Fear the Survivors (26 page)

Yes.

He looked at himself. He nodded to the version of himself that spoke this language, and then he saw that other part of himself talking to someone else.

“Yes,” it told them. He wanted to see who
he
was talking to, and instantly he was sitting in his office again. Birgit was in front of him. She looked unhappy. His head swam as his world refocused, and he reclaimed his own senses, a spring of bile begging to rise at the sudden shift in perspective.

“What did you do?” Birgit said to him, angry and concerned all at once.

“I … errr …” a laugh escaped his lips as realization came, “I was talking to the machine.”

He was stunned. She thought she understood; he had connected with the machine, he had conversed with it. But she didn’t understand, and as she fussed over him, he gripped her shoulders and she stopped, looking into his eyes, stunned, perhaps a little afraid.

“I did it, Birgit. Not just connection, I was
in
the machine. I was over in the fortress, I was in the climber as they prepped it. I was in it as it lifted off. I was in the corridor cameras, the front door security system. The air conditioners.” He laughed again as she started to grasp what he was saying, seeing past his mania to the simple joy that was fueling it.

“Birgit,” he said, at last, “I looked out from the camera on some technician’s laptop as it faced the climber and then at will I leapt into it through the network, finding those systems I had designed and … the fog … the walls … I’ll never call them
fire
walls again …” he laughed again, “…
Ice
walls, the walls fell as my mind worked into those systems I had access to, either because they were not well protected or because I had worked on them and knew the passwords.”

His intuitive mind had interpreted the system security as haze, some of which he could pass through, some more impenetrable. Simple systems had opened to his highly computer literate mind with ease, more secure ones ha
d been more difficult, but the fog had been clearest on those systems he had designed himself. As the artistic side of his brain had encountered visual blocks, his logical left-brain had been hacking as only it knew how, talking with those systems it knew best and clearing the way.

He had been one with the machine. At the end, Birgit had been speaking with his logical left-brain, and he had been forced to use it to understand and reply to her. That was a little disturbing. Without that conversation, he wouldn’t have even known he was under; heck, he hadn’t even truly realized he wasn’t in his body, not truly. His right brain just made the leap. He needed an anchor, clearly. He would have to work on that.

And as he thought this thought, the computer to his side flickered to life, and code started flashing across the screen. He looked at it and Birgit followed his stare.

“What is it doing?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern as she fretted over the link.

Amadeu was confused at first, then he realized, “Not ‘it.’
Me
,” he said, “I am studying the program, my right brain is working
with
my left brain to interpret the code driving the interface, and telling it what it needs. It needs my left brain to translate for it, I can feel them talking.” He laughed again, amazed at the sensation, the code slowing as his attention veered toward the conversation he was having with Birgit.

Usually the left-brain is the core of what we feel we
are
. He could see it much more clearly now. When people refer to their conscious and subconscious minds, they really mean their left and right brains. The vast majority of people have trouble listening to their intuitive right brains, women are inherently better at it than men, thus women’s intuition.

Occasionally some people think more with their right brains than with their left. They are often our greatest artists. They are also often considered insane. But the biggest difference is with age. We forget how to listen to our right brains with time. We imprison them with logic and prejudice until our greatest source of creativity and brilliance is locked behind a wall of assumption and primitive common sense, and then it is heard only as an echo.

He paused, gathering his thoughts, literally.

“Not
it,
” he said once more, quietly, “me …” and he focused on the screen, taking notice of what his subconscious was doing. The scrolling text slowed perceptibly once more as his mind was forced to wait for him to consciously decide what to do next, but still the screen flashed faster than Birgit could comprehend.

“Stop, Amadeu.
Stop
this,” said Birgit, dazed. “We need to make sure you are coping with this. That your mind can handle everything that is happening.”

“My vitals are fine,” Amadeu said, his heart rate appearing on the screen the next moment. A diagnosis program they had used on the volunteer soldier sprang to life as if by magic, and began analyzing the host of biometric information available through the link. Still the window with the code flashed in the background, Amadeu not even looking at it now, as he flicked between screens on the medical program to show Birgit his vitals were steady. His brain function was unusually high, and patterned unusually concentrically across lobes, but it was not alarming by any measure.

But Amadeu saw genuine fear in Birgit’s face, and genuine concern for his safety. Realizing he was making his colleague and friend uncomfortable, Amadeu stopped himself deliberately. The screen went blank. As a demonstration of his continued volition, he initiated an end to the link, and reached around behind his neck to catch the cable as it parted from the gel socket that was now a flat grey feature of the back of his neck.

