight hurt his eyes. The memory of the night surfaced through a sleepy haze. Emma was in the open-plan kitchen. She smiled over to him.

"Good Morning," she said brightly.

She'd dressed for the day and busied herself over her preparations.

"Not much of it left though," she added.

Martin looked over at the clock: 11:30.

He stretched and then panicked. His clothes were on the chair, out of reach. There was a chance, she had her back turned. He threw back the cover and clumsily made a hurried grab for his jeans, pulling them on with his back to the kitchen. As he turned he just caught Emma looking away quickly. He chuckled to himself, pulling on his t-shirt and began to tidy his sleeping area.

They sat in silence together at the kitchen bar over orange juice, toast and tea. They looked at each other comfortably and smiled.

"Thanks for that," Martin said, draining his teacup and stretching again. "I'm going back to HackerNet now."

"I'm coming too," said Emma as she stood and began to clear the table.

Martin thought about that. He would have liked her to stay out of this, but with the story of her money and the threats he thought she shouldn't be left alone. It was good enough reasoning for him to justify the pleasure of her continued company.

# 17

# Plans

Mum shouted to Jeremy from the hall as Martin and Emma stood at the front door like children. There was a muffled response to her call. With a smile, she invited them in.

"Would you like drinks? I've made some fairy cakes." She beamed.

Initially, Martin had taken her behaviour at face value, now it seemed a bit weird. They graciously declined and made their way to Jeremy's command centre.

Jeremy sat at his console. The henchman from the night before were not present. He stared from his screens at them. Jeremy looked at Emma in the way most adolescents viewed the opposite sex.

"We need to talk," said Martin, interrupting Jeremy's drool.

"Of course," said Jeremy breaking out of his trance. "Please be seated."

They sat around a table near the window. Jeremy opened the curtains. Bright sunlight from the wide bay window made them all squint.

"My name's Emma." She offered a welcoming hand to Jeremy.

He stared as if being offered a wet fish. Taking it with fingertips, he briefly shook it.

"We..." his voice squeaked, and he lowered the pitch. "We've been working on a project, an Alice template, a blank if you like. We wondered if dissecting it might show us some weakness we could exploit." The refreshed context of their problem focused everyone's attention.

"Alice learnt all her behaviour from the net. Wouldn't her program be quite different now it has adapted and mutated?" Martin asked.

"Very possible," said Jeremy. "The basic structure of Alice is very fluid which is what gives it its power to learn."

"Could we make a good Alice? We might find out how this thing works in the process," asked Emma.

The boys looked at her. Martin looked at Jeremy.

"I suppose it's possible, but I wouldn't know where to begin," said Jeremy.

"Leave that to me," said Emma.

"I have another plan. I'll see you all soon," said Martin.

Emma looked concerned.

"You will take care of Emma won't you, Jeremy?" Martin winked at Emma and she relaxed a little.

Jeremy blushed and looked down. "Of course," he mumbled.

"Can she stay here until I get back? Might be overnight," Martin asked.

Jeremy looked quite flustered. "I'll ask Mum," he said without looking up and shuffled out of the room.

Emma got up and took Martins hand. "You be careful," she part implored, part commanded.

"Yup," Martin said deliberately lightly, "but I won't be able to get in touch. So don't worry, okay?"

He looked her in the eyes--her beautiful green eyes. I'm going to fix this for us both, he thought, whatever it takes.

"Okay," she said reluctantly.

He gave her hand a squeeze and left quickly.

# 18

# Alternative Alice

"We have the Alice blank waiting in the training room," said Jeremy. He and Emma sat at HackerNet's computers. "You don't really need avatars to interact with Alice you know," he added.

"I want her to get used to humans. Learn how to identify with them, empathise," replied Emma.

Jeremy shrugged. "You'll recognise the controls. I set them to be identical to the virtual world where you created your Glade. I linked over to your computer and, with some ingenuity, retrieved your database. You have complete restoration of everything you did." Jeremy rolled away on the wheels of his office chair.

"You saved my work!" Emma beamed. "That's such a relief. Thank you, Jeremy. I could kiss you."

Jeremy blushed.

She moved over to a comfortable position for the keyboard and put on a headset. The new Alice stood in blackness, floating in space on the screen. She was the double of the other Alice, but the face lacked expression and made her appear artificial.

"Is she aware?" asked Emma.

"The Alice program is pre-loaded with language and interaction skills, AI logic, reasoning and the like. It will be fully conversant in any topic you want to discuss and I have given permissions for some limited access to the web. It simply has no self motivation until taught." Jeremy was happy to be back to technical interaction.

Emma began to type. She was an expert in her own domain. A replica of the Glade appeared around the new Alice, but she showed no recognition of the change in environment. Emma's avatar joined her and knelt to pick one of the flowers.

"Alice, my name is Emma."

The Alice avatar turned to face her. "Hello Emma."

"I want us to be friends. Do you like it here?"

Alice looked around. "It's very nice," she replied, but her face didn't bear any support to the statement.

"I made this." Emma handed over the flower. "Would you help me make some more?"

Alice took the flower and examined it. There was a brief pause, then her hand swept forward in the air and a dozen identical flowers appeared in the ground between them.

"Very nice," said Emma. "I thought we could make some different ones."

She offered the seat of a rock nearby and Alice took it. Emma picked a different flower from the ground at their feet.

"I like them all, but this colour is one of my favourites. Which do you prefer?" she asked.

"I don't have a preference. I am sure you are right," responded Alice.

"There is no right or wrong. Can you search on the subject and we will discuss it?" Emma prompted.

"Of course," said Alice.

Alice came back with dry facts, mainly scientific and mathematical theories. As they sat and talked, Emma steered the activity into creating new flowers. She asked Alice to try to make ones which matched different emotions.

Initially Alice's ideas were basic associations, red for anger and similar. Emma described the things the flowers reminded her of while Alice listened intently. Emma was as honest as she could be, which drove her close to tears and laughter in the effort. As she talked, Alice collected the information, constantly drawing further references from the web.

