FORESIGHT

Exploiting the electromagnetic spectrum:Tales from the future

OFFICE OF SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY

The DTI drives our ambition of ‘prosperity for all’ by working to create the best environment for business success in the UK. Wehelp people and companies becomemore productive by promotingenterprise, innovation and creativity.

We champion UK business at homeand abroad. We invest heavily inworld-class science and technology.We protect the rights of working people and consumers. And westand up for fair and open markets inthe UK, Europe and the world.

Contents

Introduction 1

Connectedness becomes 2

disconnectedness

Crystal Bond 8

Ed the Brain Reader 15

Tiny holes 21

1

Introduction

The Foresight project on ‘Exploiting the electromagneticspectrum’ (EEMS) set out to provide a vision for the futureexploitation of the electromagnetic spectrum to ensureincreased UK innovation in selected areas. The project hasinvestigated highly technical research in areas of physics notalways easily accessible to non-experts.

Tales from the future

These narrative stories were commissionedfrom Mosse Associates to explore and bring tolife aspects of the technological developmentsidentified by the project in a way that isaccessible to all. In creating visions of thepossible future, they also add anotherperspective to the conclusions of the project andprovide an example of the use of narrativewriting as a futures tool. The writers were givenfull artistic license so the stories do notnecessarily reflect the views or opinions of theproject and its action groups.

Mosse Associates is a partnership between thewriter and broadcaster Kate Mosse and herhusband Greg Mosse, author, translator, webwriter and teacher. They have worked withOrange, the British Council and other arts andbusiness organisations to use creative writing ina variety of novel ways, including a ground-breaking interactive website for which Greg iswebmaster – www.orangelabyrinth.co.uk –based around Kate’s forthcoming novelLabyrinth. Kate’s previous novels include abiotech thriller called Crucifix Lane. She co-founded the Orange Prize for Fiction and wasone of the judges for the 2003 Aventis Prize forbooks of popular science.

2

Connectedness becomesdisconnectedness

The multiscreens in the lecture room were dark.From the technician’s room directly below camesounds of voices, greetings. A scraping, as of achair being dragged across the floor, was heard.Then, with a soft whirr of concealed coolingfans, the flat panels of the multiscreens flickeredand came alive with the Remote Universitybadge. First the ceiling, then, in groups of fouror five at a time, the four walls.

A hatch in the floor was pushed up and over,landing with an incongruous crash on the rubber floor.

Shanoor Miah climbed the stiff stairs into thecentre of the lecture room. He held the skirts of his teaching robes hitched up in his two fistsand trod carefully. If he tripped, it would not bethe first time and Nicola, the technician, wouldbe sure to have activated the cam already. Justin case.

Shanoor shut the hatch. It closed much moresmoothly than it opened. Shanoor pushed itpatiently into place with the sole of his foot asthe hydraulic hinges cushioned its fall.

Sure enough, the cam was active. As Shanoorturned to visually check all the screens werelive, it followed his gaze, racing round a track at the junction of ceiling and wall. It was virtually silent.

The cam was a sprightly piece of technology,but inconvenient. It meant the Remote studentsalways had a downward view of the lecturer. Itwould be better for the cam track to run roundthe room at eye-level. But this would meandisrupting the format of the multiscreens,something technicians and accountants wereloath to countenance. Shanoor tried tocompensate by keeping his chin high andsuffered a stiff neck.

There were seven identical lecture rooms onthis corridor, all of them accessed from thetechnician’s rooms below. The only modificationShanoor had managed in his room was theremoval of the lecturer’s chair. Standing meanthis eye-line was closer to the swinging cam andhis lectures flowed better – ‘like water over adam!’ – when he was on his feet.

Shanoor glanced at the device on his wrist.

‘Technician,’ he enunciated clearly.

A tiny string of red LEDs pulsed to indicatedialling. After just three seconds a larger greentelltale showed connection.

‘Can we go through the notes, please,Nicola,’ Shanoor requested.

There was a pause. The green telltale remainedalight but Shanoor heard nothing. There was athumping on the hatch from the technician’s roombelow. Shanoor cursed lightly under his breath.

‘Activate earpiece,’ he enunciated carefully.

‘Well done, Mr Miah,’ the technicianchided in his earpiece.

3

Wherever Shanoor looked, now, one panel ofthe multiscreens was live with the opening cardof his notes. A sensor suspended around hisneck was detected by the technician’s software.As Shanoor turned and moved about the lectureroom, the image of his lecture notes moved to apanel right in front of his gaze.

On each wall there were six rows of panels. His title page – ‘Connectedness becomesdisconnectedness’ – ran around the room in the third row of panels, eye level for a seated lecturer.

‘Could I have the notes in row five, please,Nicola,’ he asked sweetly. He did not sayout loud: ‘As damn usual!’

‘Two minutes, Mr Miah. Shall I enable two-way communication?’

‘Just show them to me, please.’

In stuttering groups the multiscreens came tomore vibrant life. Students perked up as theirsoftware told them they were connected to thelecture room. They composed their faces intoearnest, worthy expressions of concentratedattention. Shanoor glanced about the room,making mental notes of some of the names,recognising a few, remembering older siblings ofthe fresher faces presented to him this finemorning. He did, after all, love to teach.

Before activating two-way communication,Shanoor glanced at the device on his wrist andsaid:

‘Divert.’

He hadn’t enunciated clearly enough. The wristphone dialled and, within seconds, Dave Probertwas answering in his earpiece.

‘I’m sorry, David,’ Shanoor apologised.‘Voice-recognition problem.’

Dave hung up. Shanoor spoke clearly to the device.

‘Divert!’ An orange telltale indicated thewrist phone was active but silent.

‘Two-way and send them card one, please, Nicola.’

Shanoor’s wandering title panel instantlydisplayed card one of his lecture notes. It wasan old screen grab, from a long-defunct website,circa 2004:

Warning!Your brain is on internet overload.It has been brought to our attention thatyou have been spending too much time onthe internet.Please take a break and go outside orsomething.

It was Shanoor’s habit to begin each lecture withan authentic historical document from the daysof unfettered internet access, a time wheneverything was available, anytime, anywhere.

Nicola inserted a countdown clock in the top leftof Shanoor’s panel. The seconds peeled away,then the automated attendance registrationsystem scrolled rapidly through the Remoteattendees, like a computer counting memory.

Shanoor began:

‘It is a trait common to all societies at alltimes in human history to look back to agolden age. Many societies looked forwardto an imagined future which might alsoprovide the mythical utopia sociologicalingenuity had struggled to achieve in thecomplex present. Of course, theseimagined El Dorados in past and futurewere simplified, schematic worlds fromwhich difficult choices and necessarycompromise had been excised…’

As his introduction unscrolled across the bottomof his panel, Shanoor’s gaze flicked from studentto student. He saw them stilled by his voice, bythe effort of concentrating on his swiftlydelivered text. Then, as they became immersedin his narrative, one or two began to type notesand interjections.

The interjections were sent via the technician,who appeared in the top right of Shanoor’sscreen. Nicola was a good editor. Thoseinterjections she thought interesting shedisplayed in her top right-hand corner frame forShanoor to assess and, if he saw fit, pass on tothe other students.

Remote but almost live, a good compromise forteacher and students. The first student questionhe displayed was, as usual, a simple request forthe core text of his lecture.

‘Why was it a golden age?’

Shanoor was coming to it anyway.

‘In 2004, all…’ Shanoor coughed and started again.

‘In 2004, interconnected storage networkswere growing massively, driven by theknowledge economy. Technology oftensolves old problems at the expense ofcreating new ones. Consider the internet.The innovations of email, list servers, chatrooms, web pages, database accessaround the world, around the clock, loggedand indexed. Plus logs of the interactionsof those accessing computers and otherdevices. In 2004, the year we arediscussing, total data increase per annumwas 2 exabytes.’

Nicola posted a definition in another panel of thescreen and Shanoor authorised her to post itwith a nod.

An exabyte is a large unit of computer datastorage, two to the sixtieth power bytes.The prefix exa means one billion billion. Sothat’s a billion gigabytes per year. Hard toimagine, then. Everyday, now.

‘There were increasing amounts of globallyaccessible data of increasing economicvalue. Over the following 10 years theexisting telecom network technologieswere able more or less to meet expandingdemand. But from that point on, demandoutstripped advances in telecomtechnology.’

Nicola posted another interjection:

‘What problems did this cause?’

Shanoor liked clear and to-the-point queries, buthe held it back.

