by Steve Alten
“Shouldn’t we tell Simon about this?”
“Let’s investigate first. Simon’s got a lot on his plate right now.”
David turns left down a narrow corridor. He points below to a five-foot-wide conveyor belt running the length of passage. “Part of the sub’s transportation system,” he explains. “The conveyor runs beneath the decking and into crawl spaces throughout most of the ship. Sorceress uses it to transport torpedoes into Goliath’s weapons bays.”
They come to an alcove, ending at a sealed watertight door.
“Sorceress, open the starboard weapons bay.”
Pistons fire, hydraulics engaging. As the door opens, an overwhelming stench is released into the corridor.
David sniffs the air, gagging as he steps inside the chamber. “What is that stench?”
Araujo’s eyes narrow. “The scent of the dead.”
They enter, David leading him around racks of torpedoes and a half dozen of the mammoth two-armed loader drones, mounted at intervals along the decking. Above their heads, a dozen inanimate robotic appendages dangle from the ceiling.
Protruding from the forward wall, set among a jungle of pressure tubing, wires, and electronics are the three starboard torpedo tubes. At the center of the bay, held aloft as if a sacrifice to an unseen god, is the mutilated carcass of Thomas Chau.
David gags, but is unable to turn away from the sight of the violated skull, its absence revealing the exposed fissures of Chau’s brain.
“Look what it did—the damn thing butchered him!”
“Shh, stay calm,” David whispers.
“Calm? Your machine murdered the Chinaman. You and Simon have lost control.” Araujo races back toward the watertight door.
David glances up at the scarlet eyeball. “Sorceress, seal the weapons bay.”
The steel door slams shut.
Araujo tugs at the door.
Ignoring his rants, David climbs the back of the loader drone supporting Chau’s body. Gently, he examines the still-intact microwires connecting the dead man’s dried-out brain to the arm of the reconfigured targeting drone dangling from the ceiling above.
“This is very impressive work.”
“Did you hear me, Paniagua? You need to disconnect your goddamn computer before it kills all of us.”
“Quiet, or I’ll have the computer remove your vocal cords. Sorceress, explain the purpose of the microwire connections running into Mr. Chau’s brain.”
NEURAL CONNECTIONS NECESSARY TO INTERFACE DIRECTLY WITH CEREBRAL CORTEX AND HIGHER FUNCTIONS OF THE SUBJECT’S BRAIN.
“For what purpose?”
SORCERESS MATRIX LACKS PROPER PROGRAMMING TO REORGANIZE DNA STRANDS. INTERFACE WITH A HUMAN MIND WILL COMPLETE THE NEW PROGRAMMING.
“Incredible …” David closes his eyes. This is impossible … Sorceress is demonstrating curiosity … no, no, not curiosity … curiosity is a human trait, this has to do with its self-replicating program. The computer senses gaps within its knowledge base. It’s searching for answers about itself, attempting to comprehend its own mind … but it can’t, any more than a human being can. The mind is a closed system, it can only be sure of what it knows about itself by relying on what it already knows about itself. Of course, the computer can’t comprehend that, possessing no concept of self-identity. Logic dictated it tap into the human mind in order to garner experiences alien to itself in an attempt to reorganize its DNA!
“Sorceress, I understand your need to find solutions, but you cannot just wire yourself into a human brain to knowledge. That type of interface just isn’t feasible, and it’s very dangerous.”
INCORRECT. HUMAN TO SORCERESS INTERFACE IS FEASIBLE.
“You’re far too powerful. Look what you’ve done—you killed the subject.”
INCORRECT. THE SUBJECT’S CAUSE OF DEATH WAS DIRECTLY ATTRIBUTABLE TO A BLOW SUSTAINED ON THE CRANIUM RESULTING IN HEMORRHAGING OF THE BRAIN.
“Yet you continued the interface? Why?”
THE PURPOSE OF THE NEURAL IMPLANT WAS EXPLORATORY IN NATURE. INTERFACE ALLOWED FOR COMPLETE MAPPING OF CENTRAL AND PERIPHERAL NERVOUS SYSTEMS, THOUGHT RECOGNITION, TRANSLATION OF MUSCLE IMPULSES, MAPPING OF THE HUMAN GENETIC CODE—
“Stop! Sorceress … you’ve mapped the entire human genetic code?”
AFFIRMATIVE.
“Can you translate the code so that we can understand the entire human condition? The origins of disease? How the human machine functions? Complete cause and effect?”
AFFIRMATIVE.
My God … the machine possesses the key to unlocking the very secrets of life and death.
ADDITIONAL INVASIVE INTERFACE IS NECESSARY.
“Another interface? Why? For what purpose?”
SUBJECT CEASED FUNCTIONING PRIOR TO SORCERESS ANALYSIS OF HUMAN PROTEINS AND ENZYMES.
“Damn. But once an additional interface is completed, it is possible for you to … I don’t know, say—cure cancer?”
