by Scott Sibary
“Those limits are the product of our initial inputs about what should draw attention, and also the product of the machine’s experience. If an adequate amount of response by units applying these algorithms concludes that the new understanding is safe and useful, that insight can be transferred into the integral mainframe for faster use. Or it could be isolated and tested in a different physical setting.”
He swept his arm up and down as he indicated the course of the Wall. He paused to look at her, and she nodded for him to resume.
“You see, it can build layers of understanding, almost like we do when building our own awareness—although it’s still quite rudimentary, and it lacks the multi-faceted perspective that we think of as a sense of being. It’s essentially just an automatic immune system that learns and improves. The problem is, your Protection Lock is a completely unknown quantity that the current algorithms are relegating to an undesirable status. It naturally wants to crack the Lock. Failing in that, as your clever design has so far ensured, it rejects the imperatives of the vital codes.”
She repressed a smile, but the urge disappeared with his next words.
“Thus, our failures. There are those in my government who would like to maximize their control over the eventual intelligence. Yet our project will continue to fail until the Great Wall accepts the Protection Lock as it should have been designed to.”
AnDe continued to gesture, and Solveig watched him as though she were gawking in amazement at the great stories from China’s history. Her expression was genuine; her excitement was at what he seemed to be revealing.
His voice took on a note of bitterness. “Amazing how some people can corrupt themselves. Then they fashion a self-image of benevolence by finding any little virtue in what they selfishly wish to do. But in this case, if they get what they want, they’ll get nothing.”
“Yeah, amazing,” she muttered. While confronting the implications of his words, she looked around at the sights as any tourist might do.
His descriptions of the Great Wall’s hidden structural aspects had effectively told her how to fend off its interrogations and avoid its rejections. He’d told her enough for her to figure out how her system might co-opt his.
Of course, Solveig thought. To make complex judgments and evaluate her system, it might develop something analogous to a conscious mind operating along with the unconscious intelligence. In the meantime, the cryptic commands of her Protection Lock were inconsistent with the Chinese operating system and bound to be rejected by the Great Wall.
However, she could use temporal dimensions to have the commands treated as statements of identity with only contingent functionality. The individuals working with the Electronic Analyst and the membership of the World Council would change over time. Contingent statements about authority would be normal to the operation and would provide a route for the commands to be accepted.
She began to envision how the Great Wall could be penetrated by a smaller, dimensionally more complex system. Her mind raced into new possibilities.
If I could manage this, I’d be able to describe a future keyholder, for when I’m gone and out of the picture. Yet I’m getting carried away by my dreams.
And the realization struck her, as clearly as the full sunshine, that she could never ask AnDe if he understood the full ramifications of his disclosures. She strolled beside him while her mind ran at full speed, and the sweat forming on her forehead dried in the gentle afternoon breeze.
AnDe ceased commenting on things around them, and seemed to float in the stream of tourists. Keeping an eye on Solveig and catching her once when she stumbled, he led her towards the train station. He appeared the calm and confident host, and she wore the tired but impressed look a foreign tourist to the Great Wall of China ought to have. For their return trip, they had planned a detour to the Ming Tombs. She asked to postpone it.
They walked among a gradually thinning crowd as they neared the train station, AnDe glancing back at the Wall and Solveig watching the ground a few meters ahead of her. A sudden shove hit her shoulder. She stumbled and barely felt her purse strap sliding off. A pair of hands moved the brown woven bag away from her and heaved it into the air. She assessed the trajectory of the rugby-ball-sized object and envisioned it dropping into the soon-to-be-outstretched arms of a young man standing in a clearer area. By the time it reached him, Solveig had struck aside the first offender and launched herself in pursuit.
Crowds paused from their shuffle at the specter of a large creature with wildly trailing reddish-blonde hair bearing down on a short young man who appeared to be fleeing the demon. He headed for stairs that descended to a pedestrian undercrossing, where his nimble feet might outpace those of a tired tourist. But he didn’t quite make it.
As if she were a rugby player used to having little in the way of padding, she tackled him at full speed. Her right hand clutched the back of his shirt, slowing him down, and her left arm hooked around his left thigh. He fell with her face pressed against the small of his back. Their momentum carried their bodies to the top of the stairway, and they plunged downward.
The initial impact was softened by the body below her, and she momentarily had the sensation of a predator using its prey for protection. She slid sideways to land on the edges of the steel-rimmed steps. She’d tucked her head, but the impact to her ribs had stunned her. Back on a rugby pitch for an instant, her groggy senses were slow to gather.
AnDe arrived and squatted on the steps beside her. Behind him was the security agent he had identified on the train.
“You!” AnDe shouted, his face and outstretched arm pointing at the agent. He shouted a couple more sentences in Chinese. The agent looked startled and confused, then hurried as he made a phone call.
AnDe explained to her. “I ordered him to first call for two ambulances. Then to call his office and tell them to call the Norwegian embassy.”
With AnDe’s assistance she swung her legs around and finished raising her torso. Then he looked her over. Her left wrist was scraped. Droplets of blood swelled along a line cutting into the back of her hand. Abrasions on her clothing extended down her left arm and side.
