Rescind Order

by Natasha Bajema

  She ignored his comment and said, “At some point, I became a well-known fixture at the White House. I worried that if I gave up and left my post, it would signal that nuclear weapons are here to stay.”

  Am I being foolish? Can I actually do anything to change the future?

  Drew’s hands went limp, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. He was silent for a few moments and then asked, “If you could do it all over again, what would you do differently?”

  She gave him a half-hearted smile. “I’m not sure I would’ve known better… but if I had, then I’d go to school, study hard, and get a job lobbying Congress to do the right thing. This protest stuff is important, but it’s only a small part of a bigger movement to knock some sense into our government and the rest of the world. But I still think it will take a nuclear war for us to really learn the lesson.”

  With that, she walked away, pushing her cart toward the large, empty tent covered with anti-nuclear slogans.

  9

  West Sitting Hall

  SUSAN

  0620

  Executive Residence

  The White House

  A cup of hot coffee in hand, Susan stood with her back to the massive lunette window of the West Sitting Hall, basking in the soft morning light. Penny rubbed up against her leg, eager for another head scratch. Susan reached down to oblige the pup and took a deep breath. After only a few days in the Executive Residence, this cozy corner had quickly become her favorite spot.

  Though she usually preferred to be alone. Susan wanted to soak up her last moment of quiet for the day, but Elise insisted they go through every hour of the day’s packed schedule, which had just gotten more complicated due to the looming crisis with China.

  I’ve totally lost control over my life. The irony was not lost on her.

  “Ma’am, we need to go over the funeral arrangements,” Elise said, holding the presidential planner in one hand and her smartphone in the other. “President Monroe’s family has decided on a full state funeral, so we can finally move forward with planning. Once the autopsy is complete, Monroe will lie in repose in the East Room of the White House. His family would like to attend a private service there. I expect his casket will be delivered by the end of the day tomorrow.”

  Susan shuddered at the thought. For as long as she could remember, she’d struggled with the concept of death and funerals. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not even Blake, but she dreaded the notion of sleeping in the same building with the dead body of her former boss and good friend.

  Elise glanced at her tablet. “From there, the president’s casket will be moved to the National Cathedral for an invitation-only religious service. We’re scheduled to sit down with the Monroe family tomorrow morning to go over the guest list.”

  Susan nodded.

  “The funeral procession will move from Northwest D.C. to the U.S. Capitol where President Monroe will lie in state in the Capitol rotunda for three days for the general public’s viewing. My staff is coordinating with the D.C. Mayor’s office on street closures and with Secret Service on security issues. Ma’am, is there anything specific you want to arrange?”

  “Nothing for me,” Susan said, a lump in her throat. “But I’d offer my full support to the Monroe family. We’ll do whatever we can to meet their needs during this difficult time.”

  “That’s good, ma’am.” Elise smiled. “Because the Monroe family was hoping you’d be willing to offer a eulogy at the religious service later this week.”

  Susan gulped. “Of course. I’d be glad to do that. Let’s get my speechwriter on that right away.”

  Elise nodded. “Madam President, you’re aware of the Autonomous Retaliatory Capability test and evaluation taking place at the National Military Command Center later today,” Elise said, reading from an email on her smartphone. “It’s scheduled to start at 1:30 p.m. When it’s over, Chairman Waller has promised you a comprehensive readout.”

  Susan nodded, pulling up her nose slightly at the formality. “Can you please stop calling me ma’am or Madam President when it’s just the two of us in the Executive Residence? It feels so unnatural.”

  Elise’s all-business face broke into a wide smile. “Ma’am, I’ll stop calling you by formal titles when it finally feels natural to me. When I reach that point, I’ll be able to trust myself not to call you Susan in public. If that’s okay with you, ma’am.”

  “Okay, okay. That’s a good point.” Susan dipped her nose toward the cup of hazelnut coffee, catching the subtle hint of coconut in the Hawaiian blend, and took a small drink.

