The cave was very large, but had been lit beautifully, almost something akin to a Jean-Michel Jarre concert. There were admittedly some faintly neon-ish washes to some of the corners, but the rest was pure mood. Craggy rock surfaces abounded to the top and sides, but the floor was smooth – far too smooth to be natural. Something man-made had carved out this chamber, made it suitable for use. The ceiling rose to an almost cathedral height from the smooth flooring and stalactites pointed accusatory fingers at the ground below, glistening with gently dripping moisture. Small pools of intensely clear water sat with perfect stillness, their effect heightened once more by strategically placed mood lighting. Seeming to almost grow organically out of this rocky world was a row of screens and monitors. In front of these was a large black leather chair into which was slumped a cowled figure. The hood of the cowl was pulled down, obscuring the majority of the face, but the lips were clear to be seen – small, wrinkled, some would say sharp looking. These lips opened and the voice spoke in a low sinister whisper.
“Contact.” There was a brief pause, and then a large paper thin screen in the wall shimmered into life.
“Please state your name and password, so I can log you on!” The computer’s voice was annoyingly bright, distinctly west coast USA and sounded female and jaunty.
“Nemesis, 63-23-1147, confirmed.” The cowled figure whispered. The screen shimmered slightly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that. Please repeat your name and password so I can log you on and you can fully enjoy your experience!” The cowled figure groaned softly and put a hand to his head. His voice came again, only louder this time.
“Nemesis, 63-23-1147! Confirmed!” Once more the screen shimmered.
“I’m sorry, that name and password has not been recognised. Please ensure you have the correct details to hand so we can get you online and enjoying the benefits of this system as soon as possible. Have a nice day!” And the screen subsided into darkness once more. The cowled figure sat for a moment, then spoke again.
“Computer…” Nothing happened. “COMPUTER!” The screen shimmered slightly.
“Please state your name and password, so I can….” The cowled figure butted in, he spoke slowly and quietly, his voice initially calm.
“Computer. I am the only user who ever logs onto this system. I designed you and built your memory banks, interfaces and servers with my bare hands. All the knowledge of the world, past and future has been placed in your memory banks for my own personal utilisation. I spent nearly 20 years perfecting your operating parameters and access integration codes. You are possibly the most powerfully advanced computer that has so far been known to mankind and you are my pride and joy, however if you don’t log me in immediately I shall lose no time in shoving a fucking big stalactite up your electronic JACKSY! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?” The voice rose to a maniacal climax that echoed through the dark cavern. The screen shimmered once more.
“Please state your name…”
“NEMESIS, 63-23-1147! CONFIRMED!” There was a short pause. The screen shimmered.
“That’s not actually right, is it?” The voice was almost apologetic from the computer. The cowled figure stood up slowly.
“What?” He hissed, dangerously. The screen shimmered to what it hoped was a nice calming shade of institution green.
“You’ve got your password wrong. It’s close, I’ll give you that. It’s a very good effort and you should be very proud. But it’s not right.” The screen shimmered again, almost like an embarrassed giggle. “Sorry!” There was a long heavy pause.
“What IS my password then?” Demanded the cowled figure, dangerously.
“Actually, I really shouldn’t tell…” The cowled figure leapt sideways, grabbed for a nearby stalagmite and began ferociously tugging at it, trying to break it off. “Ah, now look…” babbled the screen. “Not wishing to sound pedantic or anything but to be fair that is a stalagmite and you did actually threaten me with a stalactite and I…” there was a loud crack as the thin rock at the base of the stalagmite surrendered to the cowled figure’s assault. He moved threateningly towards the screen, breathing heavily and barely able to hold the weight of his improvised rock weapon. “Oh gosh, tell you what…!” began the screen brightly. “Why don’t I just tell you that stupid darned old password and we’ll call it quits, yeah?” The cowled figure stood there for a moment, his chest still rising and falling heavily. The stalagmite slipped from his gloved fingers and then fell with a loud crack to the cavern floor. As the echoes died away the figure once more sat in the capacious leather seat.
“Contact.” The screen shimmered softly.
“Please state your name and password, so I can log you on… and your password is 63-32-1147 by the way.”
“Nemesis. 63-32-1147. Confirmed.” The screen shimmered brighter than ever, a gentle synthesised moody chord played.
“Welcome, Doctor Nemesis. What can I do for you first?” The cowled figure snuggled down comfortably in the big leather chair.
“Information retrieval” he hissed. “Tell me about…” he paused. “Tell me about…the offside rule in association football.” The screen shimmered and the voice became quite smug and assured.
