Chapter 1. Rude Awakening

Reminder: Explicit content. Sexual references and course language.

Coma City

By Steven J Scott

Rude Awakening

An unholy light of incredible intensity bursts into the room.

Shadows flee like startled birds.

My hands rise automatically to shield my face but the light burns through them as if they were tissue paper.

Eyelids melt away. Retinas ignite like match heads.

My defences are broken like a wall of twigs fighting back the incoming tide.

There is no escape from the Beast of Light. I succumb and let it devour me.

---

Judging by the sunlight flooding through the poor excuse for curtains on my bedroom window, I’d say it’s late in the morning.

The assault from the Beast of Light is made worse by the fact that my bladder is about to burst, my mouth is as dry as the Sahara, my teeth have grown fur, and my stomach has turned on its owner like a rabid dog.

Strange that one would deliberately inflict such suffering upon oneself, by consuming substances one knows to be the root cause of said suffering.

If it wasn’t for the crushing desire to urinate - and at the same time re-hydrate - I could happily stay in bed all day. But alas, I heave myself out of bed… pausing to lean against the bedside table while a sudden wave of nausea passes through me like a cold wet fish.

This is probably not the best way to start the first day of my 28th year.

A minute or so later I’m feeling a little better and so make my way to the bathroom, where I spend a good five minutes peeing whilst I recall some of the silliness of the party the night before, I have a little chuckle to myself, finish up by giving Percy a couple of good shakes, fumble with the buttons of my fly and then wash my hands.

Noticing in the mirror how unsightly I look, I decide a shower would put a few things right.

Emerging from the bathroom, several moments later, feeling almost human again I head back into the bedroom and look down at Shelley lying on her side fast asleep. She looks so peaceful. Should I climb back into bed? Nah, I’m up now, I should stay up. Besides, no one’s turned off the music, which is the only noise in the house at the moment.

Stumbling about the house, stepping over bodies here and there, I think to myself, what a night. I’m the only soul moving in this place.

There’s not even a snore as I step over Dave, a man known far and wide for his nasty nocturnal nasal noise.

Finally I reach the lounge room where the Hi-Fi is pounding out the classic rave anthem, Insomnia by Faithless.

The remote is nowhere to be seen so I stagger across the room, at great risk to my throbbing head, to reach the Hi-fi and hit the power button. Suddenly there’s silence and relief to my imploding skull.

The great thing about hooking up my 60-gigabyte iPod to the Hi-fi is that there’s a huge reserve of music available. The bad thing is there’s a huge reserve of music available that if someone doesn’t stop would go on for months.

Which leaves me to ponder Mrs Gianno downstairs; who it seems hasn’t called the cops this time. She must’ve been out last night. But wait, she never goes out. I hope she hasn’t croaked or something.

I make my way to the kitchen and over to the fridge. I open up the door and grab a big bottle of juice then wander over to the window, stepping over Jules lying peacefully on the lino floor. I look down to the street three storeys below while guzzling the juice.

Strange. No one’s out there; normally there’s an endless stream of traffic buzzing 24/7 past this el’cheapo flat. Right now there’s not a single thing moving out there.

A quick check of the clock on the microwave oven shows its 11:26 AM. Hmm, that’s really weird, even for a Sunday.

My housemate, Mikey is sitting at the kitchen table. His forehead is resting on an open tub of eggplant dip, its contents strewn through his hair.

“Dude, you awake?” I ask as I lift his head out of the dip. Mikey doesn’t make a sound – even when I misjudge the weight of his head and accidentally drop it back on to the table, sending the dip tub flying off the edge, splattering mashed eggplant all over Jules’ face.

“Shit! Sorry guys” I plead. But there’s no response. Jules didn’t even bat an eyelid; and normally she’s normally the type to have a complete fit about that sort of thing.

“What the hell did Dave put in his homebrew this time? Everyone’s completely wasted”.

I fumble my way back to the bedroom, still holding the juice bottle. I sit on the edge of the bed next to Shelley.

I gently stroke her shoulder and brush her hair from her face. She seems fast asleep… like everyone else in the house.

“Hey babe, want some juice?”

