Five Tribes

by Brian Nelson

  “If Hill survived, he should be thrown in the brig,” Walden said.

  Curtiss shook his head with open disdain. “You two have a very unrealistic understanding of warfare,” he said. “Probably because neither of you have ever been in it. War, by its very nature, is chaos, and, therefore, unpredictable. I’d also like to remind you that this was a successful operation. Yes, Hill disobeyed orders, but his actions saved the mission. He took out the last two gunships, and if he’d just had a few more seconds the mission would have been a complete success. Do you really think that by handing decision-making over to a machine, you will eliminate the unexpected?”

  “Yes, I do,” Rosario said, “Because a machine doesn’t get tired or scared or hesitate. And our AI systems can make decisions faster than any human. On this op, the problems began to cascade when Hill let Xiao-ping’s friend come with them. That would never have happened if an AI system had been running this op. The other man would have never made it out of the cellblock.”

  “Then neither would Xiao-ping,” Curtiss countered. “He told Hill that he wouldn’t leave without his friend.”

  “Then we would have sent your men in to carry Xiao-ping out alone.”

  Curtiss scoffed. “Hindsight is certainly twenty-twenty isn’t it? Hill had a SEAL team in full armor—all essentially invisible and invulnerable—against thirty Chinese guards whose rifles wouldn’t fire and who were occupied with a mutiny. At that moment, he had no idea about the Z-15 gunships, so taking an extra prisoner added almost no risk to the mission. Your AI system would have made the same choice because it would never have predicted the arrival of so much hardware to put down an insurrection in a small mining camp. Especially since the Chinese military did nothing to intervene in any of the other mutinies.”

  Curtiss looked at Rosario, and she dropped her eyes. That’s right, he thought, you know you’re wrong.

  “Let’s take a step back, shall we, and think about this objectively,” she said.

  Curtiss eyed her suspiciously.

  “Regardless of the details of this mission,” she continued, “the intention of the US military is to move forward—and move forward aggressively—with automation.” She turned her attention to the others in the room.

  “I realize that Admiral Curtiss has great respect for our combat troops and their abilities. I can appreciate that. But warfare is changing. And automation is the future. The Russians, the French, the Chinese, they’re all developing automated systems. The Israelis already have drones that pick targets and fire with no human intervention. It’s time we did the same.”

  “I completely disagree,” Curtiss said. “The protocol that we have used since 9/11 needs to stay in place. Machines such as drones can acquire targets, but the decision to kill needs to be made by a human. I’m all for using AI for development and for assisting our troops, but not automated killing. And that means no automation of mission control.”

  Rosario shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, but if you only knew what we are capable of. Any nuance of human decision making can be replicated by the right algorithm. There is literally nothing that an AI system can’t do.”

  Now Walden chimed in. “You’re trying to hold back the tides, Jim. The world is becoming more complex every day, and we need machines if we are going to keep up with that complexity.”

  “That’s right,” Rosario continued. “It’s truly amazing what we can do now. I’ve already been discussing this with Ryan Lee, and he’s confident we can control any combat operation better than humans.”

  Curtiss shook his head. “That’s an easy promise to make, especially for someone trying to increase her power in an organization, but we all know it is a difficult thing to deliver.”

  “Then give me four months, and I’ll prove it. All I need is Ryan Lee and open access to the Forced Evolution systems.”

  Curtiss noticed Walden’s mouth shift into a sly grin. He was clearly enjoying watching his protégé get the upper hand on him. Forced Evolution. Now there was no doubt why Rosario had taken the job.

  “Ryan Lee is dedicating all his efforts to the Venger system,” Curtiss said.

  “Ah, yes,” Walden said. “The Venger system. And why wasn’t it used in Namibia? I understand that it could have prevented some of your snafus.”

  “Some aspects of the Venger system were used in the raid, such as the ghost program and the night optics, but the entire system, including the neural nets and the battlefield mapping, were not ready. Yes, I will acknowledge that it may have been helpful, but it’s still in testing and it would not have changed the outcome of the mission. It will likely be two weeks to a month before it comes online.”

  “That means Ryan Lee will soon be available for a new project,” Rosario said.

  “Yes,” Curtiss countered, “but Ryan Lee works for me, and I will decide what his next project will be.”

  “Of course,” Walden said, “unless the Joint Chiefs tell you otherwise.”

  Olivia Rosario strode to the back of the NRL parking lot where her 2011 Mercedes C63 was parked. It sat over two parking spaces because, yes, she was that kind of car owner . . . and, yes, this was that kind of car. She touched a button on her remote, the car beeped its compliance and she opened the driver’s side door.

  At first glance, it looked like a thousand other Mercedes sedans, a family car, painted an unassuming white with black trim. But looks can be deceiving.

  She turned the key in the ignition, and the 6.3 liter V-8 engine came to life with a beastly growl.