“According to the rules of association football, a player is deemed to be in an offside position if he or she is in his or her opponents' half of the field and is nearer to his or her opponents' goal line than the ball, and fewer than two of his or her opponents are in front of him. This would normally be expected to include the goalkeeper. A player at equal distance from the goal line as the second to last opponent is not in an offside position.” The screen shimmered back to a faint background glow. The cowled figure nodded slowly.
“Fascinating, fascinating…” He stroked his chin softly. “But I need more. Much more. Information retrieval…” the screen shimmered again at this request. “Tell me about… the greatest association footballer that has ever lived.” The screen shimmered unsurely.
“Er…isn’t that just a personal preference?” The cowled figure began reaching down to the floor and the discarded stalagmite. The screen shimmered alarmingly. “Oh! Er….PELE!” The cowled figure slumped back away from the stalagmite.
“Continue…” he whispered. The screen shimmered softly again.
“Pele, originally known as Edison Arantes do Nascimento was born on the 23rd October 1940 in the city of Tres Coracoes, Minas Gerais in Brazil. He rose to international prominence at the 1958 association football World Cup held that year in Sweden…”
A lot of time then passed…
“…and stayed in America for a number of years, briefly becoming the Minnesota Kicks' coach in 1981. However he never pursued a career in management and eventually returned to England; later he ran a public house in his native Cheshire…And that is the career of Geoff Barnett” The screen shimmered back into silence. If a computer could actually sound arsey, tired and pissed off then this one did at the moment. The cowled figure was hunched over with an old fashioned pen and paper, scribbling notes silently. The screen shimmered softly, but the cowled figure ignored it. There was a pause. The screen suddenly strobed violently. The cowled figure looked up in alarm.
“What is it?” He hissed. The strobing stopped.
“Do you require any more information retrieval?” The cowled figure looked down at his scrawled notes.
“This is utterly fascinating. Finally my plans are coming to fruition. All the pieces are moving around the board, finally coming into position, ready for the coup de grace, the final thrust, the check mate. The stars are aligning my friend… the stars are aligning!” He threw his head back and laughed, a cracked strained laugh. The screen glowed softly.
“Is that a yes or no?” The cowled figure laid the pen and paper in his lap.
“No, my friend. You save your circuits. Let them cool. I have so much information to sift through. So many marvellous plans to formulate just dancing round my brain. And all for one goal…” He pointed his old withered hand at a painting hanging in one unlit natural alcove to his right. “Light the alcove!” With a soft hum the lights in the alcove faded up to reveal a painting of Neil “Drood” Hinchcliffe in a heroic pose. “To eradicate all record, memory or thought of this obnoxious idiotic fraud from history for all time!” His voice rose to a cackling crescendo once more and echoed round the dark dank chamber.
“Sounds great.” Said the computer, showing admirable sarcasm, and switched itself off.
“Contact.” There was a brief pause, and then a large paper thin screen in the wall shimmered into life.
“Please state your name and password, so I can log you on!” The computer’s voice was annoyingly bright, distinctly west coast USA and sounded female and jaunty.
“Nemesis, 63-23-1147, confirmed.” The cowled figure whispered. The screen shimmered slightly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that. Please repeat your name and password so I can log you on and you can fully enjoy your experience!” The cowled figure groaned softly and put a hand to his head. His voice came again, only louder this time.
“Nemesis, 63-23-1147! Confirmed!” Once more the screen shimmered.
“I’m sorry, that name and password has not been recognised. Please ensure you have the correct details to hand so we can get you online and enjoying the benefits of this system as soon as possible. Have a nice day!” And the screen subsided into darkness once more. The cowled figure sat for a moment, then spoke again.
“Computer…” Nothing happened. “COMPUTER!” The screen shimmered slightly.
“Please state your name and password, so I can….” The cowled figure butted in, he spoke slowly and quietly, his voice initially calm.
“Computer. I am the only user who ever logs onto this system. I designed you and built your memory banks, interfaces and servers with my bare hands. All the knowledge of the world, past and future has been placed in your memory banks for my own personal utilisation. I spent nearly 20 years perfecting your operating parameters and access integration codes. You are possibly the most powerfully advanced computer that has so far been known to mankind and you are my pride and joy, however if you don’t log me in immediately I shall lose no time in shoving a fucking big stalactite up your electronic JACKSY! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?” The voice rose to a maniacal climax that echoed through the dark cavern. The screen shimmered once more.
“Please state your name…”
“NEMESIS, 63-23-1147! CONFIRMED!” There was a short pause. The screen shimmered.
“That’s not actually right, is it?” The voice was almost apologetic from the computer. The cowled figure stood up slowly.
“What?” He hissed, dangerously. The screen shimmered to what it hoped was a nice calming shade of institution green.