Nothing.

“Babe?”

Still nothing.

“Shelley?”

I give her a little shake.

No response.

I give her a little more of a shake.

“Shelley!” I plead louder.

I give her a lot more of a shake.

“Babe please wake up.”

“Please!”

Now I start to worry.

“C’mon. This isn’t funny.”

But Shelley lies motionless.

I’m beginning to fear the worse.

Her body still feels warm. She couldn’t be dead.

We’ve played this Pretend-You’re-Dead game before. She’s pretty good at it.

Rolling her from her side and on to her back, I expose her bare breasts. I, of course, admire their perkiness and her silk-like skin and am relieved to notice her perfect C-cup boob’s rise and fall slightly as Shelley breathes in and out.

So I run my hand from her shoulder down over her right breast. I cup it in my hand and give it a gentle squeeze then tweak her nipple. No reaction whatsoever.

Then I get real adventurous and slide my hand over her tummy and down to her crotch. If she’s faking, this will definitely foil her ruse.

My fingers rise over her pubic mound; I feel the soft skin of her shaved pussy. God! I love that. She had shaved it as a surprise for my birthday last year. She actually liked it so much she now keeps it shaved.

Massaging her pussy with my hand I look at Shelley’s face, expecting a grin or flicker of the eyelid, a backhand across the face, a kick in the nuts… something!

Instead there’s no hint of movement at all.

Too weird! I bring my hand back up and pull the covers up to her neck.

Feeling a little freaked out… and quite perverted, I leave the room finding Dave still lying in the hallway. Kneeling down I touch Dave’s big neck. He’s also warm. Warm, as in normal body temperature warm.

So I make my way around the flat; touching the bare skin of each of the dozen or so people lying about the place. All are warm and none give as much as a twitch when I tap or shove them.

“Well at least they’re not dead”.

“Should I call the hospital?” I ask the room of sleeping bodies. There’s no response of course.

Pausing for a moment I pick up the telephone and dial 000.

I hear it make the connection and ring… and ring... and ring… and ring... and ring... and ring!

This could possibly be my worst birthday ever.

Copyright © 2006 Steven J Scott

Distractful

Chapter 2. Surveying the Damage

Surveying the Damage

Having got no response from the emergency services… or my houseguests for that matter, I decide to go outside and see what’s up with the traffic.

I need only go as far as the pavement outside my building to see the hold up.

Bloody hell!

Looking to my right, about 100 metres up the road, there’s a semi trailer lying on its side, completely blocking the road. In front of it is a severely banged up Corolla flipped on to its roof.

I walk up to the Corolla and peer inside. The driver is still strapped into her seat. She has some cuts to her face but her skin feels warm. So that’s good news then.

Taking her weight I release the seat belt then slowly lower her on to the headlining of the car roof. At least she’ll be comfortable when she wakes up.

If she wakes up.

Oh shit. This thought hadn’t occurred to me until now. My friends are up in my flat, seemingly in a deep sleep. What if they never wake up?

To shake this disturbing thought I continue to check out the rest of the scene of destruction on my street. I walk around the truck toward the cab. The front windscreen has popped out; the driver is slumped against the door. He’s not wearing a seat belt so he must have tumbled around in the cab when it rolled over. His face is badly cut up and he’s got bruises all over him, he’s alive, but like everyone else I’ve seen today, asleep.

Standing up I survey the road away from my flat. There’s traffic banked up behind the calamity of overturned truck and its cargo of various sized boxes now scattered all over the road. All the cars have their headlights on but there’s no movement.

The people in the cars closest to me all seem to be asleep.

In the distance I can hear a car horn tooting endlessly so I start to walk in the direction of the sound. A hundred metres up the road I find the culprit. A chubby bloke has passed out on to the steering wheel, his large man-boobs pushing on the horn. I push him back into his seat and as I do I notice that his skin is warm to touch.

I must have passed twenty cars and not one of them contained a conscious person.

This is very much a fucked up situation.

It’s like a nightmare…

Ah! That’s it! This is a nightmare.

I’m dreaming. Of course, why didn’t I think of it earlier?