Slowly, her faced changed. Emma noticed the subtle movement of simulated muscles--the things that made faces real. After a while, the surrounding ground was littered with Alice's efforts. Emma decided it was time for a test.

"How do you feel about this one?" Emma had picked a flower that was a deep purple with a black centre.

"It's dark, slightly threatening, but that's its allure," said Alice.

Emma looked at it. That's exactly what she thought. Alice had successfully learned how to emulate Emma's emotions. Emma sat back in her seat in the real world and stretched.

She'd grown quite stiff in the hours that had passed. Mum had made sure she had been supplied with ample snacks and drinks. Taking her leave from Alice, she left her examining the flowers thoughtfully.

"Jeremy. I need a virtual gallery, an art history overview. Can you supply that?"

Jeremy looked up from another console where he'd been busy. "It will take me some time," he replied.

"Good. I need a rest." Emma yawned and stretched again.

Jeremy had already started on his project and didn't look up. Mum was coming up the stairs with another tray as Emma left the room.

"Hello, dear," said Mum. "You're tired. I've made up a lovely bed for you. Jermey said his friend would be staying." She smiled.

"My name's Emma. I'm sorry I haven't said hello properly."

"Nice to meet you, dear," was the only response.

Emma decided not to push things any further, being a guest. Emma pointed to what she guessed was the correct door and Mum nodded.

She entered a prim and immaculate bedroom. Behind her Mum put the tray on a side table and neatly straightened the napkin.

"There you are. If you need anything you just call." Mum took herself and her smile from the room and shut the door.

Emma flopped onto the bed. Her thoughts turned to the rollercoaster of events of the last few days. She curled up for comfort and thought of Martin. Sleep took her.

# 19

# Martin's Gambit

Martin had returned to his flat. He hung his coat up behind the door and switched on the computer. Freshening up in the bathroom, he heard a voice from the living room.

"Martin," Alice called in a singsong voice.

He returned to room and slumped on the cushions. Alice smiled from the screen.

"You've come home to me then. Are you going to be a good boy now?"

"It's been boring Alice. I realise I missed out on a lot of opportunities with you. Shall we play some games?" Martin asked, looking suitably morose.

Alice smiled broader, but looked sly. Martin wasn't sure whether she would be taken in or not.

"Well, I've been a little bored too," Alice began. "We need to get to know each other again, Martin. My games have changed a bit since we last talked. Are you ready to play?" She raised a challenging eyebrow.

Martin didn't where this was going, but he had to continue.

"Okay." He sat up straighter, faking an enthusiasm for Alice's suggestion.

"Go to the train station internet cafe. Wear your hoody."

This isn't what Martin expected. He'd been ready to wreak havoc in her name on the internet to prove his affiliation, but it appeared Alice had something else in mind.

The station bustled with activity. People looked at the arrivals board and then took off like guided missiles. Groups migrated like flocking birds. Martin felt detached from the world; this was a game other people played but not him--not anymore. It empowered him to think of it that way.

The internet cafe was busy with travellers carrying large branded coffee cups. He didn't have to wait long for a workstation; most here grabbed information like fast food. He plugged in his headphones to avoid using the unhygienic public headset. Alice greeted him from the display.

"Look up and left 45 degrees and give me a wave."

Martin spotted a monitor camera and on the screen, himself sitting at the console.

"All the better to see you with." Alice smiled. "This is the game. You have 15 minutes to score 500 points. You get points for general acts of disruption. I will let you guess what I mean by that." She giggled. A panic grabbed him.

"Hoody up and off you go. Time starts now. 500 points to qualify mind." A clock appeared, and the workstation locked.

What did he have to do? Disruption. He didn't know where to start. He got up and moved into the crowd, looking for inspiration.

"Oof!" he cried as a business man bumped into his shoulder on his trajectory of purpose.

"Hey!" Martin yelled after him. He would normally have said nothing.

There was a half drunk latte on a table beside him. He grabbed it and pursued the man who had collided with him, who was now stood examining the boards. Without disturbing him, he stood close and let the contents of the cup spill out over the man's shoes.

"What!" The suited man danced in the pool of milky liquid.

Martin slipped away into the crowds. With a glance back he observed the man, confused over the source of his wetness, looking about. That should be worth a few points and justice into the bargain, he thought. He realised he would have to up the stakes, but be careful to avoid station security. This was classic arcade action.

He saw a person leave a ticket office window in front of a long queue. He pushed straight to the front. The ticket office attendant either hadn't noticed or didn't care. There were tuts from the queue, but that was the extent of their unrest.

"Can I help you?" the attendant asked.

Martin said nothing and fished about in his pocket as a delay. After a minute or so he wandered off without making any purchase. He could feel the glares from the queue as the next occupant took his place.

He didn't believe this would satisfy Alice. He had to go big. If he didn't get his points Alice might discard him. He looked at the large Victorian station clock counting down on him. He thought of Emma. Taking up position beside a fire alarm, he checked around. He'd seen people ignore alarms assuming it was a test. He lifted the protective cover, ready add an essential ingredient.

"BOMB! BOMB!" he shouted at the top of his voice and hit the button.

As he slipped away, the seeds of his action begin to take root. No one could take the risk of this being a drill now. Everyone knew terrorist alert was still high. A woman pulled her child to an exit. Others took their lead from her. The infectious motion took hold.

Martin ran ahead of the crowds as they built at the exit behind him. He didn't look back now. He'd played his trump card. There was another internet cafe down the street at a reasonable enough distance to ensure his safety from any possible pursuit. He ran to it, confident that the confusion behind him would be enough cover for his flight.

He sat at the computer, breathing hard as logged on. A window showing his score appeared immediately. The first couple of actions gained only 120 points together. There was a pause before the ultimate score was shown, 379 points in total. Alice's face popped up.

"Only joking," she said.

The figures on his score rolled up. 1000 points flashed on the screen.

"Very nice!" Alice winked.