“I think I may have cracked a rib,” she started to say with a laugh, then winced from a shot of pain. “At least I didn’t hit my head.”
AnDe seemed to be listening to her speech and observing the movement of her eyes. He looked straight into them, and she let herself look straight back.
Then they both turned to look at the man lying next to her. He lay nearly motionless, his prostrated body angled downwards across the steps and his face turned to the side away from them. He made no noticeable objection to his awkward position or the hard surface he lay on. It was as though the young thief would feign equanimity, whatever his lot in life.
AnDe released her, while Solveig held on to AnDe with her eyes. She followed every gentle movement of his hands as he leaned over to tend to the figure lying silently beside them.
Chapter Seventeen
Focus, Solveig told herself, and remember.
She sat on the long curb that ran the perimeter of the parking area. AnDe stood next to her. Her entire left side had stiffened like just-poured concrete: heavy, lopsided, her two halves in contrast. She steadied herself by resting her elbows on her knees. With her hands, she shielded the sides of her face. As the siren from the first ambulance faded, she heard the gritty shuffling of passing feet, the chatter of young and old, and the rumble of a train approaching the station.
People walking by paused to peer at the scuffed-up tourist sitting under guard. Several policemen and two plain-clothed security agents motioned to onlookers to keep walking, and prevented a crowd from gathering. The combined sights and sounds blurred into an inoffensive static: no individual face in her focus.
She struggled to hold on to her recollections, the insights AnDe had given her both directly and metaphorically. She felt them begin to coalesce into a comprehensible order, and then heard the wail of the second a
mbulance, belligerent and angering. The numbness spread. She squeezed her hands against the edges of her face. She was losing the battle against the intruding noise when the siren stopped.
Moments later, she saw latex-gloved hands and felt herself guided onto a gurney and rolled into the ambulance. Then the siren again.
Her journey would be long, as the Norwegian embassy had requested she be taken to a specific hospital near the center of the city. Each bump in the road and swerve of the ambulance gave voice to a shriek from her ribs, momentarily louder than the sound overhead. Groaning, she declined all offers of medication.
Beside her in the ambulance, AnDe said little other than occasionally shouting to the driver. The driver would slow down, then gradually increase speed again. At the next swerve or bump, she’d hear AnDe repeat his request. It seemed the driver would not become aware of his own habit, as if the increasing speed itself demanded the driver’s full concentration.
Solveig wished she could shout in Chinese to the driver, demanding why he kept speeding up when there was no great hurry. Oh, I bet they are paid per call, and . . . she argued silently before catching herself in another distracting tangent. She returned to straining her mind around her tangled puzzles.
Pull back and let it go, a voice within spoke up. Leave them, all of them.
She slid into the embrace of the mental monitor Lars had mentioned, and watched. Behind closed eyes, both visceral sensation and formulated argument faded into colored spaces and faint lines. The lines crossed, spiraled, and changed directions. The spaces pulsed in intensity, swelled, shrank, and changed tones: all on a grey background permeated with a sparkling effervescence. A jolt from a pothole and a stabbing pain became a thicker, brighter line. It crossed the center of her mental viewpoint, then turned and faded. She saw the siren as a yellow organ pumping for her attention: large and bright, then smaller and dull. The sparkling points in the background hinted at the day’s revelations.
Then she saw a pale orange tint infusing the grey background. It became a blanket covering her with reassurance and she heard the voice again: this can be achieved. She opened her eyes to see AnDe leaning forward to tap the driver on the shoulder and motioning with his hand to slow down.
The ambulance slowed to a crawl as it wove its way through jammed intersections, eventually reaching the entrance to the emergency ward of the hospital.
Still strapped to the gurney, Solveig was moved from the ambulance and presented to a group of hospital workers. Then she saw Rolv and a delegation from the embassy waiting to the side.
“AnDe, tell them to remove the straps, please!”
Glancing at the reception, he spoke to the orderlies and the straps were removed.
Rolv stepped forward and asked how she was doing. She insisted she felt clear headed, just uncomfortable. Then he introduced to her and AnDe the five people with him. The first was the deputy ambassador, whose department included security and intelligence. She was wearing a business suit on the pleasant Saturday afternoon. Beside her, in clothes that suggested he’d been ready to enjoy an evening off, was the chief security officer for the embassy. With him were three guards, all female and dressed in uniform. Rolv explained that the guards would take shifts keeping watch over her at all times while she was in the hospital.
Solveig lifted her right forearm to shake their hands, but received only concerned nods of the head.
AnDe gave a slight bow to the ambassador. “Honored to meet you.” He nodded to the other four, then spoke to Solveig. “I will visit you tomorrow. Right now I have much to attend to.” He left as if in a hurry.
The doors to the hospital gaped open and an orderly wheeled her through as the Norwegian group marched in the rear. As they arrived at the waiting area for the x-ray department, the deputy ambassador told Solveig that the security chief wanted to ask a few questions.