  Olivia never got tired of that sound, nor the engine that made it. Oh, that engine. The first ever designed by the petrolheads at AMG. It could only be described with one word: unruly. The engine was like a hungry animal pulling at its chain. The slightest touch on the accelerator was enough to flatten Olivia’s head into the headrest and leave her hands struggling to maintain control.

  It was for this very reason that she had bought the car. For here was a kindred spirit, something—like her—that looked benign enough, yet had a hidden interior. A creature that refused to be tamed, that refused to listen to the naysayers—women don’t become tech entrepreneurs—and refused to obey the rules.

  She donned her sunglasses and opened the sunroof. It was a warm fall evening, and she intended to enjoy every minute of the remaining sunshine.

  She eased the car out of the lot and down Oberlin Avenue. This was the prettiest part of campus, with an open lawn on her left and a row of maple trees, now in bright fall colors.

  She reflected on her day: She was pleased with the briefing, although she could not say it had gone perfectly.

  She would have preferred to use more honey than vinegar with Curtiss, but she had studied him well and knew that, above all, he was a man who respected strength. If she had come off as a bitch, so be it, as long as he respected the fact that she could wield real power.

  And Walden? He had played his part well, and they were becoming an effective team. That was good, because she needed Walden. Luckily, he was a man who could be easily manipulated. In his rush to get control of the lab from Curtiss, he was giving Olivia a shot at tremendous power . . . which she had every intention of taking.

  She caught a glance of herself in the rearview mirror and couldn’t help but smile.

  Walden had no idea the real reason she was there.

  But as she made a left onto the ramp to I-295, a shadow of doubt crossed her face. It still may not be enough, she reminded herself. You may only have a few months—six at the most—to do the things you need to do.

  And if you don’t?

  She didn’t want to think about that. So far in this life she had never failed to accomplish a goal. She was rightly proud of that. But this was different.

  This time life had thrown her an unexpected curve ball, one that left her lying awake at night wondering what she’d done to deserve this.
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  It was a difficult thing to accept, because until two years ago, her life had gone to her plan as precisely as a movie script. But something had happened to her happily ever after.

  For the first time in her life she was faced with an enemy she did not know how to defeat, an enemy she could not predict or control, and who could demand more of her than she was able to give.

  At the top of the ramp she hit the gas. The 510 horsepower V8 gave a wicked growl, and the hood of the car seemed to rise up and bite at the open road. But her earlier elation had now given way to worry and frustration, and she drove forward without any sense of exhilaration, only desperation.

  There was so much she had to do and so little time to do it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Into the Darkness

  November 6, 2026

  Namibia

  Eric came awake into a foggy consciousness. Everything was dark, as if he were blindfolded. It was raining, and he was shivering. He heard voices speaking a language he didn’t understand, full of clicks and deep notes. Then he heard English. “Let me kill him.” It was a woman’s voice.

  “That is not for us to decide,” someone replied.

  Then he fell unconscious.

  He awoke in terrible pain. His head felt as if his brain had swelled to twice its normal size and was about to split his skull apart.

  He groaned and opened his eyes, but saw only darkness.

  He heard the strange language again, someone calling to someone else.

  Good God! The pain!

  He passed out again.

  When he came to again, the pain had subsided, but he still had a pounding headache. He opened his eyes to see only darkness once more.

  “Is anyone there?”

  He heard a woman’s voice making the strange clicking language.

  He strained to see her, but there was only blackness. How could it be so dark? Was he blindfolded? He reached up to touch his eyes and felt his eyelashes against his fingertips.

  A sudden horror crept into his mind.

  He heard movement. Someone was coming closer.

  He heard a man’s voice, speaking heavily accented English. “You are awake. That is good. My name is Khamko.” Eric felt a small hand clasp his forearm. “We found you in the woods. You have taken a very bad blow to the head. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Eric Hill,” he replied. “Where am I?”

  “You are near the Khaudum River.”

  “Why is it so dark in here?”

  Khamko didn’t answer immediately; he seemed to be choosing his words. “I was afraid of this,” he finally said. “I’m very sorry to tell you that it is the middle of the afternoon, and light is shining through the door of the hut.”

  Eric felt his head swim, a sudden claustrophobia closed in around him.

  Khamko continued: “Your eyes are open, moving, and adjusting to the light. This tells me that the problem is not ocular but neurological. Do you understand what that means?”

  “It means my eyes are fine, but my brain is fucked.”

  “It is called cortical blindness,” Khamko said. “The trauma to your head has damaged your occipital cortex. Your eyesight may come back, but the chances are very small. I know this is very hard news, but if it is any consolation, it could be far worse. The fact that you are speaking clearly and can move means you are much better off than I had feared.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No, you would call me a healer, although that is not our word. I would like to get you to a hospital, but I’m afraid it will be many days before that is possible.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Two days.”

  Eric tried to sit up. But the effort to lift his head was too painful.

  “Please don’t,” Khamko said. “I know you must be frightened. It’s a lot to take in. But you shouldn’t move. You are safe here, and your body needs rest to heal itself.”

