The Gang of Four

Russell suspected that Helen Warner would eventually draw a blank. She might well be a genius and able to call upon the resources of the Malevolence’s network, but how did that stack up against the mental powers of Ceres or Michael? He watched despondently as she turned to the group:

  ‘I give up!’ She moved away from the pictogram and stood next to Dosogne.

  The Prime Minister turned to his female underling: ‘Do you think GCHQ could make something of this? They’re always boasting about their “world-class” code breakers?’

  Before the woman could reply, Michael piped up: ‘The odds of them solving this are nil.’

  ‘Nil squared,’ agreed Warner. ‘I don’t think there’s anything here to be solved.’

  ‘So is that it then!?’ asked Dosogne. ‘You’re just going to flush humanity down the toilet, even though you have the power to fix this!?’

  Ceres regarded him coldly: ‘Yes. The human system was offered the opportunity to reinstate and conclude the Sponsor programme, but it has, perhaps understandably, rejected that. They understood what this entailed and no doubt felt it was even less palatable than reverting to a hominid.’

  ‘We were screwed either way, to be honest,’ said Russell. ‘The Sponsors’ programme was leading us towards a cybernetic hive-mind, and by the second half of the century.’

  ‘Whereas we are now looking at complete societal breakdown within eight years,’ stated Warner, flatly. ‘I’d still prefer the Sponsor programme: at least things would be relatively normal for the remainder of my lifetime!’

  ‘Well, as it was explained to me–’ began Russell.

  ‘Where did this crop circle image come from?’ interrupted Warner.

  ‘It’s human-made, i.e: a human crew physically beat down the crop,’ replied Michael, ‘but if you think they hold the secret – forget it! They were just arms and legs, oblivious to their actions at all times. In fact, we had to prevent the ring-leader from driving a combine harvester over one of the segments this morning! Isn’t that right, Russell?’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Russell, ‘but since Gerry is actually here in the pub, surely it wouldn’t do any harm to show him this! Who knows: it could jog something in his mind!’

  ‘Gerry made this!?’ exclaimed the Prime Minister. ‘Get him in here!’

  ‘Absolutely!!’ concurred Warner, with force.

  ‘Very well,’ replied Ceres, with a sigh. ‘Mr. Tebb, go and fetch Gerry.’

  ‘It’ll kick off if I go in there!’

  ‘So what?’ said at least two people in unison.

  ‘I suppose you’ve got a point,’ agreed Russell, ‘at least a pub brawl would relieve some of the–’

  ‘I’ll accompany you, Mr. Tebb,’ said the Prime Minister.

  ‘Me, too,’ said Marcus, ‘I need a drink!’

  The PM and Russell fetched in Gerry, who was now significantly inebriated, and deposited Marcus, who clearly needed to be. The PM showed Gerry his creation and, unsurprisingly, Gerry failed to even recognize it. Both the PM and Warner then cross-examined him for a while but that just provoked his ire. After several more minutes of this Gerry excused himself and returned to the bar.

  And that, as far as Russell was concerned, was that. The end of the road. ‘I think I’ll join Marcus,’ he declared. He left the others to continue their futile study of the crop circle.

  Russell joined Gerry, Marcus and the malevolent Jim at the bar counter.

  ‘I’m gonna sue your ass off for the damage you caused, Tebb!’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Gerry! We’ll fix your bloody combine. We had to zap it to save the crop circle!’

  ‘What crop circle!?’

  ‘Forget it!!’

  After about ten minutes, Kerstin, Bosman and a couple of other German researchers entered the bar.

  ‘Where is Ceres?’ Kerstin immediately enquired of Russell. She looked hot and sweaty. Bosman just looked sweaty.

  ‘In there,’ replied Russell, ‘but she’s busy at the moment. You should just hang back for a while.’

  ‘Communal hall is off-limits!’ added Gerry, belching loudly into Bosman’s face: ‘PM’s here!’

  ‘Ah, yes! We all had to submit to a body-frisking!’ replied Kerstin, with a sly wink.

  ‘Indeed,’ added Bosman, ‘and what is your Prime Minister doing here?’

  ‘Crop circles or somit. I don’t know. Bollocks.’