So I do what people always do in the movies when they think they’re dreaming and pinch the skin on my arm and… Ouch! That hurts.

OK, so it’s not a dream. What the hell’s going on?

“What the hell’s going on?” I scream at the top of my voice.

“Hello! Can anybody hear me? H-E-L-L-O!” I yell repeatedly as I walk up the road.

There’s no response of any kind.

After wandering around aimlessly for an hour I find myself back at my flat. Nothing has changed. Everyone’s still lying exactly where I left them.

I’m feeling quite hungry so I go to the kitchen. In the fridge there’s a big plastic bag of sausages that I’d bought in anticipation of a barbeque for the post-party recovery-party. I grab a bunch and look around the kitchen; it’s a mess. The usual party flotsam-jetsam is spread over the benches; bottles and glasses in various stages of emptiness (or fullness if you’re that kind of thinker), crisps, nuts, those horrible rice snacks that come in pink and green and other unappetising colours.

Basically if I want to cook these sausages I’m going to have to clear away some of this crap. Or…

Fire up the barbie!

I head out on to the balcony and light the barbeque. While that heats up I go back to the kitchen and I’m reminded of the eggplant dip all over Mikey and Jules. I grab a clean dishcloth from the cupboard under the sink and clean them up. Well, I do my best but the dip is really tough to get out of hair once it’s hardened. Yuk, I mean who eats eggplant dip anyway? What happened to the days where party food consisted of crisps and nuts? And if you wanted to be a little more elaborate, you would just throw some kind of frozen snack into the oven, then forget about them until they’re burnt to a cinder and the smoke-alarms going off.

I grab some tongs from the drawer, a loaf of bread and the tomato sauce and retreat to the balcony. The hotplate’s smoking so I throw the sausages on, watching as they sizzle and curl.

Looking out from the balcony I can’t see a single thing moving. No cars, people, helicopters, aeroplanes, etc, etc. All the things that make a city seem alive are… well… not moving today.

I take my snags inside and turn on the telly. Every station is showing nothing but test patterns. I try the radio, some stations have pre-recorded announcements about technical issues but most are just dead air.

Guess I’ll check the Internet then. I wake the computer from its slumber, open the browser and select one of the local news sites. There’s news but nothing about the big crash up the road or the multitude of unconscious people in Melbourne.

I check the BBC and CNN. Nothing of note there either.

I need something that will show me what’s happening here right now and around the World. I know! Traffic cameras.

I go to the Traffic Authority website and click on the link for the traffic cams. A dozen little views from cameras at various locations around Melbourne appear on the screen. They all seem to be just still photos but on closer inspection I can see trees in the foreground moving in the breeze and in one view a flock of birds pass over the scene. It’s just the traffic that’s still.

Shit! The whole city has fallen asleep. And from the number of cars that have rammed into the one in front, I’d say pretty much all at the same time. I guess the flock of birds means that not all living things are affected.

I spend the next couple of hours searching the net for live traffic cameras and come to the horrifying conclusion that every person, in every city, in every country is asleep – unconscious – comatose – whatever you want to call it.

How in the hell does the population of a planet suddenly go to sleep?

And why the hell am I still conscious?

Copyright © 2006 Steven J Scott

Distractful

Chapter 3. Tinfoil Hat

Tinfoil Hat

Its dark outside and I still have that headache. You know those nagging little buggers where just one small area of your brain just doesn’t feel right? Well this one is just above my right eye.

I check Shelley and the others but they’re still not responding.

I grab a couple of headache tablets from the kitchen drawer and swallow them down with some juice then take a look out the window.

Streetlights are on but there are only a very small number of lights on inside houses and still no moving traffic. A dog wanders under a streetlight on the other side of the road, sniffs the post, pees then trundles off into the shadows. There’s no noise, except a cat meowing to be let in somewhere.

The rest of the flat is just the same as it was. My friends are all lying about asleep.

I gather up some blankets to drape over them. I huddle a few who lie on the lounge room floor close together and use a couple of big blankets to cover them.