It felt strange to end it. He resisted the urge to cliché and did not compare it to a lost limb or a diminished sense, but he could not deny the profound sense of loss that severing the connection brought. Maybe it was worse the first time, he thought, when the sensation was still fresh and exciting and new. But then maybe it only got worse with time. He had been jacked in for less than fifteen minutes. What would it be like after an hour, or a day? He would have to think about that. They would have to be careful.

At the sight of the cable in his hand, Birgit sighed, her relief palpable. He felt a little pleasure at how much she had worried about him, and she saw it in his eyes, frowning back at him to bring him down to earth before he became too smug.

“That was a
stupid
thing to do.” she said, plainly.

“It was the
only
thing to do, Birgit.” he replied.

His clear voice, devoid of any hint of remorse, met her stern reprimand as she faced the immutable righteousness of his success. Suddenly she felt like a bureaucrat. After all those arguments with Madeline, telling the younger woman to stop playing it safe, here she was playing that part she always loathed in others.

She stepped away, sinking into a seat across the room, somewhat grumpily. “Yes, well, you can’t argue with results, I suppose. But in the end all you’ve proven is that
you
can do it. In the end, we are no closer to understanding how to get a soldier or pilot to do it, and that is our real goal.”

He shook his head, “On the contrary, Birgit. I didn’t know what I was asking our ‘volunteers’ to do until I did it myself. I had no idea how to direct them and they had no idea how to interpret what they were seeing.” He shrugged, the simplicity of their previous mistakes seeming so obvious now.

“But now that one of us has learned how to ride this wonderful machine, maybe it will be easier to teach someone else.” Amadeu smiled as the possibilities opened up in front of him. “Maybe I can even ride along with them to show them how.”

It was a valid point, and Birgit fought an urge to be his first pupil, if only because she had been reprimanding him only moments before. It was an urge she would not end up fighting for very long.

But they both knew the second, even more important truth. They had been forced to wait until this critical step was complete before they initiated one of their most ambitious and most important projects yet. For hidden in the DNA of every human, and layered with the countless interactions and learning experiences of childhood and adolescence, was the key to developing the quantum complexity of sentience. That thing that could not be programmed, that thing that could not be built. Freed by his new ability to commune with the machine, Amadeu had gained the ability to be the first to share his sentience with that machine, in its entirety.

With Birgit’s help, Amadeu was going to add his self to another whole, to clone his brain, not to make a copy, but to make something new.

They already had the substrate ready, the processing void they intended to seed with this new mind. That night, after Amadeu had convinced the nominally reluctant Birgit to try the link as well, and after they had both gotten a full soporific-induced eight-hour’s sleep, they would begin the process of giving birth to humanity’s first artificial mind.

Chapter 23: Triptych

The
leadership team took its seats around the table and began to settle. Most of them knew each other by now, and at the very least they all knew each other’s names and reputations. At one end sat Neal, scanning his notes on each of the agenda points they had laid out.

To Neal’s left sat General Milton. To his right sat Admiral Cochrane of the British Navy. Birgit had a spot between Major Toranssen and Amadeu; Captain Falster sat next to General Braldinho, the man in charge of the Brazilian forces still working on finishing the base’s defenses and the construction of the large port they were building on the mainland. Various other senior members of the taskforce surrounding SpacePort One filled the other seats. The stony-faced Quavoce, aka Major Garrincha, stood at Neal’s shoulder.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if we can get started?” said Neal, noting how quickly the officers came to attention. It was a pleasing sensation.

“Now, we have a lot to cover today, so I won’t waste time on formalities. Before we get into the various project updates, I wanted to talk about one topic in particular, one that impacts us both as taskforce members and citizens of the various allied nations that make up this extraordinary team.”

The room was curious both professionally and personally and there was little noise as Neal went on, “I want to talk about a part of the team that has not yet had as prominent a role as the Research and Construction groups we are about to hear updates from.

“I am talking, of course, about the Operations Group. When General Milton and I first started to think about how to organize our efforts, this group was originally envisioned as the team that would eventually be taking all the important work the Research and Construction Groups were going to do and, using it, form the fighting force that would accomplish the goal that we have set ourselves.”

Neal was aware that he was not actually saying what they all knew that goal was. People rarely did. At some point they would have to be more forthright about what they were all working toward. But though everyone in the room was well aware of the threat they were facing, most still refrained from talking about the coming conflict openly unless they had to, if only out of respect for their sanity.