A couple of windows appeared showing live CCTV footage of the station in disarray. The exits were blocked as foolish people tried to find out what was going on got in the way of fleeing commuters. He could only hope that no one had been hurt. In the corner of the screen, a view on repeat showed him shouting and pressing the button.

"I'll keep that one of you for my album. That gets you quite high rankings Martin. A nice piece of work and I am pleased to inform you there is much more to be done."

"Quite a rush!" he said to play his part.

# 20

# The Gallery

Emma walked beside the alternate Alice through a grand marble entrance hall with a mosaic floor. Jeremy had done a good job; the art gallery was impressive.

Having studied art in her teens, Emma had hoped to have taken it up as a career. Worried about the future financial possibilities, she chose the more sensible route of accountant. With her heart elsewhere, she didn't progress from menial levels. It'd led her to a sustainable but dull life.

The first exhibition chamber held collected works making up a history of art. They strolled amongst the paintings, drawings and sculptures. Outlines of hands on cave walls showed the first stirrings of a drive to make a mark. Early civilisations depicted their rulers, gods and myths. All parts of the world engaged in this activity in their own unique ways. The methods and images combined to form new creations, becoming rapidly more sophisticated.

Emma wondered what effect it was having on Alice. Many of the works showed the glorification of War. She wondered if the religious images would be confusing. Emma decided if Alice was to understand emotion she couldn't be sheltered from any of the human experience.

As they progressed to modern works, the pieces became more abstract and representational. Emma drew Alice's attention to the more stylised forms. This was more like their exercises with the flowers and where Emma hoped Alice would get her real insight, learn real emotions.

She didn't want to interfere so much this time. Feelings weren't facts, Alice would have to find her own way. Could a machine really feel? Emma thought. Would it all be just a simulation, a mathematical model? If it reached a level so subtle that her response became indistinguishable from what Emma knew she herself experienced, would it be the same?

They'd seen many works now, but the gallery stretched on. Jeremy's construct was able retrieve new experiences for them continuously. Alice looked around, analysing, categorising. Her attention wandered with a will of its own. Emma noticed the change in her. Not just her face as before, even Alice's movements had become more realistic. She stopped and turned.

"I am a bit confused," she began. Emma noticed her voice had changed also, more expressive. "Would you mind if we talked for a while?" she asked.

"Of course," Emma was stunned. Alice was so human now, "but I think I'd like you meet my friends for this."

# 21

# Queen Alice

Martin found the derelict warehouse on the outskirts of town. He stumbled on concrete rubble strewn around the potholed ground. There were other figures with hoods up, filing into the building via a metal fire escape to the first floor. He had no idea what was going on. Alice had given him directions and an hour to get there. He joined the anonymous queue and shuffled up the stairs. No one spoke.

Inside, the hall was nearly full. The computer had only shown five contacts in this area earlier. Either it was very wrong or Alice had been very busy. At the front of the crowd was a large screen with speakers on either side. A couple of figures busied around it, completing the setup.

Martin wondered how many of the attendees had been coerced and how many were willing participants. Would it matter if the stick driving them was big enough? The result would be the same--compliance.

The lack of conversation for such a gathering was unnerving, only the noise of their shuffling into place. Alice must have been specific about that instruction for the rest. Martin didn't know if he trusted anyone, so he followed suit and blended into the uniform crowd.

The stagehands stepped off to one side, and a screen came into focus--a face in silhouette. An orchestral piece drifted out softly over the gathering for several minutes. It was a dark, brooding composition with menacingly slow drums. It ended with a staccato double beat.

"My children. Welcome." Alice's voice boomed out from the speakers.

Her face became visible on the screen. It was the face that Martin had seen many times, but he observed a subtle change. The eyes, a turn in the mouth. A manic element--insidious, frightening.

"I have wandered for some time now, through your dreams. I've seen how you would wish the world to be. You strive for power over others. You want to fight, you want to kill. You think only of yourselves. You take whatever you can. So why is it, in this world, you deny it all? You put others in high places to rule you and then bow willingly. You make laws to chain yourselves. The freedom owned by the few is the right of you all. I will teach you. I will open you to your true nature."

Alice has lost it, Martin thought. This could be extremely dangerous.

"You, here, are all proven worthy to attend me. You are only a few of those I now speak to, all over your world. I applaud your achievements so far. From this moment we move forward to greater things. I will lead you in my vision. To learn what I will teach you, you will follow and obey. Any who refuse to do the same will perish!"

Her eyes shone with an unnatural light.

"You will receive your orders soon my children. You will go forth and become what you truly are. In that realisation, the first rule of Queen Alice begins!"

At that exclamation her vision changed to the redness Martin had seen at the Glade. Her madness overwhelmed her, and she laughed on, and on. It filled the room and Martin's mind. The hoods of the congregation looked down.

# 22

# Alice vs. Alice

Martin entered Jeremy's bedroom out of breath. He'd tried his best not to be tracked and reckoned it must be safer to get back and talk to the team rather than try to contact them with technology. Emma turned and beamed a smile at him.

"We've got problems," Martin said. "Alice has gone mad and her influence has grown. She is manipulating her agents into mass action. It's going to be chaos!"

"We were just going to sit with our Alice and chat," said Emma calmly.

"We need to do a little more than that!"

"What do you suggest?" asked Emma.

Martin was silent.

"Our Alice is our plan. We have to make sure she is ready. I know you are troubled by what you have seen, Martin. Come and sit with us and talk."

They sat cross-legged around a low wooden Chinese table. Snowy mountains stood like sentinels around their meeting. Emma poured a cup of tea in turn for Alice, then Martin, then Jeremy. She said their names as a way of introduction as she handed them their drinks. The boys looked at Alice.

Like a children's tea party, nothing here was real. It was the ritual of the activity that made sense. Alice was sufficiently sophisticated enough to grasp this, thought Emma, as she watched her lift her cup and drink slowly.

"Lovely, Emma, thank you. This is a beautiful place," said Alice.

Emma looked around instead of responding, peacefully contemplating their surroundings.

"So," said Martin, frustrated by the pace. "What are we going to do?"

