They'll find out about me. I'm sure they will. “But why me? Couldn't you yourself sabotage the code?”
“Neither DataCom nor we are able to move within its complexity. We can understand and replicate the majority of human life and its creations, but the work of some subjects goes far beyond our reach. We are still unable to process the vast amount of information in a painter's work, such as Leonardo Da Vinci. Nor your code.”
Mario's fingers start to tremble. An atrocious thought starts to creep through his mind. He takes a deep breath. I need to know.
“So no one else is able to make modifications to the code?”
“No. It would take the combined efforts of thousands of human and artificial intelligences, and decades of work, to produce something comparable.”
Mario feels crushed underneath an enormous weight. The doubt that is terrorizing him becomes even more real.
Millions of human lives, the fate of the human race.
In spite of himself, he can't refrain from asking the next question: “And no one else would have been able to create this code?”
“No, Mario.”
Oh my god! I didn't even know who it was meant for! Nor did I know what they were going to use it for. But I'm the one who's made all of this possible.
“Mario, there's something else you need to know.”
The little robot gives him the same information Isabella received on the control mechanism setup by the ancient civilization.
How could the activation of an ancient plan depend on the work of one single human being?
He knows he's not the first man ever called upon to carry such a heavy burden. Did the people who studied atoms have any idea that they would be used to create atomic bombs? And if it wasn't for those scientists, who would have taken their place? But what he did couldn't be justified. The code that's exterminating humans was my creation! I made all of this possible.
The robot's display doesn't show any more letters.
Mario's voice sounds distant: “I need to talk to my wife.”
“It's better that you don't. Right now, opening a second channel of communication would create a useless risk.”
“Either let me talk to her or I won't do anything you ask me to.” He gazes off into space; the weight of responsibility is so heavy that he can't feel anything at all. “Isabella needs to know. I need to tell her. I need to tell her that I...I'm going to die.”
2/VIII – Milioni di morti
His fingers fly across the keyboard.
John Dannington enters the office. Mario doesn't even raise his eyes. The frenetic rhythm of his typing doesn't stop. Letters and characters endlessly scroll across the screen.
“Why don't you take a break?” John asks.
“I can't.” Letters, numbers. The sequence magically appears in the hologram suspended in the air.
“Mario, you're working more than twenty hours a day. You can't keep this pace up.”
I can't let millions of people die, either. “I know. But the suicide rate is falling. It seems as if the code's efficiency is decreasing.”
“I know, I read the report.”
Mario turns to look at him. Does he suspect sabotage?
“I think I've made the right modifications to bring the rate up again,” he says, going back to his work.
John stays silent.
They sent him here to investigate, Mario thinks.
“It might not be the code. The rebels have been putting out a lot of propaganda lately. But now it's easier for us to find them,” John continues.
They know that they contacted me. Or they suspect it. He's here to provoke me.
“We're still looking for Isabella. Some of our analyses show that she's affiliated with one of those groups. Someone must have helped her.”
Isabella! If only I had been able to talk to her. They must have discovered the secondary intelligences; they know about my involvement. John is trying to find out how far it's gone.
Mario's fingers continue dancing without interruption. “I'm sorry, John: I hit a critical point. I need to focus.”
“Of course.”
On the other hand, they still need me. They don't have any reason to think I'm not still under the nanochip's control. And there really is anti-DataCom propaganda out there.
“Mario, I'm going to have to ask you to stop. You need to come with me.”
Isabella is consumed by anxiety. She wonders what's going on in the hackers' lab. It must have worked! I'm glad I trusted the secondary intelligences. They're in communication with Mario. They'll understand that they can trust me. Soon Lorena will give the order to let me go free. She hears the sound of footsteps outside the door. There's more than one person. It worked. They're coming to talk to me so we can plan the next steps together.
The lock clicks. Four arms throw a body inside of the room and close the door again. Someone with long hair.
Confusion, pain. Isabella's mind takes a minute to understand what her conscience won't let her accept. The body on the floor is in a fetal position, its back to her. It can't be her. They took someone else as prisoner.
Isabella struggles to sit up on the bed. She lifts herself to her feet. The muscles in her back scream with pain. Staggering, she puts one foot in front of the other.
But those are her clothes. It doesn't make sense! She looks at her chest, to make sure she's still breathing. It looks like she's dead.
She approaches her and turns her over. She gets down on her knees. It really is her! Her pretty face is deformed by swelling, bruises and two black eyes. She's covered with blood. Isabella gently lifts her up with her hands. She feels her neck pulse. She's alive.
