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  “That was just a little bit too close,” she whispered. Her public relations smile took no vacation because she was acutely aware that neither would the myriad lenses currently pointing in her direction.

  Jack turned and patted the mainframe affectionately. “She did exactly what I needed her to do.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Saved me three million.” He winked.

  MaryBeth rolled her eyes, knowing that the two million promised to Sorkasnov if he lost, as opposed to the five he would have collected had he won, was probably the furthest thing from Jack’s mind right now. She knew that nobody had gained more sadistic pleasure from watching the Czech’s impetuous exit than he. He would actually enjoy adding his name to the cheque. With the markets that Quotient had opened, even the full five million would have seemed like little more than pocket change.

  “So where do we go from here, Mr. Bernstein?”

  Jack caught another glimpse of the future and offered it a knowing smile.

  “Anywhere we like,” he said quietly. “Anywhere we like.”

  where is thy sting?

  1 Corinthians 15:55

  Outside the Equitable Building, New York City in January was desperately cold. With night falling, the wind-chill was now averaging a little over minus-four, but its bite did nothing to deter the three thousand or so eager spectators who had gathered in Central Park to see the free broadcast. Huddled in disparate groups, their brightly coloured coats and ski jackets formed a shivering kaleidoscope of colour against the pastel green of frosted grass. There was no snow in the Park, but it was early days. The clouds were gathering and even the optimists among the crowd preached that there was one hell of a storm coming.

  Though the tournament was at an end, there were still many impatient eyes transfixed on the screen, watching the press conference which followed with an already heightened degree of interest and anticipation. All were focused on one man; Jack Bernstein, Chairman and C.E.O. of the company that could now wield the addendum: ‘…that beat Sorkasnov’.

  Jack knew damn well that they were watching. More than that, he knew each and every one was expecting. He knew because many months ago, when the tournament had first been announced, he had made them all a solemn promise. If and when IntelliSoft Quotient won the match - as he always believed she would - then he would be making an additional announcement at the conference which followed. An announcement which, he claimed, would ‘give every child on earth free and unequivocal access to the power of the most advanced computer system the world has ever seen’.

  To the thumping drums and synchronised claps of Queen’s ‘We Will Rock You’, he emerged from the wings of the Equitable’s impressive conference centre, his smile slowly pushing the rhythmic clapping into high octane applause. With practised professionalism, the kind systematically purchased from those who had advised the climbers and the fallers; the would-be presidents and the one-time heroes, he carefully trapped as many eyes as he could and mouthed ‘thankyou’ as he covered every corner of the stage. At the instant the music pounded to a halt he took to the podium and opened his arms, a plain yellow curtain behind ensuring that he would look nothing short of corporate when framed in the first editions. After three unsuccessful attempts, the applause subsided sufficiently to allow him to address the audience.

  His audience.

  In the numerous column inches the press consistently afforded him, Jack Bernstein had always been described with the catch-all title of ‘non-conformist’; an adoptive role he played to the full. Whilst it had stemmed from just one off-the-cuff comment, Jack had subsequently built on it as though it was the base code for the rest of his corporate life. In his first ever radio interview he had been asked by the late-night shock-jock; ‘Do you really think that IntelliSoft can piss with the big boys?’ With only the briefest pause, Jack had replied; ‘No. At IntelliSoft we conceded a long time ago that we would never, ever piss with the big boys...’ Then, after a further pause, timed to perfection, he added; ‘...we will only ever piss on them.’

  From the moment he had read the morning headlines, Jack had gone all out to break the rules.

  It was true, he mused; even bad publicity was good publicity.