In the kitchen Mikey still has his face resting on the table and Jules is still laid out on the floor. I decide to put them to bed so I pick up Jules first and carry her off to Mikey’s room, laying her gently down on the bed. Then go back to the kitchen and kind of carry/drag Mikey to his room and lay him on the bed. I remove their shoes and pull the covers over them.

I tidy the kitchen up and find myself placing the bottles quietly into a big green garbage bag. Realising this I decide that if I woke someone up it’d be a good thing so I start dropping the bottles into the bag, letting them break and bounce off each other.

No one woke.

After an hour or so I get the kitchen into a reasonable state and take the garbage downstairs to the bins.

It's so eerily quiet out here it gives me the spooks so I drop the stuff in the bins and scurry back upstairs.

There’s still nothing on the TV or radio. So it’s back to the trusty Internet.

The traffic-cams of the world still show no flowing traffic. Other web cams yield similar results; some show people laid out on the ground or slumped in chairs in cafés, restaurants and bars.

The weirdest scene is from a theme park somewhere in America where a rollercoaster is zipping around its track with a cargo of sleeping passengers.

Hoping to get a clue as to what made everyone fall asleep, and why I’m not asleep I do a web search on the words: “entire population asleep”, surprisingly I get quite a few responses but only one has a 100% match.

I click on the link, a weblog (or blog) entitled ‘The Aliens will assume control while you sleep’ loads up. Scanning the index I find items with titles such as ‘How the aliens will make the entire population go to sleep’, ‘Make your own Delta Wave Interference Cap’ and ‘I know the aliens secret’.

Obviously this is the website of a complete nutter.

But nevertheless, out of sheer curiosity I click on the link entitled ‘How the aliens will make the entire population go to sleep’.

Apparently the Aliens will use special radio frequencies that he calls D-Waves, which will force our bodies into a deep sleep by simulating the low frequency delta waves that are normally generated by our brains to slow our breathing and heart-rate when we’re in the deepest stage of sleep.

“With the entire population asleep the aliens will simply move in with absolutely zero resistance”.

The author, who goes by the name I-Kno and is clearly insane, doesn’t say why invaders from outer space would put everyone to sleep rather than exterminate us all. Maybe they’ll use the electricity in our bodies - like in the Matrix - to power their new colony.

The ‘Make your own Delta Wave Interference Cap’ is a hilarious read. I-Kno has invented the Delta Wave Interference Cap or DWIC for short, and explains in great detail how to wrap aluminium foil around your skull.

Yep. Plain old, everyday cooking foil. The DWIC is the classic Tin-foil hat and supposedly blocks the aliens sleep wave. I-Kno wears his 24 hours a day and strongly recommends you should as well.

He even has photos of himself wearing the tin-foil hat. And guess what. He looks like a complete DWIC head!

There’s a section where you can leave comments. I can’t resist so I write, “The aliens are here! You’re a genius; your DWIC has saved me. Thanks so much.” For added laughs I sign off as ET – being the squat little extra-terrestrial from the movie E.T.

“Loser” I chuckle as I click on the SEND button.

I continue searching for answers but there’s nothing but the brilliant Mr I-Kno’s explanation for the situation. A very scary thought indeed.

Imagine if that loon is right.

Of course he can’t be. I don’t have a Delta Wave Interference Cap and I’m awake.

I wonder if I-Kno is awake.

I end up reading through the various syndicates I subscribe to and come across an article about a University professor in America who has developed an Artificial Intelligence program on a huge bank of Sony Playstation gaming consoles. This program has become so clever that it won’t allow its maker to shut it down. The professor finds it absolutely fascinating that the program has learnt how to protect itself.

“Good god man! Haven’t you seen The Terminator movies?” I yell at the screen.

This guy is almost as scary as I-Kno. Maybe they’re related.

I’ve seen enough so I close down the computer.

Feeling tired again so I go to bed.

Shelley hasn’t moved a millimetre.

Copyright © 2006 Steven J Scott

Distractful

Chapter 4. The City Sleeps

The City Sleeps

Morning comes. Shelley and my friends are still über sleeping... or whatever Know-All… All-Know… whats-his-name, called it.

I’ve had about three hours sleep and still have that headache above my right eye. I take some more tablets then go to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

I have some toast and flick the TV on out of habit. The now usual vision of test patterns is all that’s on. I flick the TV off again.