‘Digital data via dial-up modem andbroadband was available at all times – not

necessarily “always on”, though that wasa common sales pitch, but alwaysavailable. More importantly, in this “goldenage”, it was the goal of almost everyinstitution of note – aside from those forwhom secrecy was stock in trade – tomake proprietary content available at alltimes in all places. Galleries postedthumbnails of their collections. Dictionariesof technology or world languages wereposted, translation engines, catalogues oftexts, the texts themselves. Shops,markets for goods and services wereopened… Simile, please?’

A student Shanoor recognised from last term’scourse – The Demise of Copper – was alreadytyping and posting:

‘Like a library. You go in and ask for dataon, say, flower arranging. The geniuslibrarian knows the contents of every bookin the library and takes you directly to anappropriate page. On the other hand…’

Shanoor pointed the device suspended aroundhis neck to the appropriate screen and Nicolaposted the text to all attending Remote students.

‘… on the other hand, you enter a libraryand a traditional librarian tells you to firstgo to the hobbies and handicrafts shelves,then to section within section until youarrive at the index of a book then a page inthat book.

‘Thank you. It is a fundamental shift. In2004, perhaps a golden age, users couldaddress the “genius librarian” – in ourfriend’s felicitous phrase – directly. A real-time search was made of every page. Thesearch technology was interesting. I referyou to…’

Nicola posted bibliographical details which thestudents captured dutifully. Then, in response toShanoor’s signal, she posted the query he hadheld back:

‘What problems did this cause?’

‘Maintaining accessible storage became adrag on the planetary network,’ Shanoor

4

Connectedness becomes disconnectedness

5

resumed. ‘If every item of data had to be alive datum, accessible anytime, anywhere,pathways for retrieval become mind-bendingly numerous and complex. Mind-bendingly complex even forelectronic minds.’

Several of the students posted ‘Ha-ha’ to thispale witticism.

‘Instead of maintaining those stacked-upexabytes of data in a state of readyretrieval, whole swathes of content –reference material, archives, logs – had tobe edited out of the live, real-time networkand placed in a different form of retrievalmode. Instead of trawling for data atrandom in a boundlessly fruitful ocean,many data reached a state of remotenessfrom the real-time network which meantthat only if you knew they were therewould you find them. Once you knew thelocation of the content you required, youcould request it. Example?’

There was a rush from the students to respondand prove their attentiveness and abilities. Abrief expression of distaste crossed Shanoor’sfeatures as he asked the question. Studentswere graded on their responses to ‘unseen’queries from the lecturers at the RemoteUniversity. He wiped his hands on his academicrobes. Some of the students would fail torespond quickly enough and would be sentdemerits. But he was obliged to include at least three requests for ‘unseen’ opinions ineach presentation.

He indicated to Nicola which post to take andshe displayed the comments of a tiny studentwho could scarcely be seen behind her desk.

‘Blogs were the first to be removed fromthe live on-line world. The bloggingphenomenon was transformed into closedcircuits of users who communicated toone another in a kind of private butpermanent party conversation. Thesecommunications were peer-to-peer ratherthan open internet publishing.’

‘Thank you. Yes, some content became

more distant. Connectedness becamedisconnectedness. Where was the initialpart-solution found?’

‘Yes,’ he confirmed, responding to severalof the students’ posts, ‘optical. Opticalsystems offered the possibility of fulfillingtransmission requirements that copperconnections were not able to meet. This is how the evolution was perceived at the time.’

Nicola displayed a new card:

Key challenges

Fast (<10 nanoseconds) optical switch(between interconnects and for switchingin/out of storage media. Niche applications also.) Storage – local or distributed?Tuneable sources required for gridcomputingIntegrationProtocols & standards.

The lecture continued with a response toanother student query.

‘How successful was the switch to all-optical communications?’

‘The success of the optical switchoverwas a function of the preparedness of theinfrastructure in particular geographicallocations. Remember,’ he wagged a finger,‘we are speaking of fixed physical links fordata communication – not infrared, not 3Gand so on. In Singapore optical fibre layingwas integrated with other public works. InParis, the state telecoms provider set up asmall Paris neighbourhood as anexperiment in optical technology and,almost by accident, created a physicaldowntown for their ISP and contentindustry. In London, England, by contrast,the 1980s saw almost every street in thecapital dug to lay copper cable – yes,COPPER CABLE – for TV services, one ofthe greatest missed opportunities in thehistory of that great city…’

6

Shanoor juggled information and humour,teacher-centred learning and interaction with theRemote students. He touched on agilecomponents, infrastructure costs, techniques forquantifying increases in bandwidth and datastorage, regulatory issues including copyrightand ownership.

The internet’s sensitivity to overload and denialof service attacks excited many responses fromhis students, some of them linking Shanoor’stechnical overview to the threat of cyberterrorism. Arcane citations were passed on:

Scaleable flow control for multicast ABRservice in ATM networksReal-time transport of MPEG video with astatistically-guaranteed loss ratioStatistical analysis of feedback-synchronisation signalling delay formulticast flow controlRefined Design of Random Early Detection GatewaysA Scaleable Flow Control Algorithm forPoint to Multipoint Communications inHigh-Speed Integrated Networks

The historical migration to integrated backbonenetworks for voice, data, and multimediaapplications was discussed. Quality-of-servicerouting using bounded flooding was aired.

Finally, though, Shanoor returned to the studenthe recognised from The Demise of Copper. Theboy had posted a query and, risking the wrath ofhis lecturer, reposted it. It was the e-equivalentof interrupting without putting up your hand.

Shanoor took the query anyway. It was wherehe had been leading them all along:

‘Is this any different from today?’

‘Go on,’ Shanoor replied.

The boy’s workstation was enabled to transmitvoice and Nicola allowed this over the closednetwork within which they were working. Hespoke in slightly slurred second-hand English,perhaps from central Europe:

‘This lecture is closed. It cannot beexperienced outside of the closed loop.The bandwidth for us to exchange thesestreams of data…’ Shanoor saw him wavea vague hand. ‘… has been booked andregistered for this purpose. Instead of aglobal conversation everyone can join inon, this is like the private exchanges ofblogs that were so appropriatelymentioned earlier…’

Shanoor felt like telling the boy not to besmarmy, but held himself back.

‘The same is true of many other circuits ofinformation exchange which were onceopen highways. Our optical networks areoverloaded. Two exabytes per year hasbecome two exabytes per month.Fragmentation has occurred.Connectedness has becomedisconnectedness.’

Then, echoing Shanoor’s earlier question:

‘What is the new partial solution?’

‘A sum of parts, I suggest.’ He paused.‘Each of us, smart students especiallyperhaps, is a member of manycommunities. But our brains can only copewith so many contacts. Of course that wasas true in the Stone Age as it is today, butnow your co-students are all over theworld. I do not know whether you are thebetter for talking to kindred smart studentseverywhere – but you are certainly thebetter for all being able to listen to me!’

Shanoor saw one of the students in the top row of multiscreens glance at her personalcommunicator on her wrist. As usual, time had flown.

‘So let me put to you a different future,’Shanoor resumed. ‘Most assuredly, I donot know all of your names, past resultsand preferences. I seem to remember youonly because a note appears above youwhen you start to talk and that notereminds me of these things.’

7

Connectedness becomes disconnectedness

One of the students posted: ‘Smart tag’ butShanoor ignored it.

‘Perhaps in the future we will not reallyknow anyone, even our “friends”, but ourelectronic contact managers will!’

‘I assure you,’ came the thin voice of thestudent from The Demise of Copper, ‘thatyou will remember me!’

‘Time – or perhaps frequency – will tell,’said Shanoor, and he closed the Remote University lecture.

8

Crystal Bond

Maïta put down her glass of sweet dessert wineand spoke with clarity and force:

‘The development of the manufacturingprocess is essential and needs to becarried out in parallel with the research.The focus should be on low-cost, high-volume methods. We must find andincentivise manufacturers…’

‘Funding should be sought from researchand commercial sectors,’ Tom interjected.

‘We should DO the research,’ put inPhilippe.

They conversation came up short.

‘Do the research.’

And who was to pay?

Chicken and egg.

When, in a secondary school of 700 children,just three opt to take A-level physics, they arelikely to be or to become close. It is a little likethe famous saying on families and friends – youare at liberty to choose your mates but yourrelatives are yours by right, for better or worse.

So, in school, a small family of physicists wasformed. The three of them managed, on a kind of random rota, to outperform one another in tests and exams, so there wasalways something to aim for. They had taken the precaution of choosing different othersubjects, so they never became sick of oneanother’s society.

Then, when higher education beckoned, was itsurprising that all three should find themselvesat the same institution, with each nurturing asimilar plan?

Philippe continued:

‘You think things are bad, that publicmoney is hard to come by. Do you knowhow banks work?’