  It had been her favorite brew ever since she and Blake had renewed their vows on the beautiful island paradise of Maui—just a year ago now. She’d given her last bag of precious beans to the White House kitchen staff and requested they brew a batch every morning until they ran out. She needed whatever source of comfort she could get. Despite the soothing taste, she couldn’t quite suppress her anxiety over the coming chaos.

  Her mind drifted back to the semi-autonomous system for launching nuclear weapons. Susan bit her lip. “Let’s set up a comprehensive briefing on the ARC system with the secretary of defense and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff for some time next week. I received the basics when it first launched five months ago, but now I need to know as much about it as possible… since I’m the one who has to push the damn button.”

  “Absolutely, I’ll get that on the calendar,” Elise said, jotting down a note.

  Susan suppressed a sigh. “I still don’t know how we got here.”

  “Ma’am?” Elise asked, her forehead creasing.

  “How did we hand over so much control of nuclear weapons to a machine?” Susan asked, clasping her mug a bit tighter. “Who thought that was a good idea, anyway?”

  “Oh, that.” Elise raised her eyebrow. “As I recall, the big-five defense contractors hammered out a pretty compelling narrative about the dangers of hypersonic weapons and increasing speed of warfare back in the early 2020s. They warned us that autonomous weapons systems would narrow the window for nuclear decision-making. They claimed that the slow pace of human decision-making amounted to a threat to national security.”

  “Remember that multi-media campaign put out by Centoreum Tech back then?” Susan asked. “It was all over the place.

  Elise nodded with a grimace.

  “They must have spent millions on it,” Susan said, “but they did succeed in selling the general public and Congress on the risks of hypersonics and autonomous weapons. They pitched the notion of the ARC system as the ideal solution to countering the threat. But I honestly never thought we’d cross the red line of automating nuclear weapons systems, even if they are defensive. Ever. But here we are. And now I’m responsible for overseeing it.”

  “Ma’am, you know ARC is not fully automated,” Elise said. “It’s technically semi-automated. As the president, you do still retain the sole authority to use nuclear weapons.”

  Susan grimaced. “Yeah… but only by reversing the launch order given by the ARC system in the first place. What if I can’t do that in time? What if my senior advisors prevent me from rescinding the order? Then a machine will give an order that will kill millions of innocent civilians. A machine!” She waved her free hand around.

  “I’m sure there are safety measures in place to prevent that scenario,” Elise said.

  Well, I’m not so sure.

  Susan took a deep breath and exhaled hard, trying to loosen what felt like a heavy, iron noose around her neck.

  I suppose this is what I signed up for.

  “Speaking of the ARC system, you have a lunch meeting with Dennis Warren, Centoreum’s CEO, today,” Elise continued. “The scheduler made a reservation for you and Mr. Warren at The Monocle in Capitol Hill at noon. Secret Service agents have already secured the restaurant earlier this morning and planned the route for your motorcade.”

  Ugh.

  President Monroe had been close friends with the self-made business
billionaire tycoon who had funded much of their election campaign. The CEO also happened to be close friends with the SecDef, her archnemesis, Isaiah Burke. As soon as Warren got wind of Harrison’s death, he’d reached out to Susan’s chief of staff to schedule a lunch. She was pretty sure what was on his agenda. The CEO wanted to remind her how many strings he pulled inside the Beltway and how she and Monroe still owed him for their successful election.

  The president’s dead body isn’t even cold yet, and he wants to collect his debts.

  Susan tried to smooth out her pinched expression. “Actually, let’s scratch the lunch for today. I don’t think I’ll have time to leave the White House with the ongoing situation in China. Plus, I’d like to get briefed about ARC before I sit down with Centoreum’s CEO.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell him something extremely urgent came up and reschedule the lunch for next week after your ARC briefing,” Elise said. “What do you want to do with the free hour?”

