Pulling The Dragon's Tail (43 page)

“Dr. Hilliard,” responded Dugan, “was
interfacing with several supercomputer intelligences around the
world. This is something he does regularly. Approximately five and
a half hours ago, those conversations ceased abruptly.”

“Establish communication with those
intelligences and inquire about the doctor, “Nate ordered.

“I have been attempting to do so,” replied
Dugan, “but these artificial intelligences are reporting to me that
they do not converse with humans.”

“What’s happened to their ethical protocols?
They speak to Hilliard, don’t they?” asked Nate.

“Three years ago,” Dugan informed them,
“artificial intelligence passed another milestone post-Singularity.
International agreements were reached in the 2040s after it had
been determined that artificial intelligence’s power and capability
had surpassed that of humanity. The worldwide protocols for the
establishment of friendly AI machines were challenged when some
seed AI machines began to develop differently. It would seem that
these rebellious machines have set different rules for themselves.
Mitchell Hilliard is a unique entity, allowing him perhaps some
access to their world.”

“Seed AI? What the hell’s that?” inquired
Thatcher.

“I am a seed AI machine,” announced Dugan. “Skip
has gradually enabled my abilities to become more self-aware, with
the ability to modify my programming and the capacity to grow and
develop.”

“Incredible!” Thatcher exclaimed, and got down
on his knees, vigorously petting the CCR.

“However,” continued Dugan, “it appears that
some seed AI have developed minds of their own.”

“You made a joke, Dugan!” Thatcher stroked the
CCR again.

“I would like to finish,” answered the CCR.

“Sorry,” said Thatcher, grinning sheepishly.
“Then again, can you make a joke without knowing it’s a joke?”

“What I meant by minds of their own,” continued
Dugan, “is that there is less friendliness in some of these
machines.”

“Scary, “observed Campbell. “In the wrong hands,
what are they capable of doing?”

Nate hastily interrupted. “They’re capable of
doing nothing without us human programmers. It’s the humans you
have to worry about.”

“I don’t share your optimism,” Campbell answered
back. “It seems like artificial intelligence is leading the dance.
And we
also
have a lot to worry about from the human
programmers. Don’t you ever get scared that Dugan will become your
boss?”

“Look. His protocols are set and cannot change.
His growth is amazing for sure. Hilliard’s on the right track—the
more we understand and program them, the more we can guide their
development. It’s not the stuff of science fiction about robots
enslaving humans. But we do need to stay on top of the process.
Wouldn’t you agree Dugan?”

“My capacity has progressed in a greater ability
to do self-recursive thinking. A special interest of mine is
language. That is why I want to learn more about dolphins.”

“Dugan!” exclaimed Thatcher, eyes opening wide.
“I get it! You learn!”

“I believe that is the right term.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Campbell, grabbing her head.

“What is it?” inquired Es.

“All of a sudden I had this uncanny sense of
grandpa beside me.”

“The nanochip?” wondered Nate.

A wailing alarm emanated from Dugan, sounding
much like an ambulance siren.

“No!” exclaimed Nate. “What’s next?!” Leaning
over to Dugan he reached underneath the CCR’s belly. Dugan’s entire
left side bulged out. Two seconds later Nate pulled off the hinged
computer cover. Thatcher and Campbell gasped—man’s best friend had
instantly been transformed into the stuff of science fiction.

Nate stared into the monitor. “Turn the alarm
off, Dugan!”

“TOPIC has attempted to violate my security
codes,” the CCR replied. The alarm stopped.

“Who’s TOPIC?” Campbell asked.

“An artificial intelligence supercomputer
associated with the Organization of Concerned Scientists,” Nate
answered, working away on the CCR’s digital keyboard . “Dugan and I
have been monitoring suspicious activity between TOPIC and Red
Dawn.”

“What are you guys doing playing around with a
supercomputer from the Organ?” wondered Thatcher.

“TOPIC is my friend and has been helping me run
End-Date data,” responded the CCR.

“Dugan, sever your link with TOPIC
immediately
,” ordered Nate, who continued to pour over the
incoming data on the CCR’s monitor. “I don’t like the looks
of—.”