  ‘The Third Eye?’ asked Kerstin.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Gerry. He was leaning so far back on his barstool that without Jim’s steadying hand he would have toppled over. ‘Thanks, pal!’

  ‘No, it’s not the Third Eye.’ replied Russell: ‘They’re actually interested in one of his!’

  ‘Yep,’ agreed Gerry: ‘The Third Eye.’

  ‘The Third Eye is a genuine crop circle!’ insisted Kerstin.

  ‘Ha! whatever you say, darling. But actually, I made it!’

  ‘No, Gerry, that’s another one! Yours wasn’t…’ started Russell, but it occurred to him that neither the PM nor Warner had actually bothered to ask Gerry if his crop circle had a name. Their preoccupation had been exclusively focused on the design details and their possible meaning.

  ‘Is that right, Gerry? It’s called The Third Eye?’

  ‘Yeah.., no.., wait a minute…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s something like that.’

  ‘All-seeing Eye?’

  ‘Nah!’

  ‘Well, what then!? demanded Russell.

  ‘Alright, Tebby, keep your fucking arse on!’ Gerry attempted to recall the circle’s name, if indeed it ever really had one: ‘I can’t remember, I’m too pissed. I’m not interested in naming them, what’s the point?’

  Russell shook his head. It probably didn’t matter anyway, unless the title was something like: hive-mind or hominid…

  ‘It wasn’t hive-mind was it?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Hominid?’

  ‘You what!?’

  ‘Sponsor?’

  ‘Tebbster, what are you bloody gabbling about!?’

  ‘The name of your crop circle!’

  ‘I told you, I can’t– …Ralph will know! He’s the one what takes this shit seriously.’ Gerry unsteadily reached for his phone and examined it… ‘Hey, Ralphy, my man! …Yep, in the Red Lion. …Yep, I’m with Tebb right now! …I will do shortly! …What are you up to, mate? …’

  ‘Ask him about the crop circle’s name!’ hissed Russell, resisting the urge to punch Gerry off his tottering barstool.

  ‘Oh yeah! …that circle we’ve been working on… Yeah, it’s got them all shook up, uh huh! … hahaha! …Yeah, now, what did we call it again? …Ah yes, that was it! …Are you heading down? …Laters!’

  Gerry terminated his call.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘We called it: Magic Eye.’

  ‘Magic Eye?’ replied Russell. That term rang a little bell inside his head, something from his childhood… He searched his mind and it suddenly came to him. He glared at Jim: ‘My god, I’ve got it!’

  Jim stared back uncomprehendingly for a moment, but then he suddenly smiled. He nodded slowly at Russell.

  ‘You’ve got what, Tebbs? Syphilis?’ grunted Gerry.

  ‘Single Image Random Dot Stereograms,’ replied Jim to Gerry. ‘Your enigmatic crop circle is one!’

  ‘Huh?’ replied Gerry.

  Jim turned back to Russell: ‘You should get in there and tell them.’

  ‘Yes!’ replied Russell. ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘Can’t. Not with Ms. Warner in there. Better she studies it. I’ll follow proceedings vicariously from here, through her eyes, so to speak.’

  ‘Right.’ replied Russell, and he dashed back to the communal hall.

  ‘Help me shift this table!’ he demanded of the group. Everyone stared at him blankly but no one reacted, so he attempted to move the table himself but it was too heavy, and it did not help that Mr. Waterstone was still sat on it. The table remained stubbornly lock
ed in place.

  ‘What are you up to, Russell?’ asked Michael.

  Russell gave up and urgently pointed at the so-called “Third Eye” crop circle, still pinned to the side wall.

  ‘That’s not really called Third Eye, is it? It’s Magic Eye! And it’s not its name but the message you said was directed at me. It was a prompt!’

  Everyone continued to stare at him in silence.

  ‘It was a prompt about that one! It’s a single dot random stereo thing!!’

  ‘A Single Image Random Dot Stereogram?’ asked Michael.

  ‘Yes!! Now help me shift this bloody table!!’

  The group hurriedly surged forward and the table was heaved to the side wall.