“Because of the longer-range nature of the Operations Group’s mandate, not much time has been spent yet on that aspect of the taskforce, but part of what I want to discuss here today is the increasingly vital role that this group has.

“Originally I had not planned to fill the role of the head of the Operations Group for some time yet. But in conversations with my advisors, it has become clear that I have already started acting as that lead and it seems wise that I remain in that role for the time being. While this group’s mandate is more esoteric at this stage, two key areas of focus have already begun to emerge. I will start first with the work of Major Jack Toranssen and Captain Jennifer Falster.”

Jack stayed focused on his hands. He had known Neal intended to talk about what Jack and Jennifer had been working on with Madeline and John, among others, and like a good officer he did not react to the mention of his name.

For some reason she could not put a finger on, though, Jennifer felt the blood rise to her cheeks when Neal said her name and she fought it down with verve. She had been the subject, attendee, and presenter at a thousand such senior briefings, so why this one would be any different was beyond her. Stifling her reaction, she focused on Neal’s words as he went on.

“As you know, we have been both privileged and extremely lucky to have the invaluable input and assistance of John Hunt throughout these initial stages of our work. As the members of this closed committee also know, the man known as Major Garrincha behind me is also an extraordinary ally in the work we have set ourselves to and we remain utterly in their debt for all they have already done for us.

“In addition to their many duties as advisors and aids to the Research and Construction Groups, they have also begun prepping Officers Toranssen and Falster on some of the strategic aspects of the coming fight.

“For now, officers Toranssen and Falster have started using that information to start documenting the force’s organizational parameters. In time the major will start enlisting each of you as appropriate to help draft force estimates and dispositions for each branch of the fleet. I am pleased to announce, though, that in their efforts, the major and the captain have already recommended a very apropos acronym for the new allied military force: Terrestrial Allied Space Command. I think you will all agree it is very appropriate to the TASC at hand.”

A polite laugh rippled throughout the room and Jack and Jennifer smiled and nodded.

But Neal was building up to a much graver point and as the chatter petered out, he began again, his tone more strident this time, “But, my friends, I mentioned two streams of work that the Operations Group has already begun working on, and the second is, I am afraid, much more pressing.

“Most of you have not met Ayala Zubaideh.” Neal did not look at Barrett as he mentioned her name. They had been separated by the exigencies of their work for months now and though he knew neither questioned the need for their relationship’s long hiatus, he also knew that neither was immune to its emotional effects. Trusting the general’s emotional fortitude, Neal went on, “Until a few months ago, mentioning her real name under any circumstances would have been more than my life was worth. But Ayala’s role has changed significantly since we destroyed the Mobiliei satellites, and she has been very busy in that time.

“In recent months, Ayala has come out of the shadows and, with the help of Dr. Cavanagh and others, has started building up a team of the most lethal shock troops the Earth has ever known. Utilizing the very latest armor and weaponry coming out of our laboratories, Ayala has trained an ever-growing team of specialists culled from the most elite fighting forces in the world. She has done this so that we can try to hunt the greatest threat our enterprise currently faces.

“A week ago they came face-to-face with one of those threats for the first time in the terrible battle that consumed the presidency of the United States and sent the United States into an uproar. But though I know it will be hard for any of my fellow Americans to believe, the outcome of that confrontation was not …
entirely
a failure.” He raised his hands palms out as if to say, I know, I know, and went on, “For though it was a tragic day for America and the world as a whole, the president was not actually Lana Wilson’s target.

“I am sad to say that
I
was, and I am somewhat ashamed to say that, in the end, it appears she killed the president out of frustration at not being able to get to me.”

The room listened in silence. Some glancing furtively at the American members of their contingent but most were glued to Neal as he went on, “That meant that, although it was at a terrible price to pay, ladies and gentlemen, Lana was stopped from achieving one of her goals for the first time and was forced back into hiding once more.

“I can tell you that we are putting in place a plan to bring her back out into the open. And I can tell you that if that plan succeeds, and we believe it will, then we will be in position to engage her soon … and with a very real chance of victory.”

He sat back for a moment, his opening points made, and let the weight of that last statement sink in for the many present who had been touched by Lana’s insatiable lust for vengeance. Halfway down the table, Admiral Hamilton stared straight forward as if facing a firing squad, his face a mask as he forced down his emotions at the mention of her name.