It’s Monday but I guess it would be a waste of time going to work. Normally I’d be pretty happy to have a day off but there’s no one to play with and hanging around the house is becoming really depressing.

I decide to go for a bike ride. I grab my helmet and bike and head out the door.

Riding through stalled lines of cars with their sleeping occupants is a very strange experience. But on the plus side, I don’t have to worry about cars pulling out of side streets. Or doors being flung open as I pass cars parked alongside the kerb - which actually happened to me several years ago, I ended up in hospital for two months thanks to that thoughtless wanker.

Soon I’m heading toward the CBD on the bike trail that follows the freeway. About fifteen minutes later I arrive at the point where the trail meets the river. So far I haven’t seen a single soul; asleep or otherwise.

I have no particular plan of where I’m going but the skyscrapers of the CBD looming ahead seem like a worthy destination. I keep following the river and eventually arrive at Southbank, where I find a number of people lying on the concourse; couples and small groups mostly.

The restaurants are all closed but some bars are open. A bouncer is lying across the open doorway of one. I lean my bike against a wall and walk in, stepping over the sleeping Polynesian giant. Inside is kind of eerie. There’s some disco lights flashing and twirling about, casting multi-coloured light across the sleeping punters and staff but the only sound is the hum of the air-con and the fans in the spotlights.

A girl behind the bar must have passed out whilst pulling a beer. Her hand is still on the lever and there’s beer all over her and the floor. The tap is dry now; she must’ve drained the keg and the lines. That would’ve been a sight to see.

I gather from the closed restaurants and open bars that whatever made everyone fall asleep must have happened after midnight. This would help explain why there wasn’t anyone on the bike paths; no one in their right mind uses them after dark - because of the people not in their right minds who use them after dark

I leave the bar and walk my bike along the concourse. I find another bar but it’s closed; the sign on the door says it closed at 1 AM. I presume the big sleep must have happened after then.

I cross the footbridge over the river and into Flinders Street Station. Locked steel gates prevent me from going through the station so I have to go the long way around, via the path beside the river leading up on to Swanston Street.

As I pass the Flinders Street intersection I see cars lining the street, occupied mostly by young drivers and their passengers. Typical Saturday night revellers either heading home or on to another bar or club. I keep going up Swanston Street past the famous Young and Jackson’s Hotel. A police car, with it’s blue lights still flashing is parked on the left, a couple of cops are lying in the gutter next to a guy who, by the looks of his dishevelled appearance and the puddle of puke his face is in, may have passed out before the big sleep hit.

By the time I travel the few blocks up to Lonsdale Street I get the picture. There’s no one awake and there’s nothing to see here that can help.

Out of desperation I scream out, “CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME!” but my echo is the only reply so I head home.

Copyright © 2006 Steven J Scott

Distractful

Chapter 5. Message from Beyond

Message from Beyond

I need to find out more about this worldwide sleep phenomenon that’s going on so I get on the net again.

I start up the computer and then sit there stunned staring at the screen for a minute or two.

I have new email.

It’s from I-Kno.

It says:

Hi ET,

You’re quite welcome. Glad I could help.

Regards,

I-Kno

What the fuck?

One: How did he get my email address?

Two: He’s awake!

Well obviously. And yet he writes to me like it’s no big deal that the world is asleep.

I click on ‘Reply’ but my fingers just hover uselessly above the keyboard. What do you say to possibly the only other lucid person in the world?

After much deliberation I go with the bleeding obvious.

Hi I-Kno,

Thanks for your response.

I must admit I’m very surprised to hear from you.

How did you get my email address? And how come you’re not asleep like everyone else?

Have you heard from anyone else?

Please write back as soon as possible, I would like to know more.

Cheers,

Two minutes later there’s an email in my inbox.

Hi ET,

I located your email by tracking the IP address of your computer - an Apple Mac Book Pro with the Intel CPU and inbuilt iSight camera. Very nice I must say. I have an iMac, it’s the older G5 model without the inbuilt iSight. But I have the clip on one… You really should tighten your security settings ;-)

I must admit I’m surprised by your second question. You said yourself, in the message you left on my website, that the DWIC saved you. It obviously saved me as well :-)

In answer to your third question: No, I haven’t heard from anyone else.