  Tonight he was clothed in trademark dark suit, dark shirt and dark tie, his face holding all the chiselled trademarks of his Jewish ancestry, softened at the edges by the global displacement of his forefathers. His shoulder-length hair fell in gentle curls across his broad shoulders and a freshly added follicle-perfect goatee formed a mahogany frame around his broad smile. At an earlier IntelliSoft conference, Jack’s animated appearance had been described by one attendee journalist as ‘closer to that of a stadium preacher delivering a revelation than a Chief Executive launching a product’. Today more than any other, Jack felt that the author’s description might hold an air of truth. Today Jack Bernstein was indeed preparing to deliver a revelation. He was not just going to preach the future, he was going to write it. And he would do it across the icing of the IntelliSoft celebratory cake.

  Another timed pause and Jack pulled the jacket and pop-button shirt wide open, the clip-tie falling to the floor to reveal a bright yellow T-shirt concealed underneath. The slogan on the front, in stark black letters, read simply:

  ‘WE WON!’

  When audience appreciation fell below threshold for a second time, the shirt and jacket were removed altogether and he turned to reveal the back:

  ‘BECAUSE WE HAVE A MUCH BIGGER I.Q.!’

  The crowd erupted; Jack carefully counting away the suggested number of seconds; his back still turned. In business as in chess - his advisors had informed him - timing of an assault was paramount.

  “Thankyou very much,” he offered eventually, turning face front with a mischievous smile. “Soon my beautiful Relations Director and the team responsible for tonight’s astounding victory will answer any questions you may have regarding the I.Q. system. But first, as promised, I would like to announce something very special to you. It is a new project for us, and one that I believe is very, very exciting indeed.”

  Save for the sounds of expectant shuffling, the auditorium now echoed to nothing but silence.

  “As you know,” Jack continued, his voice booming through the P.A., “I firmly believe that I.Q. represents a new dawn in intelligent computing but, for obvious reasons, such high technology must come with an equally high price tag. A price that larger businesses can afford - and I hope they will - but one that the smaller ones undoubtedly cannot. As is so often the case, the home user is removed almost completely from the equation. That, ladies and gentlemen, is not how we at IntelliSoft ever saw our - or indeed your - future developing. And we aim to do something about it. We believe that the future is dependent upon everyone having access to the most powerful system available so that everyone may realise their inner potential.”

  As he spoke, Jack glanced intermittently at notes he had brought to the podium. At the base of the first sheet, MaryBeth had added in lipstick-red script; ‘Sell it, baby. Sell it real good.’ Glancing to the wings, they shared a knowing smile.

  “As we saw in an earlier demonstration, I.Q.’s arrays are connected by a new high speed ‘fibrop’ data access system which we call ‘FireNet‘. This system offers a one-point-three million byte-per-second connection speed and one hundred percent reliability. And what do we want to do with it, you ask? Well, we want to make it available globally. To everyone. In order to do this, I got to wondering how we might be able to put that power to some communal and beneficial use. After deliberation, we have decided to announce something we are very proud of indeed... An interactive FireNet network spanning the entire globe and connecting its entire population to one very special I.Q. mainframe indeed. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you.... FireWorX.”

  The yellow curtain which had swayed so gently, timed to the air conditioning units blowing overhead, now came crashing to the floor, its sudden disappearance revealing a map of the globe intermittently di
ssected by a spider’s web of graphic intersections. Across the top sat a carefully designed yellow and blue logotype in which the ‘X’ had been warped into an explosion of technology. Cameras flashed and pulsed from every direction, catching the first moment that this heavily rumoured project was even given a name.

  “Upon its launch, FireWorX is to be a completely free educational, information and forum service for children under the age of sixteen. A world first. In specially designed NetCenters, we are currently installing two hundred direct-access hot-linked terminals in each of one hundred and forty eight cities worldwide. We will undoubtedly expand the number of terminals and locations as time progresses, but we still believe that this is a pretty healthy start. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, do the math because you have heard correctly. Twenty. Nine. Thousand. Six. Hundred. Located in one hundred and forty eight cities; all supplying a worldwide service for the future of the world; our children. Including, I might add, almost all the countries which we have, historically, had the sheer audacity to label ‘Third World’.” He shook his head disparagingly. “Not for much longer. And yes... this system is not only free, but also catch free. No telephone lines, no call charges, no individual investment in computer hardware and no hidden agenda. Rich or poor, our system belongs to all.”