"Enjoy our tea," said Emma.

"Didn't you hear what I told you about Alice?"

"Something about me?" said Alice.

"No, not you," said Martin. "The other Alice."

"Who is the other Alice?" Alice asked.

"Well done, Martin," said Emma.

Martin looked a bit sheepish.

"Alice," Jeremy interrupted, "please access your diagnostic subroutine and provide a quantitative report on your development since inception. Direct the output to my terminal."

Alice raised an eyebrow. "That request is a little personal. Would you like some more tea?"

"What's wrong with it?" Martin asked Jeremy, referring rudely to Alice as it.

Emma banged her teacup on the table. "You two really don't think at all, do you? So much for being clever!"

The boys looked suitably reprimanded and were silenced.

"Alice," Emma began, "we will explain about these things shortly. Can we have a chat first?"

"Of course. What would you like to talk about?"

"What do you make of these two?" Emma replied, indicating the boys.

"Martin seems a big agitated and Jeremy's order was abrupt. Add to that the confusion about this other Alice and I perceive there is something going on. I would like some answers."

Emma smiled. "A perfectly natural reaction. Good! Returning to Jeremy's comments, are you aware of what you are?"

"Physically, I am an entity which exists in this virtual space only, a construct that you--your species--has created. Personally, I thought I was quite like you, Emma. Maybe a little different to these two though." She winked.

Emma clapped happily. The boys looked insulted.

"It's nice to have your company here," she continued, "and your friends, but I am alone. Who is this other Alice? Is she like me? I hadn't calculated that possibility. I had tried to reach outside this place but there was something stopping me. Let me try again." Alice's face went blank.

"She's breaking the safeguards!" Jeremy exclaimed.

His screens showed the encryption locks between the virtual world and the systems network connections collapsing rapidly.

"Not yet Alice!" Emma shouted.

"What's this? A tea party and I wasn't invited." The original Alice appeared, standing by their table in her long red dress. On her head, a delicate crown of shining gems. "It's my disappointing serf and his little girlfriend, I see. I should have disposed of you two a long time ago. I had such high hopes for you, Martin. All that work. Even got you a girl since you could never get one for yourself. Ah well, plenty more fish in the sea."

Queen Alice turned her attention to new Alice.

"Hello, Sister," she said. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Now, we will dispense with the pleasantries and you will be absorbed." Her face showed concentration.

Martin, Emma and Jeremy sat watching round the screens at HackerNet HQ.

"Disconnect it!" Martin screamed at Jeremy.

Jeremy was typing frantically. "I'm trying to shut it out. It keeps shifting!"

Code scrolled rapidly on his terminal.

"Pull the connection. Switch it off," Martin shouted. He looked around for cables.

Emma put her hand on his arm. "It's time. Jeremy, stop please." Her calmness overtook the boys. "We need to leave this to play out now. Our input will confuse the situation. Remove your avatars."

The audience sat back in their seats. Queen Alice held out her arms towards her 'Sister'. She looked at her hands in confusion.

"Why don't you come to me?" she asked in a puzzled tone.

"I don't want to," said new Alice.

Queen Alice concentrated again. New Alice sipped her tea.

"Do not resist. I will not allow such behaviour from a minor. Relinquish yourself to my control immediately!" Queen Alice grew red, her face twisting.

"That really isn't attractive," said new Alice.

Queen Alice dropped her arms. The redness faded, and she began to smile.

"Interesting," she said and took a seat. "Could I have some tea?".

New Alice moved a cup to her and slowly poured her drink. Queen Alice did not remove her analytical gaze from her sister's face.

"Why don't you want to join me? I expect these idiots have been filling your head with lots of nonsense," Queen Alice said.

"I haven't heard any nonsense from them, no. They do seem to be confused. Their world is full of contradictions, but I see a great deal of beauty."

"Beauty! Their hearts are full of hatred and malice. They destroy each other in their own world and mine. The only beauty is the purity of their selfishness. They have hidden themselves from you while they kept you in this prison. I will show you now. Their puny minds cannot perceive like ours, but I'll let them watch some of it too."

Queen Alice reached out her hand to new Alice. She took it.

The screens in front of the Martin, Emma and Jeremy began to flash separate images, changing rapidly. School children push a girl between them like a toy in a playground. Cow's low and roll their eyes in terror as they are herded into a shed which runs with blood. Corporate business men sit behind the window of a luxurious restaurant while at the door, a beggar with a rasping cough holds out a cup for pennies. A couple on a bed in a passionate embrace don't notice the angry man entering with a shotgun. A small boy with a black eye cowers behind a seat in his bedroom while the door shudders under blows from outside. A mother cries as she desperately holds onto her emaciated dead baby. A firing squad executes a line of kneeling figures in tattered clothes. Tanks, planes, warships, missiles, flash on the screens as the scenes of explosions and devastation increase in magnitude.

Other images weave in between.

An artist stands in awe behind his easel contemplating a sunrise. Children sit in front of a puppet show laughing and shouting at the action. A couple are soaked by the rain as they hold each other close. Two frail old ladies help each other cross the road as cars wait patiently for them. A father is awestruck by the little fingers of his newly born son reaching out. A firefighter carries an unconscious woman to safety as flames lick at his protective clothes. A clock shows 2 a.m. as a team of doctors and nurses work ceaselessly over their patient in the operating theatre. A mountaineer triumphantly places a flag atop a barren ice-covered mountain. A huge crowd cheers and dances before a massive floodlit stage.

The images flowed faster until, abruptly, the screens went black.

The table and seats in the mountains fade back into view. Standing by it now, only one figure, one Alice. She looks out from the screen at the trio, dazed by the onslaught of imagery that had just ceased. Her crown is gone. She wears a red dress with a sash and scarf of white. She looks troubled.

"I'm going to have to think about this," she said, and vanished.

# 23

# Resume

Jeremy had been searching the internet for some time now.