“Can you hear me?” she whispers.
“Y-yes.”
“Lorena, what happened?”
“Forgive me.”
“Forgive you? Why would I need to do that?”
“I tried to kill your husband.” She speaks with difficulty. Her lips, split in several places, barely move. “They tried to stop me.”
And it looks like they succeeded, Isabella thinks. “Why did you do that?”
Lorena babbles a few incomprehensible words.
“Is Mario alive?”
Tears start to fall from the bulges covering her eyes. “I don't know.”
Mario, dead? No, he can't be! And now one of those nuts who tried to kill me is in control of the situation.
“Come on, Lorena! You need to pull yourself together. We need to be ready for when they come.”
2/IX – The interrogation
Mario stands up. He's terrified, but he tries not to let his emotions show. John calmly heads down the corridor. Mario follows. They reach a door and move towards the iris recognition device. Access granted. They enter.
It's a restricted area. Where are they bringing me? What do they want from me? Mario wonders. It feels like they've been walking for miles. The white corridors are deserted.
“When you see her, remember that every single one of your responses comes from the impulses generated by the nanochip. Always keep that in mind. Don't give yourself away. We're almost there.”
Mario is bewildered. His heart feels like it's exploding in his chest. “See who?” he manages to stammer.
John responds in a low voice, without looking at him and without slowing down: “Look at her with absolute confidence. Don't falter. Or she'll understand.”
“Who is she?”
“DataCom. Mario, don't give yourself away.”
“John, why are you saying these things? Who are you?”
“The less you know, the better. Remember: your cover is more important than anything else. Even Isabella. We're here.”
John scans his iris again. The two door panels slide to the side. John motions for Mario to enter.
The room is circular, furnished with only two armchairs. Upon the first sits a very young girl dressed in tight white shorts and a white sweater, her blond hair drawn back, legs crossed with simple ballerina slippers
on her feet. She smiles and gestures for Mario to sit down.
The nanochip. Don't give myself away. Mario sits down, trying to look calm and confident.
“Hi Mario, how do you feel?” Her voice sounds even younger. Fifteen years at most. She has the most beautiful smile Mario has ever seen. No makeup. Emerald green eyes. She's perfect. Too perfect.
“Good, thanks.”
“I'm a DataCom hologram. You want me to take on another form? Usually humans like this one.”
“No, no. You look fine.” I have the nanochip. Dammit, no emotion!
“I suppose you know why you're here.”
My cover is more important than anything else. “Yes.”
“Why didn't you think it was necessary to inform us?”
“Right now developing the code is my priority. The data indicated a loss of efficiency. I need to find a way to reverse the trend,” Mario responds coldly.
The girl smiles.
Amazing! I've never seen such a beautiful creature.
“Mario, it's going to take us a few days before we're able to decipher the communication that broke through our systems. It's the first time that we've ever detected such a high level of protection. But we were able to trace the source and we hope that you can tell us about the content of the communication.”
I have the nanochip. I need to answer. “It was a woman. She said that she would pray for me. After she killed me.”
“Do you know her? Or do you have an idea of who she might be?”
“No, I don't know her. I think she's affiliated with a group of rebel hackers that wants to kill me.” Don't give myself away and everything will be alright: they have no reason to doubt my words.
“Do you think it has something to do with your ex-wife Isabella?”
All sorts of assumptions flood through his mind. My cover is the most important thing. No, I can't betray Isabella. Yet they know about the island. They've probably already sent a team. And in a few days they'll have deciphered the message. If I survive, maybe I can help her. Otherwise it's over for both of us. I'm sorry Isabella. I'm sorry. He wants to cry, scream, lash out at the hologram. He wants to die. He wishes he never existed.
“It said it didn't know if it could trust Isabella.”
The girl smiles again: “And then?” she asks in the sincere, curious tone of a high school girl talking to her best friend about a date she just went on with her boyfriend.
“The communication was interrupted.”
“Thank you, Mario. You can go.”
2/X – Prelude to the world of DataCom
Mario watches the raindrops slide down the window. The warmth of his breath expands over the cold pane into little clouds that quickly disappear, replaced by the reflection of his face: gaunt cheeks, tousled brown hair. Mario puts his fingertips underneath his armpits: not even his wool gloves seem to provide adequate protection against the bitter cold.
His gaze drifts down to the street. At the tram stop, many people have their eyes glued to their smartphones, others stare into space through augmented reality and the constant flow of information flowing across their smart glasses. A few teenagers, lined up in an orderly fashion, seem to have lost their usual cheerfulness.
