posted 07-01-99 04:16 PM ET        

(UK citizens only. Website is www.bbc.co.uk/tw)

First chapter:

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Osman thought the classroom was incredibly old-fashioned. When the teacher told you to get to work you were actually supposed to open up the top of the desk you were sitting at and look at this embedded screen thing.

First of all this was a kids desk, and a pretty geeky one at that, made of metal and laminate with a integral hinged plant to sit on, not an adult-type desk like the ones his father sat behind, polished to a hardwood gleam, loaded with gizmos and big enough to play table tennis on.

Secondly the plasma screen set in to a desk lid might have seemed really high tech a decade ago, when people still thought monochrome 3-d displays were cutting edge, but now days they didn't cut anything but slack.

And thirdly there was the teacher. Duster Higgins. Very old, very English. Supposedly very clever but certainly very near to retirement and with a reputation for abrupt irascibility. One of the old school. When Osman and his bodyguards had first been introduced to him he'd glared at the two hulky impassive security men and muttered something Osman hadn't caught. Now, however he was barking at the class to begin. Osman went to open his desk lid. Then it happened. . .

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(This is my entry. Bashed it out in about two hours. Not exactly polished, but I thought it was good-ish. It's original, at least)

A bright flash of light emanated from the plasma screen, stunning him for a few seconds. He felt rough hands grapple at something on his waist, and muffled shouting.

Osman blinked rapidly, trying to focus at Duster. �What the he�� he mumbled, biting back the profanity. �What�s going on?� he repeated, shakily. All his classmates had been hustled out of the room, into the closet where there was banging on the door. He looked at his plasma screen, which had gone blank.

Duster smiled. Probably the only time he�s done that in his life, thought Osman sourly.

�What�s going on?� mimicked Duster. �What�s going on, is that you are currently a hostage of the Establishment. As are the rest of your class.�

Osman glanced to one side, at his bodyguards. They didn�t seem to react to any of this, and one held a small black device in his hand. His Unit! He opened his mouth, beginning to speak, when he was cut off by Duster.

�Don�t ask. You�re going to ask who the Establishment are, aren�t you?�

�Actually, no,� said Osman pleasantly. �I was going to tell you that the police will be arriving here in less than five minutes, thanks to my Unit being disconnected like that. It sends out an automatic alert, you know.�

His Unit was, like everything else he owned, about a decade more advanced than the rest of the classroom. Truly cutting-edge technology, it was originally descended from the clunky old Personal Digital Assistants they had back in 20th. They fulfilled practically every task possible; entertainment, storage, voice-dictation, and of course communication. Osman�s being one of the more expensive and newer Units, it was connected to the Net continuously and loaded up with Personal Protection Software � at a swift double tap, or a shout, it would send out a warning to the nearest police station. Disconnection from its waist-strap by a �foreign� set of fingerprints also qualified.

�You�re a bright lad, Osman. You take after your father. Bright, and ultimately foolish.� Duster strode up to his desk quickly. �What do you think that bright flash was, Osman? Fireworks? The lights? Or maybe�� He paused for dramatic effect, clearly enjoying himself. First time he�s done that, as well, thought Osman. Duster continued, �Maybe an EMP emitter.�

Osman paled quickly. �Electromagnetic Pulse emitter?�

�Right. So that Unit of yours is pretty much dead by now. And don�t go on with that automatic warning nonsense, we intercepted your Unit�s communication channel and are broadcasting a fake signal.�

�Who�s �we�, Duster,� demanded Osman. What the hell was all of this about?

�The Establishment? Oh, I was getting to that. Tell me, Osman, what does your father do?�

Osman shifted about uncomfortably in his chair. He didn�t like talking about what his father did, probably because his father didn�t tell him. He knew three things: it was secret, it paid well, and it had something to do with computers. Which wasn�t exactly very useful, since that could mean anything.

�You don�t know? Let me enlighten you. Your father is working on Artificial Intelligence. By that, I don�t mean these silly little programs that learn traffic patterns, or simulated mice. I mean fully fledged, self-aware personality simulacrum �individuals.��

Simulated mice? What was Duster talking about? Osman mulled it over, and then gave the mental equivalent of a finger-click. That was it! There�d been something on the news a while ago, about a bunch of researchers who�d managed to create a neural-net that was, essentially, the brain of a mouse. He hadn�t thought much of it at the time. After all, who gives anything about an electronic mouse? But a conscious artificial person? Osman stared ahead, contemplating the possibilities. He shook his head. It�d be pretty weird, to say the least.