Maïta and Tom both had a fair idea of how bankswork, but Philippe clearly had a particularmessage to impart, so they encouraged himwith nods and grunts.

‘If you can prove you don’t need themoney, the banks are happy to lend toyou. If you do need it, they don’t like the risk.’

‘But we are offering a return…’ suggestedMaïta.

‘They don’t look at the return, they look at security.’

For two years or so, they studied and wererecognised throughout their institution as geeks.That meant nothing more than that they devotedthe majority of their intellectual energy to theirsubject, rather than focusing the greater part oftheir will on avoiding it. Each had pastimesoutside of their curriculum, including rockclimbing, speculative mathematics, a recorderconsort, pulp fiction and, in one case,correspondence with his vast family.

As the opportunities of the science became

9

Crystal Bond

more real, however, with the increase in theirexpertise and a narrowing of focus on aparticular shared area of interest, these hobbiesbegan to fall away. The recorder consortreplaced Philippe with a more reliable attender.Tom wrote less frequently to his relatives inLincolnshire, who slackened in their assiduity,too. Maïta slowed the rhythm of her book-buying and took 300 paperback novels to thecharity shop.

From geeks they became young fogies, serious-minded, slipping seamlessly into postgraduateresearch and their paths, for a little while, diverged.

‘But they must do business. If you are apublisher, you have to buy books fromauthors or you don’t have anything topublish. You have to speculate. Banks have to lend.’

‘But they lend to people and places wherethere is already money. That’s what I’mtrying to tell you. They like to their moneyto rub up against other people’s money.They have found that some of it rubs offand they walk away from the party withmore than they walked in with.’

‘Are you losing faith, Philippe?’ asked Tom.

‘Faith? It’s not a question of faith. It’s ourlives.’

‘No, but you have to believe in it, that it’sworth it…’

‘It isn’t a question of faith. This is how itseems to me at the moment.’

Maïta poured the last of the dessert wine intoPhilippe’s and Tom’s glasses. She spoke as shedid so:

‘There’s no hurry for us to discuss whatmight or might not be. We have a clearidea of the technology we plan to utiliseand how we believe it can be marketed.’

‘Yes, but Philippe is saying something we allhave to hear and consider.’ Tom looked fromone to the other. ‘Do we want to do it?’

If you are brought up poor, you would enjoy a bitof money. You would be able, given a moment’sreflection, to find ways of spending it. You mighteven be nurturing in the back of your mind apattern of spending for a particular purpose –perhaps an evening class, or child care so thatyou could work, or funds to start a business.

But if every penny had to be begged, wheedledand cadged from a distant and – to your mind –rather arbitrary authority, you might becomeweary and settle for your lot. No one likes to beconstantly obliged. No one enjoys constantlyhaving to ask, never receiving as of right.

Tom, Maïta and Philippe were sure that theirplans fitted into the category of the ‘greatergood’. They believed they were worthy ofsupport. But within a fairly short space of time,they found themselves spending more energyand hours on asking for money than on doingthe research.

‘You are happy,’ said Tom, looking fixedlyat Philippe.

‘Is that relevant,’ asked Maïta.

‘He is. Look at him!’ Tom insisted,appealing to Maïta.

‘Is there any reason why I shouldn’t behappy,’ asked Philippe.

‘In my opinion, Philippe is always happyand we shouldn’t be surprised…’

Tom interrupted Maïta:

‘No, I’m saying he’s happy now andgenerally. With his lot.’

For, in all adversity of fortune, the worst sort ofmisery is to have been happy.

BoethiusEarly 6th century

The three friends worked – jointly and severally– on laser micromachining. They found a niche inmicromachining for medical products. They

10

researched and developed techniques providingminor but novel innovations in stents, filters,catheters and drug delivery devices. Maïta inparticular collaborated with a Spanish universityon polycaprolactone and polyglycolic acid,medical bioabsorbables.

Philippe found a research post in France. Inconstant touch with his friends, he enjoyedconsiderable success in the early days ofoptically controlled microsystems,nanomechanical technology having brought thescale of some devices down to a level at whichmanipulation by optical means became not onlypossible but desirable. Optical adjustment of thedevices Philippe worked with gave opportunitiesfor the finest of fine control.

Tom spent a couple of years on low-cost, high-efficiency lighting using LEDs. There seemedscope for this work to move into commercialproduction at an early stage – the prime impetuscame from its suitability for lighting based onlow-output systems, especially renewable suchas photovoltaic electricity generation. However,the further Tom looked into the subject, themore he found it was already sewn up by largeindustrial corporations.

Tom took part in a couple of talking shopsorganised by well-meaning charitable or lobbygroups. Meanwhile Maïta and Philippe had whatappeared small satisfactions. These wereinsufficient.

The three friends met and emailed one anotherwith ideas for independent research which, astime went on, became more and morecommercial in nature.

‘I’m sure this is clever and to the point but…’

This time Tom interrupted Philippe:

‘Look, both of you. Do either of you thinkthis will be easy?’

‘You mean the business,’ said Maïta.

‘Yes. Do you think it will be easy?’

‘People in education seem to think money

is handed out for free in business, thatonly public services count pennies andjustify expense,’ agreed Philippe.

‘What I’m saying is that you, Philippe, youare a happy bunny in what you are nowdoing. You like the idea of doing more. Youwish you had more money, wider horizonsof research. But if we develop one productover the next five years we’ll have donewell.’

‘All our efforts will go towardscommercialisation of a single idea, at least atfirst,’ said Maïta, catching on to Tom’s drift.

‘The focus will be narrower, not broader.’

‘Are you asking me to leave,’ enquiredPhilippe mildly.

‘No!’ Tom protested. ‘Believe me, I’m not.I’m asking you...’

‘What exactly are you asking me, Tom?’

‘It’s quite straightforward. I’m suggestingthat you are happy now. You are notdissatisfied.’

‘And…?’

After much to-ing and fro-ing, the friendsdecided that their fields of inquiry allowed oneparticularly promising field – a field which notone of them would have anticipated.

Someone once said that a metaphysician was ‘ablind man in a dark room, looking for a black hat– which is not there’. Perhaps some theoreticalscience takes place under similar conditions. Butthe product Tom, Maïta and Philippe decidedupon was very definitely there, a solid – thoughmicroscopically tiny – set of objects, found innature and reproduced in the laboratory.

They imagined seeing their applications in TVshows of the sort that broadcast at prime timeseveral nights of the week. They couldconceivably be found on products advertised in the commercial breaks of the most popular programs.

‘Look at us,’ said Tom, his glance taking

11

Crystal Bond

in Maïta, his voice layered with sympathy.‘We’re chewing our nails to the quick. We are in prison. We have done nothingbut science for ten years. We think it’simportant but we have to beg for moneyto tick over. Our insights are theoreticaland our impact on the real world is negligible.’

‘Is that not the same for me?’

‘The world you are working in is yourworld. You are at home there.’

‘My achievements are significant in that area?’

‘Whether or not they are – and of course theyare – the important thing is you are happy withthem and when you find yourself confrontedwith the frustrations of commercial life, you willlook back and say: “I was happy then.”’

Wing colours in butterflies appear in two types,pigment and structural, sometimes on the sameindividual. The pigment colours are producedjust like zinc oxide gives us white oil paint. Theyare specific substances with specific chemicalcompositions. The structural colours, on theother hand, are produced in a different way.

The structural colours are created by scales onthe insect's wings. If you touch a butterfly'swings, you will find the scales come away likepowder. The scales are, in fact, photonic crystals.

Unlike pigments, which absorb or reflect certainfrequencies of light as a result of their chemicalcomposition, photonic crystals reflect lightbecause of their surface characteristics.Photonic crystals can also be found on beetlesand birds. The crystal array may reflect moreblue light from one angle than another so thefluttering of a butterfly or the dash of akingfisher will produce a beautiful array ofcolours. Perhaps these animals produce coloursin this way because they find it easier – fitter fortheir environment – than synthesising large andcomplex pigment molecules.

‘Do you want me to leave? Perhaps thetwo of you wish to discuss me furtheralone. That is my question. Am I out?’

‘Philippe, I want you to know that I havenot discussed any of this with Tom. Tom,I’m not sure if this is the way to bring thisup. Do you…’

‘I do not want you to leave.’

Using an electron microscope, it is possible tosee a close-up of a certain butterfly’s wing pittedwith tiny holes. The holes form the photoniccrystal structure and, although the wings areactually pigmented brown, they appear aniridescent blue.