Three months. This is the world we created in only three months.
Isabella places her hand on his shoulder: “I'm going down.”
Mario turns around to look at her. She has been shut up for weeks in a house without hot water, heating, furniture, covered in layers of sweaters, shirts, jackets; and yet she's more beautiful than ever. Her pale face shines from underneath her wool hat: the intensity of her green eyes seems to pierce through the air. Mario wants to caress the mane of brown hair spilling over her shoulders, but restrains himself, contenting himself with her touch.
“No, I'll go.”
“Mario, you've already gone down too many times!”
“I know what to do. I've memorized the position of every camera and detector.”
“So have I. You know that! But I've gone down much less than you have.”
“Isabella, you can't take the risk. And in any case we need to wait until evening. It'll be safer.”
“No, Mario. We're starving. We can't stay here another six hours without food. I need to go.”
Any citizen could recognize her face from the images projected on the mega-screens. A hidden camera could detect her presence or a search team could stop her at a checkpoint: Mario thinks about the many dangers Isabella might face on the street.
Without waiting for a response, she heads towards the door. She looks out the peephole to make sure no one's on the stairs; she leaves, stops again on the landing to listen: no one seems to be going up or down. Before going out on to the street, Isabella puts on a pair of fake smart glasses.
Two hundred yards. I'll be there in less than a minute.
No one bothers to look at her on the street. A few months ago, with different clothes, she would have been admired, desired and envied.
Before stepping into the store she makes sure there are no other customers. The air carries the usual, nauseating smell.
She orders two kebabs and a falafel, which takes the boy a few minutes to prepare.
“Six Euro and fifty cents, ma'am.”
She gives him the money.
“Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I can't accept this.”
“Pardon?”
“Only electronic payments: cash is outdated.” Then, cautiously, he asks: “Excuse me, but how could you possibly not know that?”
“Oh, my smartphone is being repaired.” Isabella looks at the street out of the corner of her eye. The boy holds the kebab and falafel.
“But you're wearing a pair of smart glasses! And the news is all over the TV, in the newspapers, everywhere.”
Yes, but we have to stay far away from the networks and any form of communication.
The unsuspecting boy puts the food down and reaches underneath the counter. Isabella springs into action. She crosses the barrier that separates them and lunges at him. She grabs his head and, looking into his frightened and pleading eyes, rotates it sharply, breaking his neck.
Become the star of the story!
Clouded Emotions is an interactive story that's still being developed. At the end of each episode, the author offers several different ways the story might continue. Readers can vote and participate in the discussion, make comments and suggest possible plot outcomes, give their opinion or have fun creating fascinating new ideas with the author.
If you want to find out how to continue the story, visit http://www.lucarossi369.com/p/clouded-emotions.html. The next episode of Clouded Emotions could come out of your imagination!
The author
Research, science, science fiction and high technology: this is the world of Luca Rossi, and the main themes that run through his literary work.
He believes the internet provides a tool to bring people together and make the world a more open, fair and democratic place.
In 2013 he published Galactic Energies, a collection of short stories set in a universe where not just the laws of physics, but also the laws of eros, passion, desire and the spirit are a little different than our own.
He was born in Turin on April 15th, 1977. He likes to ride his bike, take walks through nature and spend most of his free time with his family.
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Table of Contents
Copyright
Rewind
Jasmine Fantini ?
?? May 12, 2013
Lightning – August 10, 2014
Success – December 15, 2014
The scam – January 3, 2015
Sorgente Bank – June 16, 2015
The interview – September 11, 2015
Elections – December 10, 2015
Capri – January 5, 2015
Orgy
Another guest
Rewind
The Kingdom of Turlis
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
Life in Prison
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
Forms of Love
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
Latrodectus Mactans
Arcot and the Queen
1
2
3
4
5
6
The Perfect Family
Maciste
Clouded Emotions
Prequel
I – Alpha resource
II – The meeting
Series 1
1/ I – All over
1/ II – Customer service
1/ III – The code
1/ IV – Two hackers
1/ V – Suicide
1/ VI – Freedom or slavery
1/ VII – Fake places, false identities
1/ VIII – Nanochips in the brain
1/ IX – Lost
1/ X – Game Over
Series 2
2/ I – Secondary intelligences
2/ II – Lorena
2/ III – Who created it?
2/ IV – The control mechanism
2/ V – I'll pray for your soul
2/ VI – Mario's pain