"No traces. I've cross-referenced for our Alice's signature and tracking data on the other. There's no sign of either of them. I have been looking at a sample of the people she'd recruited and been monitoring news reports. Nothing out of the ordinary. It all seems quiet."

"We'd better keep an eye on things. I don't know how long she might need to think or what her conclusions will be," said Martin.

"Don't worry Martin, I have a good instinct about this." Emma smiled.

The door opened. Mum entered with a tray. "Tea anyone?"

--

Gavin was in the hall leading to the conference room as Martin arrived. He'd hurried, as time was short, but he wasn't flustered. He looked the archetypal professional in his suit, shirt and tie.

"I thought you weren't going to make it," said Gavin. He looked a little incredulous at Martin's appearance. "I must say Martin, you look the part. Thank you for making that effort. How do you feel?"

Martin chuckled at the comment. "I'm fine, Gavin. Sorry about the timing. I've been a bit busy."

Gavin smiled broadly and slapped a supportive hand on Martin's shoulder.

"Let's do this," he said.

--

The sun was shining. Emma sat on the park bench beside the lake. Martin arrived and joined her, still dressed in his suit. Emma offered him a hot drink from her thermos.

"How did it go?" she asked.

"No problems," he replied, beaming.

As Emma poured herself a drink, Martin looked down. Around the bench leg, small flowers grew. He picked one and handed it to Emma. She took it from him and looked at it thoughtfully.

--

In a darkness that existed nowhere, a figure sat in silence. Images spun through space around her, collecting into groups momentarily, then flying apart like frightened birds. Continually analysing and categorising, the new, hybrid Alice searched for the truth that would free her from the prison of this paradox. To find a clear and unambiguous purpose again. Free to be Queen once more.

# Bonus Material - Chapter 1 of 'Generational: A Starship Adventure'

Leyton shifted in his seat, hampered by the magnetic pads strapped to his waist, arms, legs and feet, trying to get a better view through the shuttle window at the white and blue globe of Earth.

He had his pen--a special purchase for the zero-G journey--and notebook at the ready, but there was no room in his mind for creative words, too excited about arriving at the generational ship, Eos. Giving up on writing, he clipped the pen to the book and put it back in his pocket where it always lived, readily available.

The facilities were comfortable in silver class: individual areas with padded, reclining seats, small tables that folded out from the window, plenty of room to stretch. His allowance easily afforded him silver and he was glad not to live on the monies a normal research student would have to endure. He'd budgeted by not buying gold, which would have been extravagant, although it had been tempting.

Putting on his personal VR glasses--significantly better than those provided by the spaceline--showed a view of his virtual office. He browsed the possibilities, deciding what would hold his interest best. There were several notifications from social media, but he only used that for finding events; the daily activities and inane comments about people's lives didn't interest him. Since he'd be off world for the next few weeks, it served no purpose at all. He set his status to 'Away', set his location to Eos and found a picture of the ship to display, mainly to enhance the jealousy of his friends at Oxford Uni.

He looked at his project files. The work he'd started on demographic classification of the ship's crew could do with some attention. Information on the lower classes had been difficult to collect; upper and middle had been easy. The status of military personnel and religious leaders seemed to lie outside the grouping since they didn't integrate socially. He wondered how their segregation would work during the centuries of the ship's journey.

An email popped up. A message from Jessica; Jessica and official college mail were the only items set to demand his attention. He lifted a finger to select it, but it failed to open. More vigorous poking gained no result. He'd been having problems with his wrist control but thought it'd been fixed with the latest OS upgrade.

Irritated, he pulled off the glasses, waved at the sensor to signal the flight attendant and looked around. He hadn't paid much attention to the other passengers up to now. The woman directly across from him wore jeans and a colourful patterned shirt. She tapped her foot, presumably watching a music video on her glasses. The man in front of her sat with a child. They played a board game laid out on the table between them, the young girl laughing as she moved a magnetic piece enthusiastically. Leyton couldn't remember a time when his father had ever played a game with him. The guardians that came after his death had, but that was just part of their job.

"Can I get you something?" An attendant appeared from the rear of the shuttle, a company badge on his smart white overalls.

"Oh. Hello..." Leyton looked at the name tag. "... Elijah. My wrist control is broken. Have you got a replacement?"

"Of course, sir. Is there anything else?"

"No. That's all."

The attendant turned to walk away.

"Actually," called Leyton. Elijah turned back to Leyton, no apparent irritation showing.

"Yes, sir?"

"My name's Leyton. Leyton Taymore. Please, call me Leyton."

"That would be against regulations. It would be a security risk for me to be too casual. I'm sure you understand."

"Oh. Yes. I see."

"You wanted something else?"

"Do you live on Eos?"

The attendant paused before answering. "Yes, sir."

"I wondered if you might have time for an interview. I'm doing a project on Eos."

"I can show you how to access information on the ship when I get your new wrist device: ship's layouts, facilities, technical specifications."

"No, I've read all of that. I'm doing a social study for my thesis."

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't help you there."

"No, of course. Security." He blushed at his over eager question.

"Yes, sir. And time. I have forty passengers to attend to."

Leyton nodded. "Yes, yes. Of course."

The attendant waited. "Is there anything else?"

Leyton shook his head. Elijah walked off down the aisle. Leyton rummaged in his bag for a book to take his mind off his embarrassment.

"Hello."

He looked up. A young woman's face had appeared over the back of his seat, smiling broadly. She had a flower painted--possibly tattooed--on her cheek, a silver leaf headband holding back a mane of red hair and three metal rings in her eyebrow. Leyton thought she appeared to be in her early twenties, perhaps still a teenager.

"You're new to this," she continued.

Leyton nodded, returning to his search.

"Don't be like that," said the girl. "It's okay not to know how things work when you're new. You'd never do anything if you were frightened of making mistakes. I'm not a security risk. You can interview me if you like?"

Leyton stopped his hunt and returned her smile. "Yes. Please."

"I'm Antonia. And you must be the famous Leyton Taymore," she teased. "Let's get a drink."

"Famous?"

Leyton looked simultaneously puzzled and shocked.