  A rapid descent. Initial surprise gave way to deep thought and deep thought, in turn, yielded a level of scepticism that Jack had always suspected would follow. Computer giants like IntelliSoft did not give anything away for free; there was always a hidden agenda. What the press did not yet know was what form that agenda was taking. The room remained silent whilst those assembled did the best they could to fathom it out.

  Jack, slow and studious as Sorkasnov had been, timed his pause and then offered his next move. “Via an interactive and user-friendly virtual interface every terminal will link, through a central processor, to one I.Q. mainframe installed at our headquarters in Glendale. This mainframe, to put it quite bluntly, will contain the sum total of man’s knowledge to date on an immense four thousand terrabyte array system. That knowledge, however, will be divided into just four primary areas, taking the form of different environments that our children can visit.”

  The screen behind altered, displaying the relevant imagery as he spoke. “There will be, for example, ‘ClockWorX Ocean’, an exciting journey through the historic, geographic and social aspects of our home planet; PlaNetWorX Mountains; a surreal Martian-style landscape where they can uncover knowledge of our wider universe; ArtWorX Lake, which will contain a comprehensive art and literature database and, if you’ll excuse the pun I.T.WorX, or ‘It-Works’ River where they can undergo accelerated learning within the fields of science and technology. Each of these environments will be accessible from one central area, which we have cunningly titled; HomeWorX. All information can be printed on-site or downloaded in Adobe’s PDF format for home study and all learning and searching will be controlled by the most intelligent computing system this world has ever seen; IntelliSoft Quotient v.3.5.”

  “Only I.Q.’s development has allowed such a high level of real-time detail, knowledge and sheer graphical beauty,” he boasted with a confident smile. “We really are going to change the world. In every city we install terminals we will be creating the best library in town. More importantly, in some we will undoubtedly be creating the only library in town.” He paused for a moment, as though thinking to himself. “What we also aim to do is remove the isolation that surrounds current systems. For a small fee to cover a new operating system, users will still be able to access our database from their home machines if they wish but, to get the benefits of real-time access, they will simply visit a centre. Free. Others will also visit these centres. Other kids. People they can meet and talk to; strike up friendships with. Remember? Just like it used to be.”

  He carefully eyed the audience reaction, his PR smile refusing to falter, though he could already feel the twinge as internet providers and communications giants alike drew their laser-sharpened knives. Jack no longer cared; he knew full well that FireWorX was the one and only shot he had at his systems becoming even close to industry standard. The subliminal learning devices within the system would ensure that by the time many children left school a large number would, without even realising it, be totally IntelliSoft-literate. They would understand their operating structure better than any other and would ultimately feel most comfortable with them. In the end, many years down the fibre-optic line, it was even possible that an emergent workforce would demand them.

  Making the system free and initially placing it within the sector of ‘children’s education’ also made it extremely difficult for any of IntelliSoft’s most bitter rivals to complain. The initial outlay would indeed be an immense drain on company resources but, drawing lessons from I.Q. itself, Jack was aware that the pitifully inadequate and slow internet system was still dominating and a long term strategy was what would be needed if he was to win the game.

  “We have scheduled our launch date for the fifteenth of March,” he continued, “and we expect it to be an event of epic proportions. Over the past few months we have been running numerous competitions in each of the countries involved. The prize had been kept a closely guarded secret, but I can now reveal that on that day, each of the successful children will be travelling to their respective capital city. Then, at 8am Pacific time, they will race against each other in-system to solve a variety of puzzles that will ultimately build the bridge-links between HomeWorX Valley with the other four areas. The first to succeed will effectively activate the entire system, as well as setting off a series of pyrotechnics displays and a global party to herald our official launch.