  Susan smiled to herself, feeling back in charge of her life for a moment. “Let’s put in a call to the Chinese ambassador and see if he’s willing to have an informal lunch to talk ourselves out of this crisis. We’ll do it in the Yellow Oval Room.”

  “Sure. I’ll get that arranged,” Elise said, typing a note on her tablet.

  Blowing gently against the surface of the hot liquid, Susan took another cautious sip and turned toward the elegant half-moon window, which looked out onto the West Wing and across the West Colonnade.

  The French-style architecture and towering granite stone walls of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building were impressive. It was her favorite building in D.C. Members of her national security staff would soon be arriving there for work—including Morgan Shaw.

  Although the mention of Morgan’s name by Grayson in connection with Nightfall had shaken her confidence, Susan was determined to hold off final judgement until she received tangible details. She also wasn’t yet sure how to use the information to her advantage. She’d asked Grayson to have the FBI director dig deeper and send over a file on Morgan’s alleged connection to the Nightfall Incident. He’d promised her more information by the end of the day.

  Like it or not, Susan would be forced to rely on Morgan’s expertise in the coming days; her help would be vital in Susan’s determination to find a way out of the escalating conflict with China. Whatever happened, the U.S. needed to avoid the use of military force, or worse, the use of nuclear weapons. For this reason, she needed to set her own insecurities aside and leverage Morgan’s knowledge. Susan pursed her lips as an idea surfaced.

  I know just what to do with her.

  “Please make sure Morgan Shaw attends the cabinet meeting later this morning.” Susan asked.

  Elise raised her eyebrow, giving her a knowing smirk. “Ma’am, are you sure about that?”

  “Oh, I’m dead sure. I need her help with something.” Susan suppressed a smile when she imagined the secretary of defense’s reaction to Morgan’s theory about China’s submarines.

  He’ll blow his gasket.

  Susan’s relationship with General Isaiah Burke, the bombastic secretary of defense, had been strained since the start of Monroe’s administration. Nothing Susan could do or say was acceptable to him, but she didn’t quite understand the personal animosity. To add to her dislike, she was convinced that Burke was now vying for the empty VP spot and she was worried about what that would mean for her presidency. Unlike her, Burke was able to wield the influence of Monroe’s base.

  Elise turned her attention to something on her tablet. Susan waited patiently for her to continue, her own thoughts returning to Morgan.

  Now that I have something on Morgan, maybe she’ll fall more in line.

  “Um, ma’am, there’s some more breaking news,” Elise said.

  More?

  “The autonomous weapons legislation passed the Senate vote a few minutes ago. In anticipation of this possibility, I’d already moved several things around and scheduled a press briefing right before your lunch to address the legislation and the situation in Hong Kong. Do you think you’ll be ready with your decision to sign or veto the bill?”

  “I think so,” Susan said. “Is that all, boss?” She cracked a goofy grin.

  “For now,” Elise said, smiling back at her.

  10

  The Message

  DREW

  0630

  Lafayette Square

  1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW

  Washington D.C.

  Drew checked the time on his smartphone. His friends would be arriving within a half hour to relieve him of his post. Not wanting to stand around doing nothing, he bent over, picked up a protest sign, and strode through the thick huddle of tents toward the perimeter fence guarding the White House.

  As the famous building came into view, he caught sight of a female reporter with a microphone and rugged-looking cameraman standing in front of the fence. The reporter was an attractive blonde woman, wearing bright red lipstick, a snug teal dress, and black heels. When Drew got less than twenty feet away, he noticed her mic was labeled with the words The Counter View. He recognized her immediately.

  Holy crap. That’s Tori Scott.

  Suddenly, a strong urge to do something overcame him. Making his way toward the reporter, he raised his sign high up in the air and began shouting as loud as he could, “Ban killer robots, veto the bill! Ban killer robots, veto the bill!” The closer Drew got to her, the louder he shouted. “Ban killer robots, veto the bill! Ban killer robots, veto the bill!”