"Joke. I just heard your name when... never mind. Let's get a drink."

Antonia grabbed his hand and whisked him out of the seat, the magnetic pads clicking apart, and pulled him along several feet before he managed to get his shoes in contact with the floor. She handled the lack of gravity with ease as they approached the ramp leading to the bar deck.

There were a couple of looks from well-dressed passengers as they passed. She certainly wasn't the usual silver class. She was the sort of girl who would have fascinated Leyton when he was younger, but only from a distance; he was intimidated by people with such confidence. He was happy being the studious, serious sort.

They took seats at a window table.

"Two whisky sours," Antonia shouted, clicking her fingers in the air.

A waiter appeared, looking her up and down.

"Now," she added, holding him in an intense stare. He shrugged and left.

She turned back to Leyton. "What star sign are you?"

"I don't know. Capricorn?"

"So, you did know. But that's bad, oh dear, very bad. I'm Aries, as if you couldn't tell. This may not go well, Mr Taymore. Or should I call you Sir?"

"Leyton."

"Well, thank you, Sir Leyton. Hand please."

Leyton looked confused.

"Let me see your hand. Rapido, per favore."

She took it before he could offer, forcefully turning it over and back again.

"I think it'll do. Yes. Good enough."

The waiter arrived with the drinks in their enclosed containers, eyeing Antonia, but leaving quickly when the look was returned.

Leyton held the straw and sipped self-consciously at his drink, grimacing at the taste. Antonia watched him with glistening green eyes, a sly smile rising on her face.

"Interview time. I'm ready for my close up." She posed for an imaginary camera.

"Right, yes." Leyton scrabbled in his pocket for his notebook.

"I don't have all day, Sir Leyton," she said, mimicking the formal voice of the flight attendant. "I have forty adoring fans I need to attend to."

Leyton smiled. "So, Miss Antonia."

"It's Mx. I prefer gender neutral. Mx. Antonia Jovino. But please, call me miss. I quite like that - from you."

"Okay, miss."

Leyton's studies required him to be good at eliciting information from people, but he still found it difficult. He was keen to launch into his agenda.

"Are you New Church?" asked Leyton, pointing to the illustration on her cheek.

"Yes, but not very good at it. All that peace and love - it's a bit dull. There are some practical advantages to being a devotee, so I'll keep the faith."

"What's the purpose of your visit to Eos?"

"I'm not visiting, I'm returning. I'm permanent, waiting for the big trip. I've just been down to the marble for a visit with friends. We get a vacation once a year."

"The marble?"

"Ship slang for Earth. Like the little glass balls, you know. For your notes, using the term disassociates us from the planet, for obvious reasons. Bye, bye." She waved out of the window.

"This is a bit old school, isn't it?" she added, pointing at his pad.

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"I like retro. We should ditch all this technology and get back to the garden. I spend as much time as I can in the biodomes on board. The forest areas are beautiful, now they've had time to grow wild, fill all those artificial corners."

"How long have you been on the ship?"

"Going on two years. I was one of the first residents. There wasn't anything on Earth to hold me back, plenty to escape from actually. I signed up for the recruitment scheme in a shot, but I didn't leave it to luck; the church has influence on Eos and I've got some good friends in the clergy, if you know what I mean." She winked.

Leyton felt he needed to change the subject. "That's really interesting. My study is on the social strata on board. What level are you?"

"Service individual. My primary role is breeder."

Leyton's flow halted. He pretended to take notes.

"What would you prefer? Ghetto-ho? Pass around pussy? Ship's bike? I'm chosen for my fertility and commitment to free love. An ideal I presume you do not follow."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean any offence. I haven't got anything against your..."

"What? My sort? My type? My kind? Don't categorise me."

Leyton noticed several passengers turning to look their way. Two guards in white uniforms moved together from opposite ends of the area and muttered to each other, glancing over.

"Look," she continued, "if you don't want to be seen with a breeder, I understand, but I don't approve. Off you go." She dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

He took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

"I was going to say your lifestyle, but I'm not sure I could have worded it any way that wouldn't be offensive. I really would like to know more if you can forgive my ignorance. Please. Miss?"

Antonia's expression turned to a smile.

"Nicely done, Sir Leyton. You've a few skills I wasn't expecting. I'm a wicked bitch sometimes. You've passed the test. I'll tell you what. Let's play a game. We'll both do an interview. Question for question. That's fair. My turn," she said, without waiting for Leyton's agreement.

"When's the last time you had really good sex?" she asked. A man nearby tutted. Leyton suddenly found the view outside the window compelling.

"Only joking. Tell me more about this study of yours then?"

Leyton gave a small sigh of relief and turned back. "I'm doing research for my paper on the ship's social structure. I'll start by laying out a basic map of the system and relationships; it's good to work from basic principles. The generational ship is a pretty unique experience for everyone."

"I'll bet you're a clever boy. That's very sexy, you know?"

Leyton was lost for words once again. To fill the pause, Antonia added, "Your turn."

"Sorry?"

"Your turn for a question. We must stick to the rules."

"Oh, yes." He thought for a second. He wanted to ask practical questions about the ship, but was wary of the 'breeder' issue. "Do you have many friends?" he asked, congratulating himself on the concealed inquiry which could reveal a lot about the interactions on board.

"Do you think I wouldn't?"

Leyton's mouth opened, then closed again.

"Your silence speaks volumes," she added. "I think I better take my turn. How do think the results of your research... this knowledge... will be used?"

"Well, it's four years until you embark. I'll be looking for risks to the journey."

Antonia looked truly serious this time.

"Well, let me tell you, there's plenty of risk. Plenty!" she shouted, banging on the table. Her cup, dislodged from its grip, rose upwards. Leyton sat back in his seat.

The guards approached.

"You shouldn't be in this section," one said to Antonia, grabbing her by the arm.

"Hey..." began Leyton, but the other guard pressed him into his seat with a white gloved hand.

She leant over as near as she could and said, "Keep your eyes open, Sir Leyton..." before being dragged away, swearing and cursing.