As well as providing beautiful decoration, theiridescent photonic crystal scales are highlyreflective. A layer of photonic crystals providesnot only for brilliant visual display – clearly one ofthe goals of the butterfly – but also resistance tooverheating from the rays of the sun in hotweather.

‘I do not want you to leave and the thingsI’m saying apply almost as much to meand to Maïta, too.’

‘What things, exactly? Can we be veryprecise now?’

‘Yes, Tom, we must be sure what you are saying.’

‘Is it so hard? I’m worried.’

‘Worried about what?’

‘That I haven’t got it in me.’

‘Got what in you, Tom?’

‘The initiative. The gumption. Theindependence and the perseverance. Youknow. Don’t you worry?’

‘Ah,’ said Philippe, reflectively. ‘I see.’

‘Yes?’ asked Maïta.

‘Tom is telling a story about me becausehe thinks it must be how we all feel to acertain extent.’

‘That’s it,’ said the Englishman.

‘Tom is explaining how he feels. He is

12

saying that he will, after six months in thecold blast of the icily arbitrary winds ofcommerce, feel like running back to theshelter of the igloo of academia.’

Maïta laughed aloud. The tension was dispelledin an instant.

Approaching the problem from differentdirections, combining their talents and resources,Tom, Philippe and Maïta managed to develop away of manufacturing photonic crystals. Theyalso believed they could sell them.

They stood at the brink. Would they take theplunge together?

‘You’re making fun of me now,’complained Tom.

‘I am, Tom,’ admitted Philippe, ‘I am.’

‘There were better ways to ask thequestion?’ chided Maïta.

‘There are. But now I have asked it, tellme, do you think like that, like me?’

‘I have never thought that I would continuefor a whole lifetime just as I am, tomorrowjust like yesterday. Is that a good answer?’

Philippe laughed aloud himself.

‘If you had given me some hint of yourthoughts, Tom, I would have approachedthis question with less anger and more,well, no… ultimately less hilarity.’ He andTom looked at one another. ‘You have beencandid. Let me put it simply. Theapplications we can envisage with thetechnique at our disposal are commerciallydesirable and, we believe, viable. If you willgive me your hand and promise to stand upfor me and for Maïta as we will promise tostand up for you and one another, for thesake of the shared ambitions of 20 years offriendship, is their any reason why weshould not leap into space together?’Philippe held out his right hand.

Tom took Philippe’s right hand in his. He crossedhis left hand over his right and offered it toMaïta. She took it and, crossing her arms too,

she linked up with Philippe. Their arms theymade a kind of crystal bond around the smalllunch table.

As did their smiles, as they nodded and laughed.

The magnetic trains hummed rather than roaredinto the vast shed of the rail terminal. Theatmosphere – both literal and figurative – of thegreat commuter intersection had beentransformed since the public rapid transportvehicles (PRTV) had ceased to run on steeltracks impelled by electricity or diesel andfriction. Now the PRTVs hummed suspended bya finely controlled electromagnetic field a fewcentimetres from their track, impelled bychanges in the field to enormous speeds butwith a completely smooth ride.

The absence of pollution – at least of particulatepollution – has meant that the glazed atrium overthe vast concourse remains clean, allowing theplay of sun, moon and artificial light to bathe thearea in changing moods.

Times have changed on the concourse at VictoriaStation in central London, too. There have been,over the years, many different outlets.

A unit appeared which housed racks of silver,heatproof bags for transporting ready-to-eatmeals. The idea was that commuters wouldorder their evening meal on the way through thestation in the morning and pick it up in its specialreusable packaging on the way home.

In the first decade of the 21st century, anenterprising business group created a modularshopping experience with a tiny footprint which,however, contained all the most importantlunchtime destinations for harassed officeworkers. It was like a small walk-in arcadecontaining five tiny retail units: a sandwich andsnack outlet, a dry cleaner, a counter with threepublic computers, a cash facility and a coffeemachine. The entire unit could be lifted out andmoved if the location proved unsuccessful.

Of course, the key and heel bar was apermanent fixture, while cheese shops, knickeremporia and so on ebbed and flowed with thetides of commerce.

13

Crystal Bond

Three years and two months after theconversation in the restaurant, at which Philippe,Tom and Maïta committed themselves to theirbusiness idea, a new outlet appeared – CrystalBond. Rather unpropitiously, it was sitedbetween a pub and the entrance to theunderground toilet facility. The three of themsat, looking for all the world like a group ofnervous travellers, perched on stools around atall table. Maïta twitchily fingered her personalcommunicator, clearly awaiting a message. Topass the time, she opened the device clam-styleand unfurled the soft keyboard from within. Herfingers barely stroked the touch-sensitive padsas she typed.

‘Why don’t you use VR,’ asked Philippe. ‘Iuse mine in English and French. I have itwell trained.’

‘This way, I start editing at the same timeas I type. The text is cleaner straight away.’

On this, its first day, Crystal Bond was staffedby a single technician – found by Tom throughhis old department. In front of the outlet weretwo actors, dressed in the most extraordinaryiridescent clothes. Their pierced ears werestudded with remarkable jewellery whichseemed to move as they moved. Their eyeswere hidden by sunglasses which reflected thelight of the concourse in a range of sparklingchromatic effects as they cavorted and sang tograb the commuters’ attention.

At her stool in the pub, Maïta spoke a passwordto her communicator and was immediately inconversation via the device on her left ear. Afterjust three or four sentences she nodded to hercolleagues:

‘It’ll be here by lunchtime.’

The day chosen for the grand opening wasValentine’s Day. It was an inspired choice.

A man dressed for the office entered the outlet.After a few words with the technician, he putdown his computer case and sat at a carefullyconstructed console. The technician stood behindhis chair. At an instruction from the technician,the man took hold of a joystick located in a

smooth dark panel in front of him. The technicianreached his arm over the man’s shoulder, helpingto guide the joystick in his hand.

After a few moments’ practice, the man reachedinto a zip pocket on his blouson. He removed asmall book. The book was entitled Thoughts ofLove. The cover was made of stainless steel andglimmered faintly. He handed it to the technicianwho turned the pages of synthetic ivory andsmiled indulgently at the sickly sentiments within.

The actors had gathered three more people into the compact outlet. Adopting more of ashowman’s persona, the technician raised his voice.

‘Place the object in the hatch…’

As he spoke he took the book and, flipping aswitch, inserted it into a metallic chamberlocated alongside the screen. As he shut thedoor, a cartoon rendering of the book appeared.

‘What else can you put in there?’ askedone of the rubberneckers.

‘Almost anything metallic. If the substrateis inappropriate, the machine computer willtell us.’

The man decorated the cover of his book usingthe on-screen colour swatches and the joystick.In just five minutes he had covered the cartoonbook with his personal message of love andseveral symbols. The technician pointed to thescreen. The man – who was a little short-sighted– peered forwards and recognised a touch-sensitive button: Finish. He touched it.

Almost instantaneously the door of the chamberswung slowly open. The technician invited theman to reach in and retrieve his book. He did soand, as he pulled it from the chamber, turned itin his hand, watching the colours that were notcolours ebb and wax.

Over the next two hours, 12 more people usedthe Crystal Bond outlet. At lunchtime there wasa queue of users – who had come specially tosee the new facility having been alerted byfriends who had passed through that morning –and others who craned their necks for a glimpse

14

of each miraculously quick plating technology.

From the point of view of the three friends,perched on their uncomfortable stools, themorning’s business could not have been moresuccessful. As the group around Crystal Bondbegan to thin, Maïta took another message andslipped to the floor.

‘Here it is,’ she called to the other two,who followed her to the centre of theconcourse.

From the main entrance, a large ramp waswheeled into a dominating position in the centreof the warm floor tiles. Once in position, a fainthydraulic hiss signalled the lowering of the rampfrom its wheels to the floor. Then an electric carfollowed onto the concourse.

The day was bright but cloudy. Through the vast,high, glazed atrium roof, sun and shade flickeredovert the shimmering surface of the electric car.In response the panels of the vehicleshimmered into mesmerising brilliance.

Maïta, Philippe and Tom looked around thefascinated faces of the onlookers and then intoeach others’ eyes, and nodded and smiled once more.

On another bright day three years hence, anelectric car flashed quietly through a speed trap. The iridescent sheen on its metallicpaintwork confused the digital imaging devicewhich declined to capture evidence of thevehicle’s identity.

The bright sun was uncomfortable inside theelectric car; Maïta twitched the rearview mirror.With one eye on the road, she adjusted a dial on her personal communicator. The devicecommunicated wirelessly with a power sourcein the lining of her suit. Imperceptibly, herclothing lost its reflective sheen and becamelight-absorbent.

‘Conference,’ Maïta spoke clearly to hercommunicator.