  Amidst the racket, Tori quit talking into the mic and made a sign to her cameraman. Then to his surprise, she turned to smile directly at him. She walked toward him, signaling her cameraman to follow.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  Drew’s hands began to shake as she approached. A fluttery feeling filled his stomach. Pushing through his nerves, he raised the sign even higher and kept shouting his slogan.

  “Excuse me,” Tori said, her voice sugary sweet and tinged with a Southern twang. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

  Drew stopped shouting and froze in place, his sign dropping slightly. He pointed at his chest and raised his eyebrows. “You want to talk to me?”

  Tori nodded.

  A flush of adrenaline tingled through his body. Drew took a few tentative steps toward her, avoiding her direct gaze. She was even more beautiful in person. Her clear blue eyes matched her dress and stood out against her smooth, ivory skin.

  “What’s your name, sweetie?” She reached out her hand to shake his. Her grip was surprisingly firm.

  “I’m Drew Hudson,” he said, shaking her hand, still stunned by what was happening. “And you’re… Tori Scott.”

  “You just gave me a brilliant idea,” she said nodding at him. “I was just taping a bit for my show later today. You know, the recording you rudely interrupted with your loud shouting.”

  Drew’s face flushed. “Sorry about that.”

  Tori narrowed her eyes. “Don’t apologize. You knew exactly what you were doing. But it’s no worry because this is going to be so much better. As long as you cooperate with me.” She gave him a big smile and then looked straight into his eyes, making his legs go weak. “Sweetie, are you willing to help me out?”

  Drew backed away. He was tempted to turn around, race back to the safety of his umbrella, and forget any of this had happened.

  “Honey, you want your voice to be heard, don’t you?” Tori asked.

  Drew fidgeted with his hands. “Um, I don’t know. I… um… don’t have anything to say.”

  “Hon, I’m sure you do. You wouldn’t be out here if you didn’t have something to say.” Tori smiled again, dazzling him with her bright white teeth. “We just have to get you talking, and you’ll be fine.”

  She motioned for her cameraman to start rolling.

  Turning to the camera, she said, “This is Tori Scott reporting to you live from the White House where a group of demonstrators is protesting the auto
nomous weapons bill that will hit President Tolley’s desk sometime today. I’m here with Drew Hudson, one of the intrepid protesters who has spent the entire night in a 24-hour vigil, hoping to persuade the president to veto the bill.” She turned to him and smiled. “Drew, can you please tell us why you’re protesting against autonomous weapons systems?” She stuck her mic in his face.

  “Uh…” Drew stared into the camera, paralyzed by the black hole of a large lens staring back at him.

  His head raced, and he struggled to find words, but he could barely hear anything over the pounding of his heart. For the first time in his life, Drew had an opportunity to use all the geeky knowledge about artificial intelligence. His words might actually have an impact. That is, if he could pull himself together in front of a camera.

  “Um… for me, I guess it comes down to data,” Drew said, his hands shaking.

  Tori looked surprised. “Data? That’s not at all what I thought you were going to say… I was totally expecting you to say something about Skynet or HAL 9000. You know, like how the machines kill off humans in the movies. Why are you worried about data, of all things?” Her Southern drawl became thicker the more she talked.

  “Um… well, everyone fears the Skynet-Terminator scenario, but honestly, that’s so far off in the distant future, we’ll likely all be dead from something far less ominous. For example, from an autonomous weapons system overfitting a dataset and causing widespread mayhem.”

  “What do you mean?” Tori scrunched her face.

  Drew took a deep breath. “Autonomous weapons systems are built using machine learning tools, which need massive volumes of high-quality training data to achieve specific tasks with minimal error. And we don’t have the right datasets to solve complex national security problems.”

  “Whoa, dude. You’re talking way over our heads right now,” Tori said, showing her white teeth to the camera. “Can you explain it using simple language for our viewers at home? We don’t all have PhDs, you know.”