  His head was pounding, but he became aware that he was sore all over, especially his left side. He ran his hand along his thigh and found it wrapped with bandages.

  “You had many cuts, but only two were serious. I put twenty stitches in the back of your head and another fifteen in your left arm.”

  “Thank you. But what happened to the plane? Where are the others?”

  “You were the only one we found alive.”

  Eric lay back. He thought about Major Winfred and the crew of the Valor. He felt horrible. This was all his fault. He should have been better prepared. He tried to force himself up again, but Khamko gently eased him back down.

  “I have to go. People will be looking for me.”

  “Yes, many people are looking for you. But I suspect that they are not the ones you want to find you.”

  “Chinese?”

  “Yes,” Khamko said. “We have seen them searching for escaped prisoners in the past, but never like this.”

  “I wasn’t a prisoner,” he said, finding no reason to hide the truth. “I’m a scientist. I was trying to help a prisoner escape.”

  “Ah, a scientist who wears a military uniform. Then that is perhaps why they are so keen to find you.”

  Eric knew that during the battle the Chinese had gotten a glimpse of what they could do and, regardless of the fluid situation in Beijing, someone clearly wanted their hands on it . . . and him.

  It wouldn’t be the first time, he thought.

  Eric awoke sometime later. He said a silent prayer before opening his eyes, but when he did all was still darkness. He let out a long exhale. He would have to learn to live without his eyes, at least for a while. He tried to open his remaining senses and “see” the world as best he could.

  The first thing he noticed was the sound of children. They were close, whispering to each other. He heard one laugh.

  He turned his head toward them. It sent a bolt of pain down his spine, but the chatter instantly ceased. They were watching him. He tried to listen harder, to find other clues about where he was. Above him, he heard the sound of the wind through grass and knew the hut must have a thatch roof. Then he heard a woman’s voice. He couldn’t understand her words, but she seemed to be scolding the children. They laughed and squealed, and he heard their voices scattering in all directions.

  He felt her presence coming closer.

  “My name is Naru,” she said. “I’ve brought you some food and water.”

  He sensed a coldness in her voice, as if she was doing something she found unpleasant. He sat up awkwardly. His head was still pounding and his shoulders were tight as cables, but at least he could move.

  “Hold out your hand.” She gave him the food.

  “Thank you,” he said. He took a bite. It was some sort of tuber with a heavy, earthen taste somewhere between a potato and a carrot. Eric felt the silence grow long.

  “How is it that you speak English?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. Eric tried again.

  “The children, why were they watching me?”

  To this she replied, but her voice had taken on a calculating tone. “Oh, you should hear them. They have never seen anyone like you. Some say you must be from the moon, because your skin is so white they can see your blue veins underneath. Others say you will turn brown as soon as they put you in the sun. And others want to know why we haven’t killed you, like we kill all the others who trespass on our land.”

  As she spoke, Eric felt a twinge of recognition. “You were there . . . you found me.”

  “Yes.”

  “You wanted to kill me.”

  There was a pause, “I still do.”

  In his personal darkness, Eric felt very exposed. “Why? I’m not Chinese. I’m not here to loot your country. I’m trying to stop them.”

  She gave a sardonic laugh. “Do you really believe tha
t? Truly? And where exactly do you think all the gold, copper, oil, and timber goes after it is sent to China?”

  Eric suddenly felt very foolish.

  “You don’t know?” she continued. “Well, I’ll tell you. It becomes your sneakers, your furniture, your cell phones, and the plastic toys for your kids. It’s a simple equation really: If I could kill all the Americans, the Chinese would have little—”

  “Naru!” Eric recognized Khamko’s voice. For a moment he spoke to her in their language, then Naru spoke in English. “I’m sorry if I frightened you,” she said without emotion. There was an awkward silence. “If you are still hungry later, just call out my name and the children will get me.”

  Eric felt her move away.

  Khamko began checking his cuts and stitches. “I’m sorry about Naru. She sees you and the Chinese as just another manifestation of all the other invaders who have taken our land from us: the Germans, the Boers, the Dutch, the English.”

  “I’m not like that,” Eric insisted.

  “Perhaps you are not, but your people certainly are. That is the reason we must be very cautious with whom we trust. So it is likely a blessing that you cannot see us and that you do not know where you are.”

  “You can trust me.”

  There was a long pause.

  “I hope you are right.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Teaching Tomorrow

  November 7, 2026

  Naval Research Lab, Washington, DC

  “Any news?” Ryan Lee asked.

  Jane shook her head.

  Ryan didn’t reply right away. Instead he simply hugged her, and she appreciated that. It felt good.

  After a long minute, he asked, “What can I do?”

  She shrugged. “Just do what you always do. Be my friend.”

  “Eric’s going to be okay, I can feel it.”

  She forced a smile, but she did not share his faith. “Tell me something to get my mind off it,” she said.