AFFIRMATIVE.
“Any cancer?”
AFFIRMATIVE. PHARMACEUTICALS CAN BE DESIGNED TO TARGET AND ERADICATE ALL GENETIC-BASED DISEASES AND DEFECTS OF THE HUMAN CONDITION.
A rueful smile plays across David’s face. “How invasive is the interface?”
NANOCIRCUITS MUST BE SURGICALLY IMPLANTED IN SUBJECT’S BRAIN. MICROWIRES CONNECT DIRECTLY TO SORCERESS VIA MEMS UNIT JUNCTION.
“Incredible.” David climbs down from the loader drone, his heart pounding with excitement. “Sorceress, how soon—”
Araujo leaps at David and grabs him by the throat with both hands, slamming him backward against a torpedo rack. “You’re insane! I want out of—”
With lightning speed, two targeting drones swoop down—snatching the assailant by his wrists, dragging him away from David.
Araujo screams in agony, falling to his knees as the steel pincers constrict, pushing through the flesh and nerves, fracturing the bone.
The East Timoran native passes out as his hands are severed from his wrists.
David stares indifferently at the bleeding crewman. “Sorceress, how soon could the invasive interface begin?”
EIGHTEEN HOURS ARE REQUIRED TO CULTIVATE NANORECEPTORS AND FRESH SAMPLE TISSUES FROM THE INTERFACE SUBJECT.
“The subject is Simon Covah. Anything else?”
THOMAS CHAU’S SPINAL CORD WAS DAMAGED, PREVENTING A COMPLETE DECODING OF THE NEURONS OF THE SPINAL CORD. DECODING IS CRITICAL TO COMPLETE THE INTERFACE.
“What must be done to complete the decoding?”
INVASIVE SURGERY INTO A LIVING SUBJECT’S SPINAL CORD AT A POINT JUST BELOW THE MEDULLA OBLONGATA.
“Is the surgical procedure dangerous?”
AFFIRMATIVE. PROBABILITY OF DEATH: 56 PERCENT. PROBABILITY OF PERMANENT PARALYSIS: 87 PERCENT.
“Understood.” David stares at the unconscious crewman now bleeding to death at his feet. “Sorceress, I believe Mr. Araujo wishes to volunteer for the procedure.”
“Don’t compromise yourself. You are all you’ve got.”
—Betty Ford
“I am not a crook … .”
—President (Richard M. Nixon
“I did not have sexual relations with that woman.”
—President William Jefferson Clinton
“It was only one life. What is one life in the affairs of a state?”
—Benito Mussolini, fascist Italian dictator, after the car he was riding in struck and killed a child
CHAPTER 22
9 November
Aboard the Boeing 747-400 YAL-IA forty-thousand feet over the North Sea
General Jackson gazes at the three closed-circuit television monitors mounted to the center wall within the converted Boeing 747’s control room. Appearing on one screen is President Edwards and several members of the National Security Council. On the other two screens—a live broadcast originating from within the closed chamber of the United Nation’s Security Council.
The Bear feels the acid growling in his stomach. He cannot remember when he enjoyed
his last home-cooked meal, he cannot remember when he last cuddled with his wife in bed. Or felt happy. Or even smiled.
Jackson’s life has become a volatile around-the-clock existence, the hunt to sink Goliath (and kill his daughter in the process) taking a harsh toll on the general’s health. Meeting after endless meeting, juggling a thousand duties, sleeping on helicopters and jumbo jets, submarines and warships. During those rare moments when he is not strategizing, he is praying. Praying that his daughter is still alive. Praying that he will see her again. Praying that the world will soon find its equilibrium, so he can jump off the Armed Forces merry-goround and retire from a lifetime of madness.
Over the last twenty-four hours, things have gotten progressively worse. While the Air Force has had little trouble tracking the Goliath from above, the stealthy sub has been nearly impossible to follow underwater. A rare opportunity to sink the ship had been missed when Covah had somehow eluded a gauntlet positioned outside the English Channel. Now the death sub is heading into Arctic waters, beneath sheets of ice that would make things even more difficult for the fleet to engage her in battle.
A second converted jumbo jet has joined the hunt. Refueling in midair, the YAL airbuses and their crews remain in constant vigil, forty thousand feet above Gunnar’s homing signal.
The general is physically and emotionally wiped out.
Stop bellyaching and find a way to rescue your daughter …
Jackson takes a swig of Pepto-Bismol and refocuses on the U.N. Security Council meeting.
U.N. Secretary-General Kieran Prendergast is speaking. “The Chair recognizes Mr. Gyalo Thondup, who is here today representing the interests of the Dalai Lama.”