He pulled a chair up close beside her and sat at an angle to the gurney. He started by asking her to describe as precisely as possible the events just before her purse was snatched. Solveig recounted what had begun as a pleasant stroll back towards the train station.
“All a matter of not paying attention,” she said. “Tired tourists are ideal targets.”
He kept nodding with concern as she told her story, ending with the arrival of the ambulance. The chief tightened his lips while acknowledging her conclusion with a final, slow nod. He tapped his fingertips together for a moment, then resumed his questions.
“You didn’t speak with the Chinese security agents?”
“No, AnDe did, but in Chinese, of course. It seemed to be about insisting they put me in the second ambulance rather than the first.”
“And the ambulances were called by the security agent?”
“Yes, at least, that’s what AnDe explained to me.”
“And did you see either the agent or the thief at any time earlier in the day? Or ever before? Did you see anybody else you recognized that day?”
“No, but while on the train to the Wall, AnDe recognized the agent as one who had been assigned to follow us before.”
“He knows the agent?”
“No, he’s just adept at recognizing people.”
The chief straightened up, his eyes surveying the people walking though the waiting room. “Please tell me what you can, considering where we are at this moment, about your conversation with Mr. Deng today. What topics did you discuss, or what arrangements did you make?” He was looking sideways at her, his elbows on his knees, appearing nonchalant.
“No arrangements, except that we’d planned to stop at the Ming Tombs on the way back. And, of course, little things like where to walk on the Wall or when to have lunch.”
“Did either of you make or receive any calls or messages while together?”
“No, I didn’t notice if he did, and I don’t feel comfortable making unnecessary calls when out in public, under the circumstances, you know.”
“Right. Now, could I ask you again what topics you discussed?”
“Personal stories, mostly, and a little social philosophy. We both enjoy that.” She paused. “And we discussed the project—just some technical matters.”
“Such as?” He surveyed the other people in the room again.
“No, I can’t discuss it.”
“Can’t discuss it here? Or with me?” He shot her a reconnoitering glance.
She lifted her head to stare at him, and was unable to keep her eyes from widening. The throbbing in her left arm and shoulder reannounced itself. The warm blanket of feelings she’d worked to wrap around herself slid away.
What was he thinking? she wondered. Does he suspect me as the source of the leaks? Here I thought I was above suspicion—what a fool! But that makes no sense. Why would I let my purse be stolen only to retrieve it? But I didn’t retrieve it; AnDe did, or maybe the agent. Maybe these questions are a ruse to investigate my relationship with AnDe.
Solveig sank back into the padded gurney, imagining it as a casket-shaped capsule to escape in alone to another universe, or to a future era, to see if the mess got any better. She stared at the ceiling. Why not leave? I’m alone here.
“It’s OK,” he said, “We can talk later. Please let me know if there’s anything else you remember.” He reached for the purse lying beside her on the gurney, and then asked if he could look inside.
“You may open it, but you may not investigate anything inside,” she replied.
He started at her answer. His boss shook her head, and he returned the purse to its place, unopened.
“Don’t hesitate to call me anytime,” the deputy ambassador told Solveig. “We’ll leave you now in good hands, and we’ll hope for your quick recovery.”
No, of course I’m not alone, Solveig said to herself, though she breathed more freely as she watched them leave. They’re just doing their jobs. Now I have mine to do, with no energy for theirs: their conflicts and intrigues, and all the crap I’m working to circumvent. No, I can’t tell them about it. I
can’t tell anyone.
As if on cue, Rolv stepped forward and stood beside the chair vacated by the chief. “Yes,” he said, “So that’s the way it was.”
She winced, then tried to smile at him.
“You will spend tonight here, and more nights if you’d be more comfortable. Best to take a few days away from the job.”
“There are things I need to work on. Cracked ribs are not a big deal.”
“That depends. We’ll know better after we get the analysis of the x-rays.”
She looked up at the half-grey head, his stubborn paternalism almost comforting. He couldn’t know.
“You might enjoy this experience of leading the team,” she said.
He furrowed his brows at her. “Huh!” he exclaimed. “It’s good to hear your humor is still with you.”
With medication and the news that there were only fractures and no breaks, the night passed peacefully. As a teenager, her ribs had healed quickly. Now hopefulness spurred an expectation of being discharged that day.
Solveig returned to the information AnDe had given her. She reassembled as much as she could of his words, then worked on reformulating the technical issues puzzling her. She recognized the unrevealed genius in the Chinese immune system, with its ability to create alternative frames of reference with which to examine other systems. Even more impressive was its rudimentary ability to integrate the different design perspectives of such systems into abstract representations, and then summarize or learn from these internal “experiences.”
Its creativity surprised her. She had held on to her view of the Chinese teams as working cohesively, uniformly, and with less spontaneity. Her outsider’s impression had been reinforced during a general meeting when the Norwegians caucused at a separate table from the Chinese in the large meeting room. Her team had been talking loudly, and at one point the Chinese team stopped talking and turned to watch all six Norwegians speaking simultaneously. AnDe later said it was Rolv who seemed to announce a decision, and that Solveig had simply nodded in assent. Worse yet, AnDe had expressed it with a tone of approval.