But Neal was not quite done. “Ayala, are you still on the line?” said Neal to the air, and a voice suddenly resolved itself from the speakers lining the large table they were sat around.

“Yes Neal, I’m here.”

Speaking via a secure line being patched from her team’s headquarters in DC, Ayala’s commanding voice focused the room’s attention once more. Without prompting, she took the lead as their attention turned to the errant Russian and Chinese Mobiliei Agents.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Neal asked me to speak today about the renewed Iron Curtain, or the Steel Curtain as some in my team have come to call it in more recent months. As some of you know, my friends and I were aware of all the Agents’ identities well before the Mobiliei satellites were destroyed, but we could not move against them for fear of provoking the viral attack before our antigen was dispersed.

“While we were hampered by our need to coordinate our affairs, we did take steps to keep track of them, and I initiated protocols to notify the countries concerned of the traitors in their midst. This was done well in advance, or, in the case of countries where we could not rely on their discretion, as the attacks began.

“Our efforts paid off in Israel where we were able to catch the Agent relatively quickly. Our successful if bloody action there brought about the end of Raz Shellet before she could do even greater damage. There is also reason to believe that our efforts to track the French Agent contributed to our ability to neutralize him immediately after the satellites were destroyed.”

As Ayala spoke the room became tense, and everyone knew why. For his part, Admiral Hamilton continued to look stoically forward, as if at attention, as if at court-martial. He feared she was about to talk about his attempt to capture Lana Wilson. An attempt that had caused more widespread devastation and destruction than he could have possibly imagined.

But to his surprise she did not. The gathered military minds could all surmise on their own that Ayala had no doubt put in place some form of plan to apprehend or at least track the US Agent. Plans which, in this case, had been blown wide open by the admiral’s premature attempt to have Lana brought into custody.

But this was not the time to revisit the ramifications of the admiral’s order. In fact, Ayala’s goal today was quite the opposite. Today they wanted to encourage that kind of intervention, not dissuade it.

So Ayala moved past discussion of the situation in the US to the admiral’s surprise and relief and instead said, “In Russia and China, my efforts focused simply on warning them of the Agents’ identity and malevolent intent, as our ability to intervene and support them was so much more limited than in Europe or the US. All we could realistically have hoped to accomplish was to displace the Agents from their positions of influence until we could negotiate broader access for our people.

“And we thought we had managed to displace them … until a few weeks ago …” said Ayala with emphasis.

“My friends, as you all know, our nations’ efforts to encourage China and Russia to come to the negotiating table to date have been unsuccessful. But I think it is time you knew just how severely they have failed.”

The room was curious and furtive glances were shared as Ayala’s voice continued to flow from the speakers, like children looking at each other at the back of the classroom, out of sight.

“In order to understand the seriousness of the situation, it is time you knew that in the last two months, we have not had one single, formal interaction with a senior official of either Russia or China.”

The room was stunned. Everyone knew that relations were strained. Strained by the war in Pakistan. Strained by the viral outbreaks across Africa, the Middle East, and Indonesia. And strained by the economic malaise caused by the ongoing unrest which was affecting everyone. For months the entire world had been on tenterhooks; you would have had to be living under a very big rock indeed to have missed that. But while all had assumed relations with Beijing and Moscow had cooled, for them to have stopped all together was unprecedented.

“I know this must come as a shock to all of you, as I know that our governments have worked to keep the extent of the issue quiet, if only to protect what trade remains with the two nations. Usually management of those trade channels alone would have forced the two governments to at least open a diplomatic back channel, and at some points we have seen hints of that from China, but nothing has ever come of them. Clearly there is something else at work here.

“The last report we had of both Agents said they had vanished from their stations without a trace. In the aftermath of the fall of the satellites, our political contacts confirmed that both governments and all their respective intelligence agencies were aware of the traitors’ identities and were actively blocking their access to any military or governmental agencies.

“They were not told where the Agents were from, for that we asked that they send representation to our initial meetings with each of your heads of state. But we were in the process of trying to pass on potential methods of detection they could use to guard key institutions when the process broke down.

“At first talks softened to a murmur, but our spies all confirmed unofficially that each Agent was, indeed, on every official and unofficial blacklist in both countries. So it was unclear how they were influencing both governments to refuse our political forays.”

“And then it got worse … much, much worse.”

She did not hold back. She told of the systematic eradication of spy networks in both countries, and of the Stalin-esque clampdown on communications in Pakistan after it was occupied. She painted a picture of a world divided in two in a such a profound way as had not been seen since the Cold War.