�As you may or may not guess, not many people are happy about this. A lot of individuals stand to lose their jobs and livelihoods over this. Including us poor teachers. And of course, the whole thing is completely sacrilegious. How does homo sapiens have the right to create new life? The sheer hubris of it! We can�t even keep our environment in order, or feed the poor, but we think we can create life? Ridiculous. So our friends in the Vatican, and the Muslims, and Islams, and Jews, and Buddhists - well, pretty much every religious organisation � decided to get together and stop this travesty. I never imagined that it�d be something like this which would unite the different faiths. I never imagined that God had chosen me to carry out such important work for him. The world is a funny place, isn�t it Osman?� Duster smiled crookedly.

The man was crazy. Osman was convinced of this fact, if nothing else. Duster evidently had a lot of backing. Whether or not what he just said was true, EMP emitters costed a hell of a lot of money, and obviously he�d bribed his bodyguards. Osman knew there wasn�t much chance of him escaping, but maybe he could learn a few things.

�So what are you going to do, then? And how can my father do anything about it, he can�t be the only person working on it,� asked Osman.

Duster sighed extravagantly. �There may be hundreds of people working on the project, but your father is in charge.� Way to go, dad, thought Osman. �He has the access to the research, and given enough persuasion, he could destroy it,� finished Duster.

�That�s what I�m here for? To persuade my dad to stop the research?�

�Yes. If he doesn�t, we�ll kill you, and your classmates. And if everything is going as well as it is here, a few thousand others. People have to understand that artificial intelligence has gone too far. We aren�t meant to make new creatures!� said Duster, his voice raising to a hoarse shout.

Clearly pathological, decided Osman. Then again, so are most of the human race, he thought wryly. Maybe even me. All of this was a non-issue though. Osman kept pretty up-to-date on computing news, and he knew that there was no chance that artificial personalities could be created any time soon.

�Well, it�s about time for you to do your job,� said Duster, consulting his watch. �You�re to email your father, telling him what has happened here, and that some of our representatives will be arriving at his offices in ten minutes to check whether he�s done his job.�

The plasma screen on his desk flickered back to life, startling him. Osman began to type slowly.

�Hi Dad,� was as far as he got. A voice spoke up from behind him.

�Hello, Chris,� said one of the bodyguards, calling him by his first name.

�What are you doing? You aren�t supposed to say anything!� shouted Duster.

Osman�s whipped around to look at the bodyguard, who winked at him.

�Yes I am. Time�s up.� The bodyguard fired a small dart at Duster, who crashed down to the floor. The other bodyguard began to move Duster�s body into a corner.

�Who the hell are you? I thought you were on his side,� protested Osman.

�Don�t you recognise me, Chris? By the way, I�m sorry I didn�t tell you where I worked. Spy stuff, you know. Top secret.�

That�s what dad used to say to me, whenever I asked him what he did, realised Osman numbly.

�Dad?�

�That�s right. Look, we�d better get out of here, Chris. Some of Duster�s friends are on their way.�

�But how can you be �� asked Osman, bewildered.

�These bodies are growth-accelerated clones which were been genetically engineered so that they wouldn�t develop �personalities�. Don�t ask how, it�s very technical. With our work in artificial intelligence, I managed to upload my memories into them and tie in a specific artificial intelligence. Namely, one that simulated my personality.�

The other bodyguard carried on, in exactly the same voice as the other. To think that he�d always thought they were twins! �We � I mean the people at the Project - knew that the Establishment were going to pull something like this, but we needed to know more about them. So we allowed your bodyguards � us � to get bribed. What do you think, Chris?�

Osman sat down, his head spinning. These two bodyguards were both his father? Genetically engineered clones? It wasn�t possible!

�I can�t believe it � can�t believe it. You can�t be my dad,� whispered Osman to two sets of identical eyes, staring at him compassionately. �Neither of you can be. My dad�s back at work, not here. This can�t be happening.�

Osman stood up, and started backing away unsteadily. He hit a table, and his hand curled around an object lying on it.

�Chris, calm down. You�ve had a traumatic time, we know, but you have to come with us now,� said the bodyguards in unison.

�No, I can�t. It�s not right. You�re not right! You�re just, just constructs! Machines!� cried Osman, raising the dartgun.