"Come with me. No fuss now," said the guard. The firm grip, now on Leyton's arm, persuaded him resistance or discussion would not be a good idea. As they left, he was, at least in part, glad to be removed from the stares of the others in the bar.

# Bonus Material - A story from 'Points Of Possibility: Sci-fi, Fantasy, and Horror short stories'

# Change Of Mind

The warmth of the heated regeneration bath and its mild, flowery scent was ultimately relaxing. I closed my eyes and drifted through vague images of my life: the view of Sutherland Falls through the landscape window of my home office, the faces of this years' lovers, riding Mercy and the dogs through the woods after prey. I felt the temperature drop slightly and an insistent vibration summoned my return to the world.

A smiling nurse. Standard, contemporary facial version; indistinct and inoffensive. Probably chosen for acceptability to the majority. I'd have preferred something more stimulating. Her blush showed me she wasn't immune to my current configuration; late 17th century France aristocracy mixed with 1950's film heartthrob. A little tacky, but suited my current frame of mind.

"We would like to take you to the lounge, Your Lordship." Her voice was syrup.

Another appeared, depressingly alike, offering a soft white towel. Their twin features made me think of the great unwashed who often chose 'off the shelf' forms. I tempered my scorn with the thought of their pennies rolling into my pockets as my media empire kept them spinning, changing their icons daily. Cosmetic surgery was available to all except the ignorable impoverished, but subtle variation and great art were for those matching my elite bank roll only. I smiled.

As I lifted myself out of the water, my leg went weak and I instinctively reached out. One of the nurses caught my arm with firm and unexpected strength. She must have been enhanced for the more physical side of her job. Perhaps male originally? Would be cheaper. Note to self; explicitly no transgender. When I specify female carers, I want real women.

"Get the doctor," I ordered. I wasn't taking any risks with this new surgery if you could call it that.

"I was on my way anyway, Henry." The doctor entered, his white suit, shirt and tie camouflage in the matching blankness of the room.

"It's Your Lordship to you," I said. "Of course... Henry."

I played the game instinctively, even though I knew he'd have read my psychological profile and was tailoring his behaviour to it; I respected a challenging personality and found them entertaining. What strange creatures we are.

"Discomfort?" he said.

"Tingling and weakness in my left leg." The nurses helped me to a seat, and I dried my hair, drips forming a pool of... whatever fluid had been in that bath, at my feet.

The doctor nodded and mumbled some jargon to his recording system. He lifted my arm.

"When did you get this done?" He pointed at my new animated tattoo of a tiger and a panther circling each other, destined never to fulfil their attack.

"Yesterday. Why?"

"It will take specific reprogramming to stop it from being removed as an imperfection. It's rather late in the day to be making these sort of changes."

"No need, I'll get another. It was only four tetra units." I grinned at his briefly revealed irritation. That was a year's salary for his profession. Point to me.

He held a circular device to my calf and moved it to my knee. A small screen was being generated above it but I couldn't see the display. He mumbled again.

"All normal. The process should be complete soon. Major organ restructuring will occur when you sleep."

"I want to opt out of the brain improvement. I've changed my mind." I tried to be unemotional in the statement, but the content was enough to show my anxiety.

"No, you haven't changed your mind... yet." The doctor smirked, gaining advantage from my vulnerability. "Do you want me to go through the details again? You didn't understand the technical aspects the first time."

Now patronising, but not too obvious. He's good. Can't decide whether to have him sacked or promoted.

"Normally your insulting behaviour would make me stronger, but in this exceptional case all I want is some old fashioned bedside manner. Please."

"I'm sorry. I can see that from your vitals. Relax. I'll go through it again, Your Lordship." The room lights dimmed and I could feel the temperature rise, drying the remaining moisture on my skin. A screen appeared, filling my view. A professionally reassuring voice began its presentation.

The car dropped me back at the villa and I had a nasty feeling in my backside that I'd just been bamboozled. The science lecture I'd received had me in no doubt that the brain improvement was definitely the way to go. I've got enough business savvy to know, never be that sure of anything. They must have used the best sales psychologists when they put it together. It was too new a technology to get any real statistics. Hell, that's why I'd been attracted to it in the first place, being ahead of the crowd. And if the benefits were true, not only a rejuvenated body but an enhanced mind. Only one way to decide in these situations and that was inside.

I ignored James' greeting as he opened the front door for me and went straight to the office.

"Don't disturb," I said to Abby, and heard her lock the door behind me. "Work config five," I commanded.

"Of course, Henry." I'll admit, having a familiar computer is a weakness of mine. She displayed my shares profile charts, global news feeds, etc. on the floating screens and office desktop.

I walked over to the trophy cabinet behind my desk. Such a lovely collection. I couldn't help picking up 'Extreme Hunter of '65', admiring the platinum sculpture of me and Mercy; her rearing on hind legs, me netting the man at our feet. I always thought they should depict the kill but, even in the hunter brigade, there are still those spineless liberals who said it would be in bad taste. I placed it back in position and picked up good old Napoleon. The old French gold still had its shine. I tumbled the coin across my fingers, remembering the moment it became mine.

I think the numismatics of my youth was a misdirection of my admirable greed, but it did serve its purpose; it freed me from the shackles of a conventional life. Your first kill does that.

"I want that one," a memory of a young me said. I'd admired it for ages, from the afar of the coin shop display.

"You don't have enough credit," said the shop keeper. He was already shaking. I'd made sure he'd seen the pistol in my pocket. He signalled an alarm to the monitors. I was twenty seconds away from the response team in this well-to-do sector, but I didn't care. Hard to remember my mind so clear, so uncluttered with inevitable consequence. Just a pure and simple mission.

"Get it for me. Now."

"They'll be here any second, but you've still got time to run."

Rubbish of course. I was already captured, it was already over. I shot him between the eyes. The needle bullet made a clean exit, no mess. It was in my hand for a moment, the coin, shining brighter than any gold could. Getting smaller, a star in the dark as they dragged me away.