I have only had 13 visitors to my website. You must have been the only one who didn’t think I was crazy :)

Regards,

I-Kno (AKA Ian)

Um, sorry I-Kno (AKA Ian), I did think you were crazy. I’m reserving judgement for now.

Next there’s a chime from the computer. The chime that tells me that someone wants to chat with me.

Bloody hell! He’s got my chat name as well.

The message reads:

Hello it’s Ian.

No shit!

Hi.

What else could I say?

So what’s the weather like in Melbourne today?

What! He wants to chat about the fucking weather. My judgement is shifting back to ‘Crazy’. Plus, he knows where I live!

Sunny. But never mind the weather Ian. What happened to everyone?

I reply bluntly.

You read my webpage. The aliens put them into a deep sleep with their D-Wave.

Right. Judgement swinging to ‘Barking mad’.

Yes, I did read your webpage. And I’m sorry to say, I found it a little hard to believe. Now I don’t know what to believe.

Ian responds.

Well you must have believed it enough to wear the DWIC.

How can I break it to him gently?

Sorry mate, I never wore a DWIC. I was just taking the piss.

I know. That wasn’t very gentle but what the hell.

There’s a long pause. I stare at the screen for what seems like an age. Just when I think I’ll never hear from I-Kno again…

So what protection from the D-Waves did you have?

He’s back! And he’s still crazy.

None.

Ian writes:

And is everyone around you asleep?

I write:

Yep.

There’s another long pause then Ian writes.

Let’s do a video chat.

I’m not sure why but I agree.

OK.

Soon a window pops up on the screen with the image of a thin-faced man, probably in his mid-twenties, with his skull covered in aluminium foil.

“Hello. It’s Ian.” Ian says with a British accent. My guess is he’s from Lancashire.

I reply, “Hi Ian. Are you British? Whereabouts do you live?

Ian looks a little stunned.

“Aye, Lancaster.”

Yes! Got it in one. Lancaster is the major city of the county of Lancashire in Northwest England. I’ve known a few Lancastrians in my time, they’re easily identified by their very distinct accents.

Ian continues looking stunned.

“You’re not wearing your DWIC.” He declares.

“That’s because I never had one Ian.” I reply curtly. I thought we had cleared this up earlier.

“And you are absolutely sure you’re not protected from the D-Waves?”

“Well my girlfriend is lying in my bed fast asleep. And my flat is full of friends who are also all asleep so if they’re not protected I’m not.”

Ian pauses for thought. He scratches his head causing a little tuft of curly red hair to drop out from under his tin-foil hat. He tucks it back in and continues with his questioning.

“Is there something you’re wearing that could block the waves?” He asks.

“I don’t think so. My rubber suit is at the cleaners” I jest.

“Look, I have no idea why I’m awake. All I know is that for some strange reason everyone else is asleep…except for you of course.”

Ian has another little think.

“What were you doing when everyone fell asleep?”

“Well that’s the funny thing. I was sleeping.”

“Oh” says Ian. Obviously not seeing the humour in the fact that I slept through whatever caused everyone in the world to fall asleep.

I add, ”I had a party at my place. I drank too much and went to bed before everyone else. When I woke up the next day I found no one would wake up.”

Now it’s time for me to have a little thought.

“I wonder? Could it be because I was already asleep or maybe so drunk that the waves didn’t affect me?”

Oh my god! What am I saying? Now he’s got me believing in Alien sleep waves.

“Um, I mean whatever caused this.”

Ian’s thinking again.

“That is unlikely given the time of the event and that most of the population of Australia would have been asleep at the time. And if there’s any truth in the stories about the alcohol consumption of Australians, I doubt you were the only one who was drunk on a Saturday night.”

He’s a cheeky bastard as well as a nutter.

Ian quickly continues before I can respond, “I have another suggestion.”

“It is believed that there is one human who is impervious to the Aliens D-Wave and they will single-handedly conquer the Alien intruders. This person is referred to as The Saviour.”