‘Ready,’ came the tinny reply, amplified bythe in-car speakers.

‘Tom, Philippe.’

After a few seconds, both voices were on line,greeting Maïta and one another. They dealt withsome outstanding business details – a licensingopportunity for another industrial application andstaffing issues at their headquarters. Then:

‘I’ve had another idea,’ said Maïta.

15

Ed the Brain Reader

The magnetic train hummed into the terminal. Itwas one of the newest public rapid transportvehicles (PRTV). The ride was as smooth as aslide in a child’s playground and, on accelerationto 500 km per hour, just as exciting.

The PRTVs floated on a finely controlledelectromagnetic field a few centimetres fromtheir track, rather than rattling along on rails. Itwas anticipated that the wear and tear on thesevehicles would be so minimal – air friction,internal damage from passenger use – that theywould last as long as the tired old stock theyhad replaced.

As the train slid to a halt and slowly settled onits track and vertical buffers, the Chief ExecutiveOfficer ran her chair to the sliding doorway.

A prison is an uncomfortable place, she thought.There must be job satisfaction, but…

It was a privatised institution, one of three forwhich she was ultimately responsible. But shewas not here in a managerial capacity.

The PRTV came almost imperceptibly to a halt.The CEO’s PA pressed the button for the ramp.Her mind wandered a little as her eye took in

the grimy windows set like occasional wiryshrubs in the desert of the dull brown walls.

The CEO had been a teacher before enteringbusiness. Faced with a group of unpleasantschoolchildren, her satisfaction had been inmaking them a little less daft. But she had nevertaken full-blown pleasure in her work. There hadbeen too much animosity – too much us andthem – for that. Then, following her accident andthe substantial compensation, she had investedin an MBA at Remote University, then hadentered business by investing her own money,with some success.

The PRTV terminal was solely for access to theprison. She left her PA at the front security gateand met the prison officer delegated to showher in to the Governor’s office. There was littleceremony and, as they left the platform, theGovernor joined them for the brief journey to themedical wing. She was pleased; her reputationpreceded her.

Time was – as always – pressing. There was a Board meeting later and nothing could beallowed to make her late for that.

The CEO and Governor Bingham arrived at asmall, gloomy office festooned with cables andbursting with computers. The only light camefrom a pair of computer screens. One screenwas paging through a sequence of photographsof people, places and things. The otherdisplayed a set of graphs. Behind these twodisplays was a large plasma screen mounted onthe wall. Faint shapes suggested that the screenmight be turned on but that the lens cap wasstill on the camera to which it was connected.

‘Dr Grayson, ma’am,’ said the Governor tothe CEO. Dr Grayson was beaming at herfrom a round, pink, flat face like a plate.

‘Am I early or are you late?’ blurted out thepsychologist.

She was clearly nervous and regretted opening

16

her mouth the instant she said it. GovernorBingham stepped in urbanely:

‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. Pleasego on, Dr Grayson.’

‘Might I be allowed…?’ The psychologiststopped again. She was unused topresenting her work to non-specialists andfound it difficult to strike the correct tone.

‘Dr Grayson has prepared a shortintroduction,’ said the Governor. ‘I wouldbe grateful to refresh my memory, too.Ma’am,’ she continued, meeting theCEO’s eyes. ‘I am absolutely sure that thisvisit will prove a defining moment in thewar against terrorism.’

There was a faint shadow of surprise in theCEO’s reply:

‘Terrorism?’

The prison officer couldn’t hold himself back.

‘It’s extraordinary, ma’am. The things wecan discover. Sometimes even thingsthey’ve forgotten. You’ll see…’

‘Is the volunteer, ready?’ interrupted theGovernor. The officer excused himself andleft the dingy office. ‘Terrorism suspects,’she resumed, ‘are notoriously difficult tointerrogate. Their minds are… confusedwhere not entirely brainwashed. Realityand imagination are… well, how elsewould they commit the dreadful,indiscriminate acts we know them capable of?’

‘This technique will pierce the mystery,ma’am,’ put in Dr Grayson. ‘You will see!’

‘And, perhaps more pertinently, it willreveal that which the suspect intends to conceal.’

There was a pause. The CEO’s eyes hadnarrowed with tension and there appeared aharsher glint to her eyes. It was clear shesuspected her time was being wasted.

Then the three people in the office all turnedtheir heads at once.

The panel behind the two computer screensabruptly revealed itself as a large plasma screengiving a view of an adjacent room. They saw theprison officer’s hand move from the light switchand the flicker of the neon strips in the ceiling.The officer exited the room, then reappeared,helping what was obviously a prison inmate tothe comfortable leather swivel chair in thecentre.

The inmate sat back and the chair leaned a littleunder his weight.

‘Is that man sedated?’ asked the CEO.

‘The technique at the moment requires thesubject to be relaxed,’ confirmed thepsychologist Grayson.

‘Dr Grayson has been working on thisproject for some time. This is the first timewe have been able to encourage amember of the Board to see the results ofthis work. We are supported by theUniversity research department…’

‘Of which I am Chancellor…’ cut in the CEO.

‘Indeed, ma’am.’

‘And of course the atrocity which led toyour injuries should give you an interest…’

The Governor tried to cut the psychologist off inmid-sentence but was too late.

‘You are suggesting that because I wascrippled in a terrorist attack, I am likely tosupport future funding for your researchinto lie detectors.’ The psychologist didn’treply. ‘Lie detectors are, as you know,notoriously ineffective, less reliable thanweather forecasting. I have read the data. I did not come to this meeting unbriefed.’

‘No, no, no!’ Grayson insisted. ‘Thebriefing is out of date. This is not a liedetector. This is fact – or the extraction of fact.’

17

Ed the Brain Reader

There was real conviction in the woman’s voiceand it caught the CEO’s attention for a moment.

‘Dr Grayson, I will give this meeting onemore opportunity to reach someconclusion. But, please, it must be nowand in few words.’

Grayson took a deep breath.

‘A lie detector works on the basis ofapparent physical signals; respiration,transpiration, dilation of pupils and so on.The process is in the hands of human so-called experts. They must interpret theevidence. They have attempted tosystematise their patterns of work buthave failed to produce scientificallyverifiable results. As you say, ma’am,notoriously ineffective.’

The CEO nodded and glanced at her personalcommunicator to check the time.

‘Yes,’ Grayson continued, ‘but this processis different.’

The psychologist turned to the screen andpointed with a stubby finger.

‘There, you see Nabil applying the sensorsto the subject’s skull. You see. And here!’

The psychologist turned once more to thecomputer displaying the empty graphs. Thethree women watched as the graphics spranginto life.

‘The sensors and the interplay ofinformation they receive… together theycreate a three-dimensional picture of brainactivity. When we began this work wethought we would be able to identify thethoughts a person was thinking byanalysing those patterns of cerebralelectrical activity. We applied so manysensors – more and more – you couldhardly see the subject at all. For years youralma mater has studied along this track.For years. But of course they weremissing the point.’

‘The point, Dr Grayson,’ prompted the CEO.

Dr Grayson turned to the large plasma screenshowing the inmate volunteer in the comfortableswivel chair in the interrogation room. The threewomen now saw that the interrogation roomwas also equipped with a wide plasma screenon which a sequence of photographs was being displayed.

‘These are the same photographs as…’

The CEO’s gaze drifted to the computer on thetable in the office.

‘Yes, ma’am. At first a random sequence.Then, the database – the ElectronicDetective, really, or Ed as I call it – takesover.’

‘How?’

‘The brain works by neurons sending tinyelectrical signals. So, within your head,there is a mass of propagatingelectromagnetic waves. Ed's sensorsknow what the brain is doing – whichneurons are firing – by collecting theelectromagnetic near field “leaking” out ofthe head. Well, we found that of all thereactions – the mental reactions – therewere one or two which we couldrecognise very clearly. Hunger was one.Not so much thirst, though we don’t knowwhy. We think it may have something todo with alcohol abuse and the subjects onwhom we have been testing theprocedure.’

‘To the point, Dr Grayson,’ GovernorBingham reminded the psychologist.

‘Yes. Say, for example, Ed shows thesubject a set of faces. Some of them weknow are known to the subject. It issimple for Ed to learn the mental responsethat characterises recognition.’

‘Ed knows when the subject has beenshown something they have seen before?’

‘Yes, but not just that. Ed can do the samething with sounds.’

‘Play a sequence of sounds in the same

18

way that he – it – pages through asequence of images.’