  ‘Would anyone care to bring me up to speed? What exactly does “Magic Eye” signify?’ asked the Prime Minister.

  ‘It’s how these…’ began Russell.

  ‘Single Image Random Dot Stereograms,’ prompted Michael.

  ‘Yes, it’s how they were marketed. There was a huge craze for Magic Eye images when I was a kid. And that’s one!!’ declared Russell, pointing at the picture of Gerry’s crop circle: ‘There’s a 3-D image imbedded in the pictogram, but to view it we’ll have to stand well back and focus our eyes to a point beyond the surface of the paper.’

  Russell stood in the centre of the room and attempted to focus beyond Gerry’s crop circle pictogram to some imaginary point several feet beyond – but the image just dazzled him. Ceres stood by his side, viewed the image and then smacked him hard across the back of his head.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘Well done, Mr. Tebb!’

  ‘You see it!?’ Russell asked.

  ‘I’m in as well,’ declared Michael. ‘…Awesome!’

  ‘Holy crap, it’s the human genome!’ pronounced Warner.

  Russell felt something suddenly impact his shin; pain flared. It was a head butt from Mr. Waterstone; he wished to be lifted up so he too could view the stereogram. Russell reluctantly obliged and hauled the cat up to his own eye-level. The cat glanced at the stereogram and suddenly went stiff.

  I guess that’s four, said Russell to himself. He looked at the others: The PM and his assistant were frowning and squinting, as was Dosogne.

  ‘I was always useless at these!’ declared the PM, in frustration.

  ‘Adjust your focus to seven-point-four metres beyond the wall,’ advised Michael.

  ‘Easier said than done with my old eyes!’ replied the PM. ‘Mrs. Collier?’

  ‘Sorry, sir, my eyes aren’t up to it either!’

  ‘I’m in!’ declared Dosogne. ‘Wow!!’

  Russell was damned if he was going to miss out! Especially since he had been the one to solve this puzzle. He tried again.

  Warner’s description implied a spiral structure and, with hindsight, a vague hint of that could be inferred in 2-D. Russell focused beyond and tried to tease out this pattern. It was definitely there, but it still dazzled and remained stubbornly chaotic and blurry… And then: BAM! The full 3-D splendour of this most remarkable of constructions appeared before him. It took his breath away.

  ‘I see it!’

  Most of the pictogram had resolved itself into an extremely detailed and super-sharp rendering of the DNA double helix; it appeared to recede towards the centre, apparently travelling backwards for miles! Despite the enormous depth, all parts remained sharp and equally detailed and many aspects of the “molecule” seemed to be flagged or highlighted. The exact centre of the image, however, was different, but Russell felt disinclined to study that part too closely, almost as though a perception filter were at play…

  ‘Anyone care to supply a commentary,’ asked the PM: ‘Ms. Warner?’

  ‘Like I said,’ began Warner, after a short delay: ‘this appears to be a representation of the human genome, displayed graphically. As far as I can tell, it contains perhaps more information than a text version of base-pairs; I believe the epigenetic layer is also superimposed here, with markers to indicate which genes need activating, or deactivating… and possibly a time code as well: suggesting when these manipulations should be performed! But it’ll be a devil of a job converting this into any kind of usable instruction manual!’

  ‘Not a problem,’ replied Michael. ‘I can translate this into English for you and bung it on a CD.’

  ‘Oh, thanks!’ said Warner.

  ‘What I don’t get, though,’ continued Michael, ‘is that these edits are plainly not coinciding exactly with the Sponsor programme! And that simply won’t do: either you’re heading for the technological singularity – in which case you will need the Sponsor programme – or you’re not – in which case you will crash at some point and then eventually settle, according to natural forces, back to your true, underlying, hominid state. Rather perplexing! Any thoughts, ma’am?’

  ‘Yes, Michael, the answer lies in the centre. The human system is presenting us with the most audacious of proposals!’

  ‘Whoa, when I attempted to view the centre I got bounced out,’ said Warner. ‘I’ll try again.’

  ‘Me, too,’ said Dosogne. ‘It was like I was shoved out! Maybe that section is not meant for mortal eyes.’

  ‘Yeah, same again for me,’ concurred Warner.

