Chapters (58)
- Cover
- Also by Oliver Harris
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
‘Maybe an algorithm.’ Stefan was still staring at the screen.
‘What do you mean?’
‘These days they can create their own imagery. Places, faces, whatever.’
‘Whole scenarios?’
‘Sure. If an algorithm can predict a scenario it can create an image of it easily enough. Deep learning’s a step away from deep dreaming, where computers become imaginative, start generating their own content.’
‘They could produce scenarios then produce imagery to fit them?’
‘Why not? There could be a thousand videos of you being produced every hour, a thousand parallel universes.’ After another moment, he said: ‘The fire’s good.’ He tapped a knuckle against the image of self-immolation.
‘You don’t think it’s real?’
‘No. But I think someone’s got their effects working nicely.’
We watched the burning woman again, then the grieving brother.
‘Has Aliya posted fake videos before?’ I asked.
‘I haven’t checked. And it’s not as if it’s easy to tell. The US defence department has tried to develop tools for detecting computer-generated material, but no silver bullet yet.’
‘Any more information about her?’
‘We located her personal social media,’ Stefan said. ‘The name behind the more glamorous persona is Aliya Savinova, a postgrad student at Nazarbayev University. Syntax gets a ninety-seven per cent match; so does vocabulary, even typos.’
‘Address?’
‘There’s no address online but we got her IP and wi-fi connection history. Every morning her laptop connects to home broadband. Records suggest there are four people living at that address: one is Ms Savinova.’
I took a look at Savinova’s personal social media. Pre-2017 she’d been a lifestyle blogger: recipes, fashion, music, also cultural happenings. She posted poetry, talked about her short stories as well. The poetry was good, covering urban ennui, romantic longing, thinly disguised erotic musings.
She liked modernism, eye shadow, drinking alone. I wondered if she liked starting wars.
‘Think her account’s been hijacked?’ Stefan asked.
‘I don’t know. Think she’s definitely real?’
‘According to her Facebook page, she just checked in to a gallery opening two miles away. So I guess you’ve got one way of finding out.’
THIRTY-TWO
I drove to the gallery, a new glass box beside the river, sponsored by Credit Bank of Moscow and Emporio Armani. It was already crowded when I got there, with high security for a wealthy turnout. I tried to see the guest list, began to blag my way in, then the voice of Craig Bryant reached me from the throng.
‘He’s with me.’
Bryant drifted into view with a woman in heavy make-up and heels that raised her a couple of inches above him. He ushered me in.
‘I told you it was a small town at heart.’
‘Small town with big money.’