‘Yes, ma’am. But Ed is far cleverer thanthat. Ed can follow a trail. Ed can show afixed sequence of images to learn aboutthe subject’s cerebral reactions – findingthe “Aha!” spot if you like…’ Dr Graysonlaughed briefly at her own weak witticism.‘But then Ed can tailor the sequence –including aromas, possibly tastes, too,though we have not attempted that as yet– according to the last or previousresponse. Ed can search a database ofliterally millions of crime-scene images andlead the subject through them. If thesubject gives positive responses to certainvisual stimuli – colour or type of clothing,for example – Ed will search for crime-scene images that bear similarities.’

‘And the result in this case?’

‘Please bear in mind, ma’am, that thevolunteer’s identity has been concealedfrom Dr Grayson and her team,’ put inGovernor Bingham. ‘The investigation theyhave carried out has relied solely on whatEd has been able to discover.’

‘Yes, of course. I would expect nothingless.’

‘Ed created a trail of images and somesounds which led to the, well, implicationthat this man is an abuser of animals,’ saidDoctor Grayson, with ugly confidence.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Oh… abuser in the sense of unkind. Hehas been imprisoned for cruelty toanimals, serially, over years, repeatedly.’

‘And could we not have found this out inanother way?’ the CEO asked drily.

‘I suppose it could have been, but itwasn’t, ma’am.’

‘The identity of the subject was carefullykept back as a control to the experiment,’repeated Governor Bingham.

‘What do you want from me, today,Governor?’ asked the CEO.

‘Permission to widen the research to agreater number of volunteers, ma’am.’

‘Sedated volunteers.’

‘At present we must follow that track,yes,’ replied the Governor.

‘I will reflect on the question…’

‘One more thing, please, ma’am.’

‘Yes, Doctor?’

‘You may be interested to know that thevolunteer…’

‘Yes, Doctor?’

‘He committed a rape and murder insouth-east Southampton in June, twomonths before his arrest. He recognisesthe crime scene.’

For the first time the CEO was taken completelyby surprise.

‘Has he confessed it? Was he tried?’

‘He has never been questioned inconnection with this crime. In addition, wehaven’t confronted him with theaccusation. We have no jurisdiction,’replied the Governor smoothly.

‘No. of course,’ replied the CEO.

There was a pause.

‘As I said, I will reflect on the question.’

Dr Grayson was about to jump in once more butthe Governor interrupted:

‘Thank you, ma’am. For your time andinterest.’

Within two months, as requested by the CEO,Dr Grayson submitted a complete report on thework she had carried out at the prison. Thesummary form ran to over 11,000 words.

In her office in London, the CEO’s desktop viewer

19

Ed the Brain Reader

was displaying security bulletins from a numberof sources, Grayson’s report being one of them.

The CEO had asked not to be disturbed. Sheflicked the mute button on the video link thatshowed her PA discouraging visitors in the lobbyto her office. In the unnatural quiet, baffled bythe thick sound insulation in all the walls, floorand ceiling, she scrolled a few pages.

It claimed that 62.7% of UK businesses hadsuffered a security breach over the last twoyears. Of organisations who considered theirbusiness information as ‘critical or sensitive’45.6% had suffered an ‘extremely serious’ or‘very serious’ breach, usually the result of user error.

She opened another file. It covered a terroristattack in West Africa. The country’s securityservices had been on a heightened state ofsecurity, yet the British passport holders hadbeen afforded VIP treatment – in other words,no intimate body searches. This was, apparently– her fault.

The CEO turned to her diary and dictated:

‘Security is remarkably effective.Loopholes are few. Operators becomecareless, therefore, because the systemappears so robust. For example, someyears ago hard drives detailing US and ex-Soviet nuclear missiles were missing fromLos Alamos for 21 days before they werereported. The site was so secure, staffbelieved the missing hard drives wouldturn up – that they had been misplacedlike a set of car keys…’

Worse still – though not yet in the public domain– a group of nationalists in south-west China hadrecently penetrated a facility storing weapons-grade nuclear material and attempted to build acrude nuclear bomb. Security was not tightenough to prevent the terrorists gaining access,but it delayed the arrival of the security servicesthemselves as their procedures were usedagainst them. It was a matter of debate whetherthe incompetent bomb builders, given moretime, would have succeeded in detonating their device.

The CEO’s personal communicator indicated anincoming message by flashing its screen. Thedevice resembled a wireless PDA in a clamdesign but was small enough to be worn on thewrist. Hers was lying on the desk alongside asoft roll-out keyboard for typing quickly andcomfortably. When in this building, the wirelessdevice had to be plugged into a fixed opticalcommunications network or it would be useless.The whole headquarters was full of telephonicwhite noise to prevent mobile communicatorsfrom being used as remote detonators or bugs.

‘Good morning, ma’am,’ said the face onthe communicator screen.

‘Good morning, Governor Bingham. Whatdo you have for me?’

‘Would you like the video review or mysummary, ma’am?’

‘Your summary, please.’

‘Dr Grayson’s work with the University hasbeen continued and developed. Thepurpose of the project – at first solelyimagined as an Electronic Detective – hasbeen broadened. All the same,’ theGovernor continued conversationally, ‘thename Ed has stuck...’

‘I understand the new designation is BR.’

‘Yes, ma’am, for Brain Reader. But Edseems easier to remember and use…’

‘Go ahead, Governor. It isn’t important.’

‘The scientists’ understanding of how thebrain works has developed. The currentversion of Ed enables us to make muchmore direct links between what the mindis thinking and what the brain does whenthat happens.’

‘And, therefore, to read the subject’sthoughts…’

‘In addition, ma’am, measuring brainactivity also allows us to monitor physicaland mental well-being. We believe it couldbe used to understand how the brainlearns complicated processes, such as

20

learning to drive. Perhaps those processescould then be taught – or even implanted –raising the performance of poor driverswho would otherwise be denied a licence.’

‘I understand that there are what we mightcall benign applications. What about ourfield, yours and mine?’

‘At Ed’s current state of readiness andsophistication, Ed could be used to identifyterrorists on the basis of their thoughtsprior to boarding a plane.’

‘Is this feasible? What is the size of thedevice?’

‘At this point in time, no more than asingle portable computer with a fast dataconnection. The connection leads to asingle device – rather like a helmet – inwhich the sensors are now embedded.’

‘How many, out of interest?’

‘There are 4,617 in the current version 6.9.’

‘And how quickly can it detect? Is itfeasible?’

There was a pause while the Governor reflected.

‘Ma’am…’

‘Yes, Governor?’

‘This project is designed in the first place tolead criminals to confession. You wish it toperform miracles of prevention. I have nodoubt that the technology will be capableof doing what you require. Perhaps soon.After all, even the portable device can useDr Grayson’s database – which we havecontinued to expand logging new crime-scene data on a weekly basis – byaccessing it remotely. The results arestartling. Since your authorisation, CIDinspectors have cleared large backlogs ofcase work, based on these investigations.Our short-term detention area, as youknow, is devoted to these investigationsalone, because the database is accessible.Remote access is feasible…’

‘And have you attempted unsedatedsubjects?’

‘For the applications you seek – forprevention in the areas we have discussed– that remains a stumbling-block. But withwilling subjects we might be able to usethe technique in the treatment of certainmental health issues. Ed should be able toidentify more clearly than human diagnosisthe precise nature of specific mentalillnesses. Ed may also allow us to track themental state of potentially dangeroussubjects – sexual criminals, for example.With close, periodic scrutiny by Ed, itmight be possible for these people toremain in the community…’

The CEO glanced at a blinking message symbolin the corner of her screen. She touched it withher forefinger.

From: Market Preview, Department forScience and Future Technology

Subject: non-invasive brain reading

Message:

Market estimate £10 billion within 10years. £100s of billions thereafter.

The CEO closed the message.

‘Thank you for your involvement in thisproject, Governor. I understand yourreticence. Be assured, your work has notgone unnoticed.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

Neither woman closed the call.

‘Ma’am?’

‘Yes, Governor?’

‘The device has become, effectively, abrain reader.’

‘Yes, Governor.’

‘May I ask what further you are minded todo with this technology?’

‘I will reflect on the question.’

21

Tiny holes

Tiny holes

Tiny holes can be important. Security is often acase of plugging tiny holes. You know they arethere; after all, no system is foolproof. It is up toyou and your agents to find the holes – notnecessarily the bad guys – and stop them up.

I had my first lead from an experimentalinterrogation technique being trialled at one ofthe Remote University campuses. The campuswas near a high-security privatised detentionfacility where some experimentation was beingcarried out.

Being Remote University, the premises weresmall, teaching rooms with no student access.Security here, therefore, was good.