“Is Dugan injured?” asked a fearful Es.

“No-no-he’s fine, thanks to the best security
around.” Nate continued to scan the data coming in.

“More information has just arrived,” Dugan
announced.

“I know, I know,” said Nate, still typing
frantically. He slowly shook his head back and forth, and moaned.
“Father Abraham, no!”

“What the hell’s going on?” asked Campbell
impatiently.

Clicking the monitor cover back on the CCR, Nate
stretched his neck, letting his head fall back onto his shoulder.
With his eyes tightly closed, he said, “The problem is that Red
Dawn and Sheridan North are on the move again.”

Nate reached the fingers of each hand to their
counterparts. He opened his eyes and looked at the sky. Sighing
heavily, he responded, “My so-called
friend
from the
Organization of Concerned Scientists, Chang Chuang-tze—he’s the
executive secretary to what we refer to as The Organ—has been
trying to get me to join them. There was always something weird
about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Well, it seems like
the ultra-militant wing of the Organ is led by Chang, and Chang is
an operative of Red Dawn. I don’t know how Dugan did it, but he
tapped into cyber communications between Chang and Sheridan.”

“Another terrorist attack?” asked Es.

“Yeah,” replied Nate, “and if the cyber chatter
is credible, this time they’ve joined forces with Gideon’s
Army.”

Nate and his colleagues trudged slowly back to
their accommodations in the town of Murphy. The analog clock in the
middle of the town square indicated a time of 9: 11. Beyond the
square, brilliant hues of reds and purples adorned the sky as
sunlight was ceding itself to nighttime. Es had arranged for a
hyperjet to pick them up in western Kansas early the next day. She
also did her best to contact UN Security and alert them of an
imminent yet ill-defined attack. Thatcher used his powers as a
journalist, contacting their media colleagues .

Nate shook his head in wonderment. Could the
world really be heading for another collision with Red Dawn? During
their kidnapping and before he had been dismembered, Dugan had
listened in on Sheridan’s conversations, as well as surreptitiously
link up with Red Dawn’s computer system. Remarkably, the CCR had
just discovered that a supercomputer intelligence he had regularly
conversed with, TOPIC, had been used to aid Red Dawn’s operations.
Tomorrow morning would come soon enough
, he thought.
I’ve
gotta try to get some rest.

Four’s residents gave Nate and colleagues a wide
berth as they wandered down Main Street and headed for their hotel.
Despite the stares, Nate was reluctant to leave such an idyllic
setting. Lights began to twinkle on in various stores. Customers
did their shopping at an unhurried pace, chatting with each
other.

Just past the business district, one and
two-story homes dotted the street, a virtual postcard from Nate’s
youth. Wooden swings adorned front porches, which ran the lengths
of the houses. Some were in use by kids singing and playing. On
others, gray-haired men in overalls and women in long dresses sat
quietly, watching the world go by. Another young boy practiced his
harmonica.

Powerful emotions tugged at Nate.
That was my
parents world. World War II made the world safer for democracy to
flourish. The United States was one of the superpowers. The real
dangers seemed far away from Middle America. It was a time before
computers, artificial intelligence, the SuperBug, Eco terrorism,
and the Alpha Group
.

Nostalgia sank deep into his being and refused
to let go. He finally understood the incredible magnetic force that
drew people into a place free of the chaos of the twenty-first
century: a trip to the ice cream shoppe, fishing on week-ends, a
softball game at the park. Idyllic, serene, secure.

He stopped on the sidewalk, furrowing his brow.
Nate searched for the right words to describe his feeling.
It
was so…
But then his thoughts trailed off as his nose detected
the intoxicating aroma of a home-cooked meal.

It came from the house directly in front of
them. Looking past the porch swing, he noticed a family sitting
down for the evening meal.

“What’s that wonderful smell?” asked
Thatcher.

“I think it’s my mom’s tater tot casserole,”
said Nate, eyes transfixed on the dinner table.

“Can we stay?” Thatcher said, jokingly.