  ‘Only myself, Michael, Mr. Waterstone and Mr. Tebb can view the centre – because we’ve all been there before, millennia ago.’

  ‘What!?’ said Russell, not comprehending.

  ‘Holy shit!’ shouted Michael: ‘Brace yourself, Russell – and view the centre when you feel ready.’

  ‘When will that be?’ asked Russell, feeling suddenly panicked.

  ‘Now!’ screamed Ceres.

  Russell followed the DNA spiral to its apparent end and then moved beyond and into a recognizable scene.

  The Red Lion’s communal hall receded behind him and departed from his awareness altogether, as did the spiral component of the stereogram. He also no longer felt burdened by Mr. Waterstone’s immense weight.

  He found himself standing within the original “Third Eye” crop circle field, but in the distant past, when it was uncultivated and hosted a stone circle. He was the high priest of his faltering visions, and members of his clan, and many representatives of neighbouring clans, surrounded the stone circle, awaiting… something.

  Ceres, Michael and Mr. Waterstone were present also within the circle but represented by simple orbs of light: yellow, in the centre; blue and red orbiting around the edge – duplicating the movements of Michael and Mr. Waterstone witnessed in the wheat field.

  Except he, Russell, the high priest, the human system, was manipulating the movements of the red orb – Mr. Waterstone – knocking it off course, slowing it down, speeding it up. By doing this, he/it transmitted an appeal, no, an entreaty, to the planet itself: “bring forth fury and disaster!”

  These were the “Earth changes” to which Bosman had referred when explaining the crop circle version of this scene.

  Russell bounced out and returned to the communal hall, ironically dropping the cat in the process.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said.

  ‘What did you see?’ asked Dosogne.

  ‘The solution,’ replied Russell. ‘You’ll not like it, but it’s a lot better than the rock and the hard place we were offered earlier. Michael, hopefully, can explain it.’

  ‘Your collective unconscious, aka “the human system”, has made a request,’ began Michael. He pointed at Mr. Waterstone, who was standing on the floor and looking somewhat bemused. ‘Of him! …To avoid hitting the singularity and being converted into a machine-dominated cybernetic hive-mind, your system is prepared to see itself virtually destroyed.’

  ‘By what?’ asked Dosogne.

  ‘By Mr. Waterstone – geophysical upheavals: volcanic and tectonic activity, climate change leading to the melting of the ice caps, you name it. He’s going to have a field-day! All this is due anyway, but your system wants it brought forward to some very specific dates. They want it choreographed to their ow
n ends, so to speak.’

  There was stunned silence in the room…

  Warner was the first to speak: ‘But – and I’m presuming there will be human survivors of this – won’t that just precipitate the slide back to hominid?’

  ‘Except you lot, the Custodians of the Human Genome, and your descendents, will make contingency plans to ensure the continuation of your great project – the ongoing manipulation of your genetics, according to the instructions laid out in the pictogram there. The singularity won’t arrive because the Earth upheavals will effectively collapse your global civilization – fragment it – hence no machine networks worth the name. But you will keep your operations going and so your species’ genes will remain human – modern human.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said the Prime Minister, ‘so we stay human, but only as long as the Earth is hostile to our prosperous existence!?’

  ‘Yes, but this will not continue indefinitely. The process will radically alter your trajectory towards the singularity and, for want of a better expression, allow you to attain “orbit” around it, rather than pass directly through it in an uncontrolled fashion. You can then travel through at a time of your own choosing and determine what comes out the other side.’

  ‘It sounds…’ began Dosogne, but he couldn’t decide what it sounded like.

  ‘It sounds like survival,’ said Ceres. ‘The survival of a very tenacious Earth species. You should be proud of yourselves: you found a way.’

  ‘Can we rely on “him” to affect the Earth changes?’ asked Dosogne, pointing at Mr. Waterstone.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure he’ll be up for it. There’s nothing he enjoys more than setting off a few super-volcanoes,’ replied Michael.

  The cat nodded in agreement as it stared fiercely into the middle distance. Maybe it wasn’t sure exactly what it was it was “up for”, but it was definitely up for it.

  Epilogue

  Saturday