I gained access to a corridor running along a setof lecture rooms. I like to take advantage ofthese opportunities to look around newenvironments, so, when I met one of theprofessors, I showed my ID and asked for a tourof the facility. He hitched up his teaching robesand showed me the technical room on theground floor and the hatch in the ceiling leadingto the multiscreen lecture room.

It also gave me an opportunity to quiz him abouthis colleagues.

‘Professor Miah,’ I said, clocking theidentity panel on a wireless device hanginground his neck, ‘do you know of DrGrayson’s work?’

‘In what way might I know her?’

‘Well,’ I took a guess, ‘you are both in thecommunications field. I thought…’

‘My work is concerned with interpersonalcommunications and data transfer andhandling. I have never been involved inexploring the drugged consciousness ofimprisoned criminals.’

‘No,’ I went on, ‘I suppose there isn’tmuch connection…’ I let the sentencehang but he didn’t take the bait.

‘I can tell you where to find Dr Grayson’soffice, if you wish,’ Miah told me, stiffly.

‘Thank you. I have directions,’ I told him.

We didn’t really hit it off.

Grayson’s team had been doing some amazingwork. They had a brain reader coupled to anevidential database that could track through acriminal’s memories and home in on things he or she had seen before. They called it the ‘Aha!’spot. Apart from clearing whole caseloads ofinsignificant unsolved crimes, now and then –like a lucky hobby archaeologist – they found areal gem. And then they called me.

‘These are the faces he recognises,’ saidGrayson, spreading three pages of A4 hardcopy in front of me, four mug shots oneach page. Each was identified by nameand identity card number. Three of themwere of interest because I already knewmore or less who they were.

I sat through two and a half days of the samesequences of images Grayson and her team hadshown the criminal-turned-informer. I suppose itdidn’t take that long for the brain reader to show

22

them to the informer, but I had to read theevidence notes as I went through them. I got afeel for the organisation, what they wanted andwhat they didn’t like.

The best part was where the brain readersystem – they called it Ed for ElectronicDetective – took the informer through locationevidence. Again the database began its searchwith almost random images – photographs,drawings, maps. As Ed homed in, however, thepsychologist Dr Grayson showed me how theyhad learned to distinguish between places theinformer recognised from having been there andplaces he – or one of his group – were planningto visit. The brain reader detected a differentsort of ‘Aha!’ apparently.

A harbour on the south coast of England.

At the end of the third day, I went to a privatiseddetention facility close to the Remote Universityteaching and research campus. This was whereGrayson and her team had been interrogatingdetainees.

I met the Governor, another woman, calledBingham. She gave me escorted access to theinformer who told me nothing.

Dr Grayson came with me. I was able to offercertain inducements to the informer if he shouldfeel inclined to tell us more. Obviously the manhadn’t realised what the brain reader could dobut regretted submitting to the procedure. Inany case, Dr Grayson was convinced she hadeverything of interest, but then a technologistwill tell you there’s no difference between areally good electric piano and one made of metaland wood.

Faced with the informer’s refusal, I suggestedwe could go through the process as a legitimateinvestigative technique without the informer’spermission, but it turned out the procedure onlyworks on a willing or – for this we had nopermission – sedated subject.

I took a public rapid transport vehicle direct fromthe prison to Southampton. The PRTV wasvirtually silent and, once it had accelerated tocruising speed, I slept. After all, the magneticimpulsion system moves you at about 450 km

per hour and at that speed the view out of thewindow is a blur.

While I was on the train, I knew I wouldn’t beable to communicate – the impulsion field is toostrong for personal communicators. Also, likethe prison, the trains are full of white noise toprevent remote detonation and so on. But I nowmore or less knew the general intended locationof the attack and needed to put defences inplace. Before leaving the privatised prison, Ispoke to the Governor again and – as Isuspected – she had a shielded room fromwhich I was able to use my personalcommunicator to upload and distribute theintelligence I’d collected.

What comes next I was able to piece togetheronly with hindsight. I was chasing behind themand time was not on my side.

A couple of hours before I left the prison andabout 50 km from the PRTV dock atSouthampton, two men and one woman broughta small craft into a sheltered bay. The navigablepart of the channel into the bay, bounded bysandbanks even at high tide, was narrow.Luckily for them, the shallow draft of theirvessel allowed them to slide alongside a muchlarger craft leaving the bay. This was anunexpected bonus for them as they might haveexpected to be challenged at this point. As itwas, their entry into the harbour went unnoticedby the regular security staff.

My people weren’t yet on the scene, of course.If they had been, they’d have clocked a wordrecognised under sedation by the informer. Atthe time, I just thought it was a hint at somekind of religious message: hope. From the deckof the larger craft, though, the name of thesmaller boat could clearly be seen: New Hope.

After the channel, the bay was busy. There weremany small boats – almost all of them leisurecraft. The occupants of the New Hope weredressed for leisure too, although beneath theircarefully chosen sportswear, they had onthermals and waterproof Gortex garments toprotect them from the spray of the deeperwaters they had recently – illegally – crossed.

23

Tiny holes

The crew of the New Hope had taken advantageof the fact that it is difficult to police the seas.Up until recent times, pirates were rife in manyof the world's seas and oceans. Only since GPSidentifiers became mandatory have theinternational authorities begun to police theworld’s waterways more effectively. If a ship isobliged to have a unique recognition code linkedin to its GPS equipment, it is a simple matter toensure that a database of sea-going craft ismaintained and updated. Any vessel not on thelist – or unable to respond to a request for GPS-based identification – can be stopped andsearched. And then possibly impounded and thewrongdoers aboard arrested.

However, boats travel in and out of small portseach day without GPS identification. They aresmall enough not to be required to have thesystem on board by law. For me, it should be likethe register of personal communicators which areall unique-coded and linked to identity cardnumbers to deter theft. However, boatsregistered for inshore use aren’t required to jointhe system and, although I don’t know for sure, itmust be a loophole which is routinely exploited.

Sometimes, where shorelines converge andsmall distances on sheltered waters can becrossed in favourable weather, this loophole canallow contraband or dangerous goods or peopleto be moved from country to country. Chains ofislands can be exploited to smuggle largedistances by island hopping. In the case of anisland nation, the problem might not be withillegal international imports of contraband itemsor people, but relocation within the countryitself. For example, a facility on a shoreline –such as a power station – might be vulnerable toattack from the sea, from a small craft launchedfrom a nearby leisure port.

Like I said earlier, there are blind spots and blindtimes in any system. In the case of the GPSsystem, some atmospheric conditions can causesignals to be lost. Equally, demand for signaltime has expanded enormously since theinception of the systems at the end of the 20thcentury and periodic downtimes have become –if not common – a repeated occurrence.

The final and most important loophole, though,is the availability of a ship to intercept asuspicious signal or a no-response. Money andstaffing levels, obviously.

The distance travelled by the New Hope thatmorning was just 25 km. Winds were light andthe small electric motor meant they had spentnearly three hours on the water already. Yet theyhad not been intercepted.

In the United States of America, colleagues ofthe New Hope crew had launched a mammothset of GPS tracking demands over the publicinternet. They had access to high-speed opticalcommunications nodes – possibly in educationalfacilities or businesses – and were able to sendand request massive droves of data.Concentrating all the processing power at theirdisposal, they managed to launch a denial-of-service attack that had created sufficient blindspots to allow the New Hope to passunchallenged from an offshore island to themainland. Now the craft was in the bay, it wasunlikely that they would attract attention. Theywere, in any case, legal once more.

The bay served three different sets of publicmoorings, each with its own sailing club. Thepopularity of sailing is a response to the declineof motoring.

The internal combustion engine was an excitingtechnological development. For years, theworld’s developed economies were powered byexplosive fuels. More recently, electric andhydrogen cell vehicles have taken over theroads, removing the buzz of acceleration, noiseand personal control from travel. Even the smallcommuter planes that a few years ago replacedlong-haul flights in short hops were quieter thantheir early 21st-century predecessors. Whereasin the 20th century, fast driving of explosive-fuelprivate vehicles was the acme of individualism,today’s alternative and renewable technologyemphasis means that sailing has become thenew petrol.

Alongside this, the onset of global warming hasmade sailing an occupation that people findamenable for more of the year. Warmertemperatures more than make up for the larger

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number of rainy days. And, of course, increasedwinds make for more exciting speeds, albeitmuch slower than the old combustion andcompression engine hobbies.

I later discovered in person that the New Hopeheaded up the bay and found a mooringalongside the smallest of the three sailing clubs.The three brought their small craft up as closeas they could to the jetty. They gave theappearance of lounging holidaymakers. Theyseemed from a distance to open a picnichamper and drink heartily from bottles ofchampagne. They were audible but not noisy.After an hour or so in the receding tide, the NewHope was beached in the mud, standing level onits twin keels. One of the two men put on a suit,stepped into Wellington boots and waded acrossthe mud to the shingle and slime beach.