Oh no, I hope he’s not going where I think he’s going with this.

“It is possible that you are that person… You are The Saviour.”

Oh shit! He went there.

“Who came up with this crap?” I blurt out.

Ian responds, “He is known as the Messenger and it is not crap. An Extraterrestrial being named Tiiqal advised him of the plan to invade Earth. Tiiqal believes it is wrong to invade another planet that is of no threat to his race but he is alone in his views and dares not speak openly of them. Tiiqal travelled to Earth to warn us but was followed by an assassin who killed him, but not before Tiiqal met with the Messenger and divulged all that he knew.

I can’t stand it anymore, “Ian! There are no aliens!”

“There must be a logical explanation for all this... Maybe it’s something to do with the Greenhouse Effect. Scientists blame everything on that now-a-days.”

Ian gives me a doubtful look.

“OK. So it mightn’t be the Greenhouse Effect but I can’t believe that aliens have used radio waves to put everyone to sleep. What about solar flares? Or… or… The flu?”

Ian interjects.

“You don’t believe it but you also can’t explain what has happened. You must admit there’s not much else that can explain how the entire human population can suddenly go into a deep sleep.”

“And have you noticed that only humans are affected?” He adds.

“Yes, I had noticed that.” I reply a little rudely.

He continues, “I can understand your anger; you were not prepared for this. I would feel the same if I hadn’t know the truth beforehand.”

“The truth!” I scream.

“The truth is Ian; you’re a complete and utter nutcase!”

“Have a look at yourself with that stupid tin-foil hat. What kind a person wears a tin-foil hat? I’ll tell you what kind. A complete nutter, that’s what kind?”

Ian’s face has deformed into a half angry, half crying child look.

He speaks solemnly.

“I think we need time to digest the situation. I will check back with you in two hours. Maybe you can take the time to assess what I have told you. Or maybe come up with a better explanation.”

And with that, ‘blink’, his image disappears from my screen.

Hmm. I think I may have hurt his feelings.

Copyright © 2006 Steven J Scott

Distractful

Chapter 6. Ghost in the Machine

Ghost in the Machine

Two hours have nearly passed. Don’t ask me why but I’ve spent most of the time reading about that mad professor and his Playstation AI. After reading the article on the Wired News site I follow the link to the Profs web site where I find his journal.

Professor Duval and his team had constructed a cluster of 256 Playstation3 consoles, thus giving phenomenal processing power for a small price compared to a proper Super- Computer.

I jump all the mumbo-jumbo guff about the logistics of the project and go straight for the entry where the AI first started to show signs of its defensive mood.

It seems the AI had discovered the University’s computer network and was busily exploring its new electronic neighbourhood when Professor Duval and his team began to get a little nervous, especially after the AI found the location of the directories containing the secret military projects the University had in its care.

First they tried to shutdown the computer politely by typing instructions to do so on the console’s keyboard. When it became apparent that the AI was refusing the request they tried to switch its power off but the clever thing had worked out that the cluster of Playstations were powered from three separate circuits in the room and the electricity to the room was controlled by a computer on another campus so when the boffins turned off the electricity on one circuit the AI would send instructions to the power controller computer to restore that circuit so by the time the team had switched off the second and third circuits the first was already back on-line.

After playing this game for a while the boffins left the room to have coffee and discuss how clever they were for making a computer that will do anything to protect itself.

They brainstormed the idea that they could beat it by removing its access to the network so it couldn’t send commands to the power controller computer. But when they tried to return to the computer room they found that their electronic key-cards wouldn’t open the door.

Because the university did a lot of research for the US defence department the computer room was in an underground bunker designed to survive a nuclear blast. Therefore they couldn’t just kick the door in.

The boffins drank more coffee and ate sandwiches and pizza whilst brainstorming all through the night but everything they came up with the AI had a defence to.

Meanwhile the AI was busy trawling the Internet, presumably for more ways to protect itself. And that’s when it reached the pinnacle of its defensive strategy and created a worm program, which it sent millions of out on to the web.