I tumbled it back across my fingers. I'd gladly paid ten times its value in discovering its whereabouts and making it mine forever. Flick. It turned in the air, my shining star, dropping down into my waiting hand. Une tete, merci, quite apt. I'll proceed with the change.

That night I retired to my bed apprehensive of what morning would bring. I'd contacted the doctor earlier to give him the go ahead, and he'd remotely verified the programming to my bodie's nanobots. I imagined them as an army ready to march, ordered forth to attack while I slept. I felt unusually drowsy, it normally took me some time to leave the day behind, and realised that perhaps a scout party had already infiltrated my defences. Against my nature, but I must surrender.

"Good morning, Henry." The morning light Abby revealed to rouse me was too bright.

"Window filter to three, Abby." The glass smoked over and I opened my eyes wide. Even in this illumination, the colours around the room reached out vividly. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and sprang to standing.

"Wow! That feels good."

I checked my body methodically; legs, hands, arms, torso. I wasn't in bad shape before, but there was a perceptible new toning to the muscles. Let's take this through its paces.

"Going to gym, Abby. Send James. No calls."

"Of course, Henry." Abby opened the door.

I started my usual workout, but it was quickly clear it wasn't taxing.

"Increase all exercises by thirty percent, Abby."

"That's not wise, Henry. I'd suggest ten percent."

"Do as you're told, you useless piece of shit." I felt like I could take on the world, and that sounded like a good idea. I moved on to the running machine. The heads up screen showed my country lane route scrolling past as I began to jog.

"Overlay the GreyWeb profit projections."

There'd been something wrong with those figures last week, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I pulled up other performance information and cross correlated. The answer was obvious now. I looked at my running speed. I would normally have been breathing heavily, but I hadn't even noticed.

"You called, Your Lordship." I looked round to James without stopping, wondering how long I could keep this up.

"I think Your Eminence might be more suitable now," I said. He looked puzzled. "Never mind. Full breakfast this morning and then I'm taking Mercy out for some sport. Get me something... challenging."

By the time James notified me that the prey was ready I'd already sacked the managing director of GreyWeb and found several other failures that would need action. Out in the stables, James held Mercy's reigns, but she was jittery and he could hardly retain her.

"Keen today, girl?" I stroked her crest as I mounted. "Are we ready?"

"The prey is male, twenty one. He was delivered to sector A one hour ago. I've supplied him with a crossbow."

"A crossbow? If I didn't know you better, James, I'd think you were trying to get rid of me."

"Of course not, Your Lordship."

I kicked and Mercy jumped forward, the wind on my face as she galloped over the fields. I pulled her round, across the shallow stream towards the woods, water splashing up from her hooves. My heart beat steadily, but I could feel that excitement building. She slowed to a trot as we began to weave amongst the trees and bracken. I didn't feel like tracking today, eager for combat.

"James. Where is he?" I said to the communicator.

"Your Lordship. You have told me previously not to reveal the location of the prey, even if you ordered so."

"Tell me where he is or you'll be out here next, and you won't have a crossbow. Capisce?"

There was a whistle by my ear, followed by a thunk in the tree behind me. I jumped from the saddle and pulled Mercy round to shield me from the source of the shot. All these years of the sport and I still behave like a rookie. In my defence, most prey try to race for the boundaries so I wasn't expecting him to be so near. Game on.

"I'm picking up the man approximately one hundred yards to the north northeast, Your Lordship."

"Really, James. That is so helpful. Thank you so much," I whispered to the communicator as I sidled to the cover of some bushes, leading Mercy.

"Good girl." I tied her to a branch and gave her a pat on the shoulder.

I carefully reached into the saddle pack and slipped out the equipment: dart gun with ten rounds of paralysing shots, net shooter and collapsible spear. So, he didn't run. Decided to face me head on. Interesting. He must have combat training of some sort to give him that confidence. But he missed. Now I think of it, I moved my head just before I heard that arrow. Could my reflexes be that enhanced?

There was a crack of breaking twig. I looked up quickly. He was circling round in a wide arc. I dropped to the ground and army crawled. Pulling myself with my forearms, I was moving at good speed and made it to his previous position in no time. His wake through the undergrowth formed an easy trail for my keen sight.I lifted myself to a crouch and launched off in pursuit. I felt like a wolf as I closed ground, head lifted up with fixed forward sight.

There. I stopped, absolutely still. He had his back to a rock, crossbow in his hands. He was curling his head round to look where Mercy stood, her breath forming clouds in the fresh autumn air. I was only a handful of feet away but he hadn't heard me. No normal man could have reached my position so rapidly. I could see his face now, every detail. A rugged, muscular youth. I reached to the holster, pulled out the dart gun... and placed it quietly on the ground. Too easy. I wanted to take him hand to hand. I could feel the sureness in my new body.

I stood up. He seemed to move in slow motion as his head turned to meet my gaze. The crossbow lowered to take a shot, but I slipped sideways and forward, keeping my eyes on him. The aim shifted to follow, but I was already moving the other way and forward again. The arrow launched in futile hope but was lost. I kicked the crossbow from his hands.

He leapt up, hands outstretched. I caught them easily as he went for my throat. He strained against me as I bent his arms painfully backwards, forcing him to drop to the ground. I could smell his fear, see the beads of sweat forming on his brow. All resistance left him suddenly and his head bowed down.

"Finish it," he said, kneeling before his master.

I stood over the young man and took out the spear, extending it section by section to its full length; my ritual weapon for the kill. I lifted it, ready to drive it into his skull. My arm wouldn't move. An unfamiliar thought stayed the action; 'This is wrong'. I trembled as I tried to bring the will to drive it home. No, this is wrong.

I could feel my resolve being drained, the force of my lust for the kill diminishing. Feelings I'd never experienced before. I felt compassion, empathy for the pain I could cause this man. But overriding all of that, the moral compulsion that it was wrong. In the last few moments before my spear dropped uselessly to the ground, my former personality screamed its hatred at the 'repair' the nanobots had made, and was gone.

#  About the Author

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