neural.coder 0x06
Part 6 — Life's a lottery
Missed the beginning, see the first chapter.
Geoff had to escape the flat, get away for a while. A lengthy therapeutic run did actually sound like the perfect remedy. He hated to admit that Andy was right. There was something about the disconnect between body and brain that he found allowed his mind to wander and dream up new ideas, make fresh connections.
He threw on some running things and jogged down to the front door, saying goodbye to Andy on the way.
***
Geoff’s thoughts as he ran were inexorably drawn to the dome-phone. He was still mystified as to how the code had been written and was wondering if he should really bin it as Andy had suggested? There could be so much more to discover. What if it really was allowing him to code in his sleep. The code he’d written—if it as him—was good code. Great code even. His unconscious mind was obviously a much better programmer when freed from his self doubt.
He jogged on, wrapped up in his thoughts. Running on auto-pilot, he began a circuit of the old Olympic Park.
Perhaps he should write a blog post about the dome-phone, or dream-catcher as he preferred to call it. It needed a better name. He pondered this as he ran and settled on ‘Dreamreader’. He could still use that code couldn’t he? It wasn’t messing with money like the text messages had warned about. Maybe he could write it up and release the videos, the less weird ones at least. He might make some money out of views even, or connect with someone who’d experienced anything similar.
He jogged on; oblivious to his surroundings. He’d covered a good half of the park, but couldn’t recall a single step.
He wondered what would happen if he dug out some of his other old projects, could he improve those in his sleep too? Had the Dreamreader turned him into a super-coder? Which could make the most money, honestly this time, if he could finish it in a few nights sleep? He really needed some money, he was sick of being penniless, and destitute.
***
He jogged on, exiting the park and descending to the peaceful and surreal otherworld of the canal tow path. Not much further to go now before he’d complete the circular route back to the flat.
Shut off from the sounds of traffic and the bustle of the park, the canal towpath was like another world, a peaceful, tranquil, other-London. A few ducks bow-waved across the water’s surface and the air was sharp with the smell of coal-smoke whisping from the chimney of a passing barge. He couldn’t believe there were people that still burned coal, but life on the canal often looked like it was trapped in a time capsule. He enjoyed the change in scenery, picked up his pace a little and the time flew by in his exercise induced state of flow.
His tranquil peace was broken by a deathly quiet. It lay upon him with an oppressive weight, and he slowed to a walk. He rounded a corner and passed under the cover of a concrete road bridge that flew over the canal. The dark shade brought a sudden chill to his bare legs. Just under the dark overhang someone was lying slumped among a variety of blankets and sheets of crumpled cardboard.
There was something about the way the they lay that didn’t look like sleep. He approached carefully and peered around the fallen figure, spying a young man's pale face, sunken eyes closed, mouth slightly open.
“Hey. Are you okay?” Geoff asked?
There was no reply.
Geoff crouched down beside him and gently shook his shoulder, “You alright?”
Nothing. His head rolled a little to one side, settling against the stained carboard that served as his matress.
Shit! Is he dead?
Geoff stood up sharply and backed away, looking up and down the towpath.
“Fuck!” He grabbed his phone out of the case strapped to his upper arm and dialled Andy’s number. The phone just flashed an error at him.
> NO SIM CARD
He cursed, remembering how he’d earlier dumped his sim in a discarded pint of beer. Looking around, the towpath was deserted, not a dog walker, canal barge, or fisherman in sight. He reluctantly returned his attention to the body. He nudged the mans limp arm with the edge of his foot, it moved limply, like discarded wet laundry. Lifeless.
Geoff knelt down and touched the mans face with the back of his hand. It was cold. He’d obviously been dead for a while. It was the middle of summer, he can’t have frozen to death. His skin was hanging off his stick thin frame.
Could he have starved to death? Did people really die of poverty in 21st century London? Kneeling there, examining the strangely inhuman feeling corpse, Geoff felt a wave of foreboding flooding up neck and over his scalp. Dizzy, he struggled to stand, overcome with the desire to escape. To escape the thoughs of his own mortality. To escape this concrete open grave with it’s waterside view.
He turned away, exhaled deeply and shook his head in an attempt to erase the last two minutes of existance. Should he call the police? Would he be blamed? Can they be trusted?
Screw it, someone else could deal with it.
He jogged on.
***
Out of breath after sprinting up the towpath ramp up to street level, Geoff slowed his pace to cool down his muscles. He couldn’t get the image of the dead man out of his mind. He needed a distraction.
Passing the local corner shop its chilled fridge full of brain freezing icy drinks drew him inside.
He grabbed some still water and queued up to pay, the beeping of the National Lottery machine sat on the counter reminded him he’d not entered today’s lottery. He whipped his phone out and opened up the lottery app. His maths were good enough to know deep down the ridiculously small chances of winning, but he’d always played the lottery since before he could remember, and he just knew the day he stopped would be the day his regular numbers came up—knowing his luck.
The lottery app flashed at him.
NO CONNECTION
He shook his head and rolled his eyes at himself. Stupid. No sim card of course! He swiped the app closed and went to put his phone in his pocket. As his phone returned to the home screen an icon caught his eye. Next to the balance app was an app called NUMBERS. In the excitement about the bank balance he’d forgotten there were other apps. He tapped the icon.
A white screen zoomed open. It showed two rows of three boxes and a button simply labelled ‘IT COULD BE YOU’. He stared at it, intrigued. He closed the app and opened it, the boxes still sat there waiting. Could this be something to do with the lottery? Geoff paused a moment, considering the warnings texts he’d received about messing with financials, well surely this didn’t count? If the boxes filled with a lottery prediction then that would be untraceable. Pushing aside how on earth this mystery app even ended up on his phone he calmly pressed the ‘IT COULD BE YOU’ button, images of the dead man fading from his thoughts. A progress icon span in circles for a moment before spitting back angry red text that said.
ERROR - PLEASE ENTER YOUR NUMBERS
I guess it’s not a prediction then. He tapped the first box and entered the first of his usual numbers, four. Let’s see what this will do then? He followed up with the rest of his numbers until the boxes were all filled.
4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42
He pressed the button again. The spinning icon returned, accompanied moments later by a line of text.
TWEAKING - PLEASE WAIT
He waited. What on earth was ‘tweaking’?
TWEAKING COMPLETE
The app then closed it self, returned to the home screen and the NUMBERS icon blinked out of existence. It appeared to have deleted itself.
“You alright there? Going to pay for that drink?”
Geoff looked up from his phone, he’d forgotten he’d been queuing, and now he was sfirst in line, the corner shop owner waiting expectantly for him.
“Sorry, I was away with the fairies. Can I have my usual numbers please Silta?”
“You’ve not bought a ticket from me for ages,” she said, “it’s all about the phones nowadays. I’ve no idea what your numbers are!”
“Oh…yes sorry. Err… 4, 8, 15, 16, 23 and…”
“Forty two?”
“Yeh, you do remember!”
“Well that one's easy to remember. A bit like the fact that you need to fill out a slip of paper young man.”
“Sorry, yes of course.” Geoff grabbed a ticket and a stub of pencil and filled in the form, handing it over when done, “There you go.”
She took the ticket and inserted it into the machine, “Five pounds please.”
Geoff handed over a five pound coin.
“Good luck,” Silta said, “It could be you!”
“Not likely!” Geoff laughed at the old exchange, “I won’t forget you if I win.”
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