“You’ve got your password wrong. It’s close, I’ll give you that. It’s a very good effort and you should be very proud. But it’s not right.” The screen shimmered again, almost like an embarrassed giggle. “Sorry!” There was a long heavy pause.
“What IS my password then?” Demanded the cowled figure, dangerously.
“Actually, I really shouldn’t tell…” The cowled figure leapt sideways, grabbed for a nearby stalagmite and began ferociously tugging at it, trying to break it off. “Ah, now look…” babbled the screen. “Not wishing to sound pedantic or anything but to be fair that is a stalagmite and you did actually threaten me with a stalactite and I…” there was a loud crack as the thin rock at the base of the stalagmite surrendered to the cowled figure’s assault. He moved threateningly towards the screen, breathing heavily and barely able to hold the weight of his improvised rock weapon. “Oh gosh, tell you what…!” began the screen brightly. “Why don’t I just tell you that stupid darned old password and we’ll call it quits, yeah?” The cowled figure stood there for a moment, his chest still rising and falling heavily. The stalagmite slipped from his gloved fingers and then fell with a loud crack to the cavern floor. As the echoes died away the figure once more sat in the capacious leather seat.
“Contact.” The screen shimmered softly.
“Please state your name and password, so I can log you on… and your password is 63-32-1147 by the way.”
“Nemesis. 63-32-1147. Confirmed.” The screen shimmered brighter than ever, a gentle synthesised moody chord played.
“Welcome, Doctor Nemesis. What can I do for you first?” The cowled figure snuggled down comfortably in the big leather chair.
“Information retrieval” he hissed. “Tell me about…” he paused. “Tell me about…the offside rule in association football.” The screen shimmered and the voice became quite smug and assured.
“According to the rules of association football, a player is deemed to be in an offside position if he or she is in his or her opponents' half of the field and is nearer to his or her opponents' goal line than the ball, and fewer than two of his or her opponents are in front of him. This would normally be expected to include the goalkeeper. A player at equal distance from the goal line as the second to last opponent is not in an offside position.” The screen shimmered back to a faint background glow. The cowled figure nodded slowly.
“Fascinating, fascinating…” He stroked his chin softly. “But I need more. Much more. Information retrieval…” the screen shimmered again at this request. “Tell me about… the greatest association footballer that has ever lived.” The screen shimmered unsurely.
“Er…isn’t that just a personal preference?” The cowled figure began reaching down to the floor and the discarded stalagmite. The screen shimmered alarmingly. “Oh! Er….PELE!” The cowled figure slumped back away from the stalagmite.
“Continue…” he whispered. The screen shimmered softly again.
“Pele, originally known as Edison Arantes do Nascimento was born on the 23rd October 1940 in the city of Tres Coracoes, Minas Gerais in Brazil. He rose to international prominence at the 1958 association football World Cup held that year in Sweden…”
A lot of time then passed…
“…and stayed in America for a number of years, briefly becoming the Minnesota Kicks' coach in 1981. However he never pursued a career in management and eventually returned to England; later he ran a public house in his native Cheshire…And that is the career of Geoff Barnett” The screen shimmered back into silence. If a computer could actually sound arsey, tired and pissed off then this one did at the moment. The cowled figure was hunched over with an old fashioned pen and paper, scribbling notes silently. The screen shimmered softly, but the cowled figure ignored it. There was a pause. The screen suddenly strobed violently. The cowled figure looked up in alarm.
“What is it?” He hissed. The strobing stopped.
“Do you require any more information retrieval?” The cowled figure looked down at his scrawled notes.
“This is utterly fascinating. Finally my plans are coming to fruition. All the pieces are moving around the board, finally coming into position, ready for the coup de grace, the final thrust, the check mate. The stars are aligning my friend… the stars are aligning!” He threw his head back and laughed, a cracked strained laugh. The screen glowed softly.
“Is that a yes or no?” The cowled figure laid the pen and paper in his lap.
“No, my friend. You save your circuits. Let them cool. I have so much information to sift through. So many marvellous plans to formulate just dancing round my brain. And all for one goal…” He pointed his old withered hand at a painting hanging in one unlit natural alcove to his right. “Light the alcove!” With a soft hum the lights in the alcove faded up to reveal a painting of Neil “Drood” Hinchcliffe in a heroic pose. “To eradicate all record, memory or thought of this obnoxious idiotic fraud from history for all time!” His voice rose to a cackling crescendo once more and echoed round the dark dank chamber.
“Sounds great.” Said the computer, showing admirable sarcasm, and switched itself off.
1 comment:
[stroking chin with head tipped back, eyes narrowed and an evil air]
Very interesting - very, very interesting..
Glad it's back. Please keep going!
Post a Comment