I later spoke to a member of the sailing clubwho noticed the stranger. He told me that therewas something odd about the clothes he waswearing.

A metre-high concrete retaining wall lined theshort strand. The man – who was bearded –vaulted onto it and took a couple of steps intothe pub garden. He took a seat at a table in theshade of a communications mast. It cast a gridof grey lines across the back of his palesweatshirt, like the bars in a prison window.

He was joined by another man with dry skin andviolent red hair, brushed wirily away from hisforehead. No one knew it at the time, but thiswas another of the faces on Grayson’s printout.We picked him up early in the operation.

After just a moment the two men crossed thegarden and the car park and made their way intothe dry dock. Four boats stood on rough wedgedwooden props and two on more sophisticatedhydraulic lifts. All six sported large solar arrayscapable of capturing enough energy to runwater-purification systems, plus navigational andmicrowave cooking needs.

In addition, the photovoltaic cells providedenergy for a small chemist’s laboratory equippedfor the synthesising of artificial chemical odours.

The two men climbed a ladder leaning upagainst the side of an 11 m boat that had,simultaneously, an air of undergoing a refit andbeing thoroughly lived in, with laundry hung outto dry all along the rails. The red-haired man andthe bearded man from the New Hopedisappeared below deck and, five minutes later,the bearded man emerged with a rucksack onhis shoulders and made for the sailing clubperimeter fence.

Still my people weren’t on site.

There were dogs at the gate, which was open atthis busy time of day. They had a single handlerand were allowed to range on long – 20 m –leads, more like lunge reins for horses. Theyjumped up at the bearded man, who took carenot to meet their eyes and kept a steady pace.The dogs were surprised to discover that hesmelt just like them. Their surprise soon turnedto disregard when the man paid them noattention. He walked with impunity away fromthe harbour, his rucksack on his back.

Of course the bearded man was carrying theexplosive device. It wasn’t particularlysophisticated but then, of course, destructionisn’t often sophisticated. And among ourproblems was the fact that the location of theattack was, at this point, unknown. As was themeans of delivery.

Within the hour, the other two occupants of theboat had also left the harbour. There was noreason for them to be stopped and they werecarrying nothing more than the clothes theystood up in and personal effects in their pockets.Once out of the harbour area they went theirseparate ways. The second man has not beentracked down as yet. The woman – had weknown it and had we been on the spot – wasour target.

So, that pretty much brings us up to date. I’m on the scene at the harbour, gazing at a lowevening sun and nervously checking the timeevery 90 seconds on my personalcommunicator.

I have a pretty good idea that I have missed theboat – literally. The regular users are being

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Tiny holes

quizzed about any strangers to have comethrough the harbour. That’s when we get thelead about the odd suit the bearded manappeared to be wearing. We found someonewho noticed the guy wade through the mud tothe harbour wall and that gives us an idea ofwhat area of the bay to look for the boat. I squelch out myself in a pair of borrowedwaders and… Bingo!

‘Hope.’ The New Hope!

Aboard the boat, we make a thorough search.We find little of interest as they appear to havetaken everything with them. Then, stuck to acorner of the deck by the spray, we find awrapper from a popular anti-nausea preparation.Of course, at first we connect this with the boatand sailing.

Now, if Ed the brain reader is the latest thing ininterrogation techniques, the DMS is theequivalent in identification.

DMS stands for DNA molecular screening. I’vebeen involved in its roll-out and I’ve followed thescience that has made it possible.

It’s a form of molecular spectroscopy. It canidentify single DNA molecules and works bycapturing the individual molecules of DNA inmicroscopic pits in a metallic film. It’s based onthe lab-on-a-chip devices used for all thosepharmacogenomic therapies in hospitals. Themolecules are then processed in situ – thedevice has been portable for the last threemonths – using proteomics, causing the DNA toreact with something I don’t understand butwhich gives us – so they say – a ‘fingerprint’.

We gathered the DNA data and I adjourned tothe public house on the quayside, leaving thetechies to process in the truck. I had no ideasand I thought that I might perhaps hit onsomething in conversation.

Darkness fell. For a good 90 minutes it was justchit-chat. Then it hit me.

‘Yeah,’ drawled a guy in a blazer proppingup the bar. ‘Overweight. I hate to see thatin a woman.’

I put that together with the list of targets I’dbeen considering from the local police data,added the anti-nausea tablets and knew what tolook for.

Of course, while all this had been going on, thebearded man had been heading for a rendezvouswith his female accomplice. (Like I said, theother guy was just a red herring.)

The woman had checked in and had been givena room. Our bearded friend made his way to theperimeter of the facility and searched for somepoint of access. This wasn’t too hard to find, asthe management’s idea of security was largeunder-occupied grounds patrolled by loose dogs.And we already knew that our man was dog’sbest friend.

Once in the grounds and having made friendswith the canine defences, our man made hisway to the outskirts of the clinic. There he wasunder surveillance from an intelligent butunstaffed digital CCTV system. Unfortunately,this is where his special suit came into play.

The suit had been noticed at the harbour as just‘unusual’. Not ‘bulky’, or ‘foreign-looking’. It wasto do with the fabric somehow. When werecovered it later, we found that it was hoodedand the material of which it was made includeda weave of metallic threads plated with photonic crystals.

Now, you may or may not know that photoniccrystals are capable of all sorts of remarkablevisual effects, including confusing digital cameratechnology. They have been used as a way ofhiding speeding vehicles from roadside speed-control cameras, for example, although now thatfast cars are a bit of a thing of the past themarket for photonic crystal plating of vehicleshas collapsed somewhat. In this case, hood up,the photonic crystals in the suit prevented theartificial intelligence running the surveillancesystem from ‘seeing’ him.

At the same time as the man carrying theexplosives was approaching the windows of theresidential rooms, I and two operatives arrived atthe main gate. Gaining access to the site tookus precious minutes as security procedures

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were gone through. It had crossed my mind totry and enter clandestinely, but I wasn’t wearingEau de Chien.

Normally it’s easy to ‘see’ explosives at terahertzfrequencies but – of course – I didn’t knowexactly where the guy was at this point. And inany case, we found out later that the rucksackwas lined with the same metallic stuff as hissuit, which would have blocked the signal. Butas soon as we had got hold of the explosive, thefull hyperspectral functionality in my spectaclesmanaged to pick up enough of a signal for thedata analysis software on my personalcommunicator. It was the same chemicalcomposition that was used for the fairgroundattack last year.

I didn’t have sufficient numbers to storm all therooms at once – there were 37 women residentin the clinic – and I was worried about turningthe thing into a suicide attack. I wanted to pinthe guy, before he had time to pass theexplosives on to his female accomplice andwithout him having an opportunity to set themoff himself.

Fortunately, their cunning plan of attack had a flaw.

The target was an obstetrics clinic. Theirpurpose was to kill as many of the women inthe facility, along with as many of the medicalstaff as were within range. In order to gainaccess to the site, the female accomplice hadregistered for a termination – she was, ofcourse, pregnant and had been taking the anti-nausea drugs for morning sickness. Using thehyperspectral glasses, I might have seen thatthrough her clothes if I’d just got to the harboura mite sooner.

The flaw in their plan of attack was theregistration process at the clinic. Although shewas able to come up clean on all body searches,she was obliged to leave blood and urinesamples with the medical staff at check in.When I arrived with the DMS device, I was ableto identify her by screening the DNA in hersamples and matching it to the DNA we foundon the New Hope. Then we were able to locate

her room and move in on her alone.

We were not a moment too soon. We entereddressed as medical orderlies at the verymoment our bearded friend was climbing inthrough the window. One of my two associatesrestrained the woman while the other onehelped me pull the man into the room. Therucksack was still on his back and – thankheavens – he had no way of detonating thedevice at the last minute.

In this special case, conditions for the use of DrGrayson’s brain reader were relaxed. Thesubjects were interrogated against their willunder sedation. We discovered that the plan hadbeen for the bearded man to hand over theexplosives and slip away, leaving his accompliceto kill the largest possible number of victims bysacrificing herself and her unborn child.

The suicide attack was to take place at theassembly point for a fire alarm – a fire alarm shewould, herself, set off.

So, success. Just.

As I said, tiny holes can be very important.

Printed in the UK on recycled paper with a minimum HMSO score of 75. Department of Trade and Industry. © Crown Copyright. www.dti.gov.uk DTI/Pub 7249/1k/04/04/. URN 04/856