Peter Hamilton - A Quantum Murder

"Ah!" Gabriel slapped a hand against the table. "Now I get it, the laser paradigms."

"Right!" Greg said. "At some time during that Thursday, Nicholas Beswick was targeted by a laser which loaded a paradigm into his brain. One which ordered him to kill Kitchener. And I think I know what the paradigm was: Liam Bursken's memories, his personality."

"You told me the Stocken Hall team were constructing artificial memories from scratch," Julia said. "Like a perfect virtual reality recording. How could they know what Bursken's memories consist of?"

Greg grinned. "Philip, you listening?"

"I'm still here, m'boy."

"Care to tell your granddaughter exactly what you are?"

"Oh," Julia groaned. "Of course."

"I'm not saying MacLennan copied every last thought from Bursken's brain," Greg said. "Just the basics would do. That unique psychotic behavioural trait. That's what he was after."

"If paradigms are that sophisticated, why didn't MacLennan simply load a straightforward kill order into Beswick?" Morgan asked.

"Because they're not that sophisticated, not yet," Greg said. "All the Stocken team have so far is a few ersatz sensorium experiences, nothing more. That's why MacLennan needed Bursken, as raw material. I told you Nicholas wasn't the type. If MacLennan had just given him something like an advanced version of a hypnotic order to kill Kitchener he might have refused to do it when the moment actually arrived. Not everybody can kill; we can, you, me, and Teddy, because we've been trained to. In battlefield combat situations it's pure reflex, we don't even think. In counterinsurgency or ambush situations it becomes harder, you have time to think, to moralize; but if you hate your enemy enough it's not much of a problem. That's why company commanders always had such trouble finding genuinely good snipers, it's not just marksmanship, it's a question of temperament. It's a rare person who can kill without any qualms.

"I kept asking myself all through this case, who could do such a thing? Cold-blooded butchery on a sixty-seven year-old. The only person I knew was Bursken. Out of all Stocken's inmates he is the one who can kill without hesitation or remorse every time; he actually enjoyed it, he believed what he was doing was right.

"I'd say MacLennan recorded Liam Bursken's thoughts from a neuro coupling, and then combined them with an order to kill Kitchener. Then after Nicholas Beswick committed the murder the paradigm wiped itself from his mind, presumably along with his recollection of everything he did under its influence. The Stocken Hall research team has already developed a treatment they call magic photons, which can erase a memory, providing they know exactly what it is. And MacLennan certainly did, he made it."

"If MacLennan wanted a copy of Liam Bursken's memories, the only way he could obtain them would be through a cortical interface," Morgan said. "That means Bursken would have to undergo surgery."

"Good point," Greg said. "It's something we can look for, some solid physical proof. Although if he underwent the surgery at Stocken you can bet your life there will turn out to be a legitimate reason for it. But there's no doubt in my mind." He turned to Eleanor. "Remember what Nicholas did right after he smothered Kitchener?"

She drew a breath, thinking back. "He crossed himself."

"Right. But Nicholas is virtually an atheist. Bursken, on the other hand, is a religious fruitcake; he believes he kills his victims because God tells him they're sinners. I'm telling you, it was Bursken's mentality in Nicholas's brain. A real live cyborg. I knew Nicholas was innocent." He looked pleased. More like relieved, Julia thought, studying him out of the corner of her eye.

"I know he's innocent, Greg," she said, hating herself for being such a pragmatist, for puncturing his mood. "We all do. But you have still got the problem of proving it in a court of law."

"The prosecution still has the knife," Gabriel said. "Pretty strong evidence, especially when you'll be dealing with a jury that's going to be lost after the first ten minutes of specialist technical testimonies."

"Then we shall have to produce some counter-evidence," Eleanor said smartly. "Something that Inspector Langley can't ignore, something that'll mean Nicholas never gets into court. The paradigm itself." She looked at Julia. They both smiled. "Royan," they chorused.

Julia followed the burn's progress through her nodes. The others used the time to relax; Teddy trying to chat up Rachel over by the drinks cabinet; Greg, Eleanor, Morgan, and Gabriel all with their heads together, talking in low tones.

Eleanor still hadn't let go of Greg, her hand gripping his, fingers entwined.

Royan in hotrod mode was awesome to watch. She had learned a lot about hacking techniques from him; modesty aside, she was good, she knew that. Good enough to crack Jakki Coleman's bank account—and Lloyds-Tashoko's guardian programs were the best corporate money could buy. But she watched Royan's infiltration of Stocken Hall's 'ware with something approaching envy; the speed of the penetration was incredible, and he didn't have lightware crunchers to back him up.

He didn't even bother trying to crack the authorized user entry codes, he went straight for the management routines. A melt virus got him past the first-level guardian programs, opening up the prison's datanet. The structure unfolded in her mind, an origami molecule, individual terminals and 'ware cores linked together by a spiderweb of databuses. She had access to menus of low-grade security files stored in the terminals, along with the Hall's day to day administration details, and financial datawork. But the cell security and surveillance circuits were blocked, along with a vast series of memories in the cores.

Royan squirted a more complex virus at the second-level guardian programs, the ones governing access to restricted core memories.

Let's see what the medical department has on Bursken, Julia said, studying the menu. At the least his file should tell us whether or not he's got a cortical interface.

Nice one, Snowy. It isn't on the restricted list. Here we go.

He pulled a Home Office identification code from the administration officer's terminal, and used it to request a squirt from the records terminal in the medical division.

"This is Bursken's medical file," she said as the datasheets swarmed down the conference room's flatscreens. "Grandpa, review it for implants, please."

The datasheets flashed past, too fast to read. "Here we go, Juliet." The deluge of bytes halted. She was looking at some kind of official Home Office package. "Hell, girl, they really were wetting themselves over Bursken. This confinement order gives the director, that is MacLennan, permission to employ any method he sees fit to restrain Liam Bursken, including chemical suppression, or even remedial surgery such as a lobotomy."

"And who would ever complain?" Greg mused, not looking up from his flatscreen. "Even the human rights lawyers wouldn't bother arguing in Bursken's favour. He's beyond the lowest of the low. You could do anything you wanted to him, and no one would give a shit."

"I don't know about anything, boy," Philip said. "But a month ago he was wheeled into surgery and given a cortical interface." A new datasheet slid into place. "It was ordered by MacLennan, part of a new mental assessment project. According to this it was supposed to provide data on his psychotic state trigger stimulants. Follow up results are restricted."

"I knew that…" Greg looked puzzled for a moment, then clicked his fingers. "Of course, it was Stephanie Rowe who filled me in on Bursken, MacLennan just sat there and let her recite facts to me. How stupid of me."

"You weren't interrogating them," Eleanor said.

"Thanks," he said.