  “The overall prize for the first child to initiate the launch, in case you’re wondering, will be a trip to our Glendale Headquarters, their own FireNet-linked home terminal and unlimited free access for life. In short, a prize with a value estimated at over forty-three thousand U.S. dollars.”

  He stepped out from behind the podium and raised a finger defiantly into the air. “This, ladies and gentlemen, is learning for the masses. It is computers giving something back and it is IntelliSoft acknowledging the support it is always so very proud to receive.” He looked imploringly across the crowd. “I hope you in turn will give it your support.”

  Subdued muttering, just as he had expected. Even those who were silent were probably holding detailed conversations within the inquisitive depths of their own minds. “Now then,” he continued, “It would not surprise me in the least if one or two of you had some questions?”

  As the Q&A session began, MaryBeth pretended to scratch her nose and smiled gently behind the red of expensively coutured nails. Sometimes she wondered why Jack needed her to oversee IntelliSoft’s ongoing P.R. He was already his own one-man bullshit machine. IntelliSoft might never be number one, but in five to eight years time, they would probably hold a greatly-enlarged share of whatever markets were still kicking around. Yet somehow Jack Bernstein had crafted it to sound like a charitable act.

  As he confidently answered a question on why, in these internet-driven times, the world’s children might actually need such a system, MaryBeth’s eye was drawn to the wings where one of the security team had seemingly entered into heated discussions with what she took to be an unauthorised visitor. The man, looking desperately out-of-place in the backstage area, seemed to be demanding something that the guard was equally reluctant to relinquish and arms were being waved on both sides. MaryBeth instantly realised that a little of her trademark diplomacy might not go amiss before the discussion escalated into something with a somewhat sharper edge. She rose and quietly slipped off stage to her left, the man eyeing her suspiciously as she approached.

  “Hi... I’m MaryBeth...,” she offered with a broad yet forced smile, “IntelliSoft Relations. Can I help you?”

  She looked the man up and down. African-American, stocky in build and in his mid-fifties he wore a dark brown ill-fitting suit and a beige trench-coat that migh
t once (but probably hadn’t) have seen better days. Initially she thought he might have been a journalist, but then she had noticed his eyes. Though alert, they were baggy and tired like his jowls, those of a much wearier foot soldier. His expression remained stony-cold as he glanced suspiciously from left to right. She also noticed a very subtle but discernible bulge under his left arm.

  Even before he started to reach for his wallet, all the signs told MaryBeth that this man was right handed, that the bulge was probably a standard-issue Gloch and that he was classic FBI. Old school; possibly even one of the earlier black recruits. It had probably been a prestigious job for him back then, but now? She wondered. The FBI of today was no different to IntelliSoft. It was fuelled by computers and driven by trained whizzkids who were passionate about using them. This man was left to walk, world-weary and biding his time in a constantly plodding descent through a mire of shitty tasks that would ultimately never reach the conclusion he craved. Not until the day his meagre pension finally came due.

  “Special Agent Frank Warner, Ma’am, F.B.I.,” he said, drawn and matter-of-fact. MaryBeth could see that he gained nothing from the words any more, and she wondered just how many years of being passed over for promotion it had taken before the spark had fizzled. “I need to speak with Mr. Bernstein. Immediately.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Agent Warner,” she said with a carefully-warmed smile. “As you can see Mr. Bernstein is in the middle of a very important press conference. Might I ask what this is regarding?”

  The man looked disinterestedly across the stage to Jack, then back again. “Sorry, Ma’am, but it’s a highly personal matter.”

  “Well, I am a very close friend and colleague of Mr. Bernstein,” MaryBeth offered, deliberately leaving the sentence open-ended.

  “I’m sure you are,” he said lamely, his eyes too tired to show any interest in inconsequential details such as whether or not that meant that Bernstein was sleeping with her, “but I’ll wait.”