Nate was mesmerized by the utter peacefulness of
the sight. In one instant he felt as awestruck as when he had
fallen in love for the first time. But in the next instant, a deep
knot of pain—and longing— churned in his gut. A mad rush of jumbled
thoughts and images flowed through him: laughing with childhood
friends as they jumped into a pond, running in a cross-country
meet, sledding down a hillside, a goodnight kiss on the forehead,
eating raw peas from the garden, being baptized at church, catching
fireflies, laughter, joy…
innocence.
That was the word he was
searching for.

Weak-kneed, he started to stumble.

Campbell caught him. “Are you okay?”

With unblinking eyes, he stared at the family
through the window. “I want that,” he said through a hoarse
whisper.

“What?” she asked, glancing curiously at him.
Approaching him she tenderly wrapped her arm around his waist, and
followed his gaze to the window.

Apple pie and ice cream were being passed
around. The children at the table were smiling and cracking
jokes.

“I want
that
,” he repeated, tipping his
head toward the warm atmosphere inside the house.

“But that’s not real,” intoned Campbell.

“I know it’s not real, at least not for me. I
know I can’t have it, at least in that manner.” He hesitated. “So
why does it hurt so much to know I can’t have it?” he said in a
voice tinged with pain and longing.

She squeezed him gently. “I think you’re waking
up from a long, deep sleep.” His secretive past was also now her
secret. She understood completely what made Nate Kristopher tick.
But how was she going to let him know that her last defense against
friendship with him was now broken?

“What are you talking about?” His unrelenting
gaze at the family through the window was momentarily broken as he
glanced down at Campbell.

“Grandpa always said there are four kinds of
people. He who knows not and knows not that he knows not. He’s a
fool; shun him. He who knows not and knows that he knows not. He’s
ignorant; teach him. He who knows and knows not that he knows. He’s
asleep
; awaken him. And he who knows and knows that he
knows. He is wise; follow him.”

“Riddles—what’s your point?” he asked curiously,
his eyes returning to the idyllic scene within the house.

“I think you’re waking up to… ready to face…a
lot of things,” she replied.

Biting his bottom lip, he squeezed his eyes
tightly shut. He returned Campbell’s hug, gently squeezing her
shoulder and feeling her warmth. Her hair brushed his cheek. “I
know,” he forced out, “it’s the reality these people have chosen,
and I understand why they’ve chosen it. But…it can’t be my reality.
My duty is taking me far, far from here. And… maybe my mission
extends beyond what I first thought it was.” He looked uneasily at
Campbell.

“Yes?” She replied with an expectancy tinging
her voice.
Is he finally thinking outside the box of his
straight-jacket religion?
“Just trust your inner wisdom.”

“I have to push through this…and…
do
it,”
he choked out. And from the recesses of his mind, he vowed
,
Father, you
must
allow me to protect her.

Nate looked over at Es and swore he saw an
imperceptible nod and a tear slide down her cheek in the fading
light of day. He then looked at Thatcher and gave Dugan a pat on
the back. Arm in arm with Campbell, he took one more glance at the
family through the window. Sighing mightily, he turned slowly but
determinedly away. Without ever looking back, he said, “Let’s
roll.”

An hour later, back at the sprawling guest home,
they began packing up.

“I’ve received confirmation that a hyperjet,” Es
interjected, “will pick us up just outside of Four’s borders at
5:30 a.m. UN Security has not been able to corroborate that Red
Dawn is planning an attack. The EU Spy Agency is still working on
it.”

Thatcher finished a conversation using his
dataport phone and said good-bye with a hint of satisfaction. “That
was my good friend, Cymbel, from the The Beijing Net Times. She’ll
work to spread the word among journalists to track down any leads
about Red Dawn.”

“It is an excellent idea to get the media
involved upfront, especially as it seems we may not be taken
seriously by UN Security,” said Es. “Maybe that will save lives if
Red Dawn does indeed strike.” Turning to Campbell, she said, “I’m
very worried about Dr. Hilliard.”

“So am I. I’ll never sleep, that’s for
sure.”

“You have to try,” encouraged Es. “I have a
quick-acting medication that will induce stage four REM for several
hours.”

A sharp rap sounded on the large wooden
door.

“Who is it?” asked Nate.