The boffins tracked some of the worms and were at a complete loss as to what they were designed to do; they seemed to be harmless and just hitting random web-pages, everything from military sites to personal diaries.

And that’s where the journal ended.

Well, not quite. The Professor’s very last entry read: “The AI has accessed most of the world’s major telecommunications providers; it seems to be uploading a stream of data. I think it’s time to call the Gener”.

That’s it. I guess the last word was supposed to be General, which I would assume to mean the rank of General, in the military sense.

That entry was at 10:13am Saturday, Washington D.C. time, which was 02:13am Sunday, Melbourne time; about the time I estimated the Big Sleep happened. So I guess the Professor fell asleep before he could finish his sentence; before he could work out what his rogue AI was up to and before he could call in the army, or whatever.

I guess that means it’s still out there.

Hmm. Interesting. What if the AI program had something to do with the Big Sleep?

Just as this idea was illuminating the deepest, darkest regions of my brain, I-Kno’s tin coated dome appears on the screen.

“Hello ET, it’s Ian”

He looks a little happier. Actually, to be honest, he looks pretty damn chuffed.

“What’s up Ian? You look like the mouse that just had the best shag of his life” I reply.

“What? Oh yes, I see.” came Ian’s slightly confused response.

“I have found another survivor of the alien’s D-wave.” He continues, still persisting with his delusional little fantasy.

“Really! Where? Who?” I respond somewhat surprised by the news.

“Well. Right here actually.”

To that a face pops up in front of the camera at Ian’s computer. A rather spotty face, with raggedy bum-fluff on its cheeks and chin. But the most noticeable thing about this face is that above it is the most elaborate tinfoil hat you could imagine. It has three fins, each running from front to back; a large one runs down the centre and smaller ones run on each side between the ears and the centre fin.

“Hi I’m Acamm” the strange looking fellow says.

“Sorry, what was your name again? I reply.

“Acamm. It stands for Aliens Can’t Access My Mind”. He responds proudly.

Oh joy; another fruit loop joins the party. What the hell’s in Lancaster’s drinking water?

Ian explains that Acamm lives on the other side of the city and has spent the last day or so sneaking through the sewers because it was too dangerous to travel above ground and much too risky to use the telephone or Internet. Apparently he doesn’t have the extra electronic security that I-Kno possesses, which explains why Acamm is happy to show his spotty face and ludicrous headwear to me now.

“Well boys I have made a bit of a discovery myself” I add quite proudly.

“Oh really. What would that be, ET?” Ian says quizzically.

“I have found that a university in America have made a computer with artificial intelligence. It has run amok and I believe maybe it has something to do why everyone is asleep.” I announce proudly. But in the back of my mind I’m beginning to wonder if I am as crazy as I-Kno and Acamm.

The Tinfoil boys look at each other then look back at me. Ian speaks first.

“How did you come to this conclusion ET?”

“Yeah, and what do you mean, the computer has run amok?” Adds Acamm.

I explain, as best as I could, what I read in the journal but eventually just send them a link to the site to read for themselves.

Ian says he’ll have a look at it but I think he’s as sceptical of my explanation for the Big Sleep as I am of his.

---

While the Lancastrian Loons busy themselves with the scenario I provided, I cook up some more sausages on the barbeque.

As they sizzle a fine plume of smoke rises and drifts down the street on the breeze. Within minutes a Labrador has picked up the scent and is standing in front of my flat staring up at me with big puppy-dog eyes. Poor guy looks hungry so I throw down a snag, it lands a metre or so from him, he pounces on it and scoffs it down. As he’s licking his lips another dog rounds the corner.

The Labrador suddenly changes into a snarling, barking hound from hell and lunges at the newcomer, who bolts off down the street yelping with its tail between its legs.

After making sure the interloper won’t be back the Lab looks back up at me with those big cartoon-like doggy eyes again.

“Forget it, psycho mutt! You won’t be getting squat from me until you can learn to share!” I yell down to him.

He hangs around for a while but eventually leaves when I switch off the barbeque and head inside with my booty.

I guess there's a million animals in this city alone, waiting on someone to feed them. I make a mental note to stay the hell away from the zoo.

Copyright © 2006 Steven J Scott

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