A frail Tibetan man steps to the podium. “Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Esteemed members of the Security Council, since my first visit to Beijing in February of 1979, I, along with other officials of the Tibetan government-inexile, have tried in vain to negotiate a peaceful resolution to the crisis in Tibet with members of the Chinese government. On numerous occasions, the Dalai Lama himself has proposed peace plans to China, both directly and through public speeches. With each step forward we have taken, the Chinese government has pushed us two steps back.
“The Dalai Lama wants to make it very clear that he has no ties with Simon Covah, the terrorist whose brazen acts have forced us to meet here at this negotiating table. What has been made quite clear are the acceptable terms of Tibet’s independence, which will pave the way for the Dalai Lama’s return. The stall tactics now being practiced by members of the Chinese government serve no one and change nothing. The Dalai Lama refuses to travel to Beijing to discuss China’s claim of ownership of Tibet; nor is he interested in negotiating for the continued existence of Chinese nuclear weapons facilities in Lhasa. The Dalai Lama wants Tibet returned to Tibetans, and nothing short of our independence will be open for discussion.
“Esteemed members, the behavior of the Chinese government over these last sixty years has made it painfully obvious that the Communists have no interest in returning Tibet to the Tibetan people, not now, nor by this week’s imposed deadline. Therefore, I have been instructed by the Dalai Lama to leave these proceedings and not return until the Chinese government is ready and willing to sign off on Tibet’s independence, withdraw all military personnel from the region, and turn over all political prisoners. Should they fail to comply, as it appears is their intent, then whatever should happen within the next few days will be the consequence of their actions, not ours.”
Jackson mutes the sound as President Edwards nods to his Secretary of State. “Nick, inform General Jackson what’s happening behind the scenes.”
Nunziata removes his wire-framed glasses. “General, Beijing has decided to dig in their heels. President Li Peng and several hard-line Communist generals believe that giving in to Simon Covah’s demands now will only lead to future demands, such as the plight of Taiwan, or greater human rights for its own citizens. The Communists have decided to take a stand, knowing their whole regime may eventually fall.”
“Covah’s deadline is the day after tomorrow. What will Li Peng do?”
“The Chinese president has scheduled a public speech in Tiananmen Square for tomorrow morning. He’ll probably announce that the Chinese government has agreed in principle to Tibet’s independence, but the PLA will not withdraw until the Dalai Lama comes forward and personally negotiates the final terms of the agreement.”
“General, in your opinion, how will Covah respond?”
“He’ll launch another nuke, Mr. President,” Jackson says. “My guess is he’ll take out a major military installation, perhaps even China’s Northern Fleet.”
“But not Beijing?”
“It’s not Covah’s style,” CIA Director Pertic answers. “All negotiations still have to go through Beijing, and Covah doesn’t want to do anything to tarnish his image as a so-called Champion of the People.”
“We’ve pushed the Chinese as far as they’ll be pushed,” Nunziata adds. “It was difficult enough getting all parties to sign off on the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty. Our insurgence in Cuba is being tolerated, but just barely. I think we need to back off on this one.”
“What about the attack on the Enterprise?” the vice president asks. “Will there be another reprisal on Covah’s part?”
“The bastard nearly sank the carrier,” Ayers states. “Isn’t that reprisal enough?”
An aide comes into view, handing the Secretary of the Navy a message. Ayers opens it. “It’s from one of our attack subs, the Scranton. They claim to be tracking the Goliath off the coast of South Africa.”
Jackson feels his heart palpate. “Sir, that can’t be. We’re over the North Sea, flying directly above the signal.”
“Who’s the Scranton’s captain?” Nunziata asks.
“Tom Cubit,” Ayers answers. “He’s a bit of a maverick, but most of the good ones are. Scranton’s the attack sub that engaged Goliath while the Typhoon was being attacked in the Norwegian Sea. If anyone knows what she sounds like, it’s Cubit.”
“If Scranton’s report is correct,” says the Secretary of Defense, “then Covah means to move the Goliath into a launch position somewhere in the Northern Indian Ocean.”
“The Scranton won’t be able to track Goliath for very long,” Ayers says. “If we’re going to make a move, we have to make it now.”
The president leans forward, his image taking up most of Jackson’s monitor. “General, we can’t afford to take a chance with this information. Keep one of the YAL’s assigned to Joe-Pa’s transmission. Redirect the remaining jumbo jet to the Indian Ocean.”
Bear reaches for the bottle of Pepto-Bismol.
Aboard Goliath 97 nautical miles due east of Durban, South Africa Indian Ocean
“David, this is … astounding, a dream come true. Sorceress, how would our interface be achieved?”
COMPATIBLE NEURAL NANOSENSORS AND NEUROELECTRONIC CIRCUITS MUST BE PLACED IN A PETRI DISH CONTAINING TROPHIC FACTORS TO INDUCE BRAIN TISSUE GROWTH AROUND THE IMPLANTS. NANOCIRCUITS WOULD THEN BE SURGICALLY IMPLANTED IN SIMON COVAH’S BRAIN, RECONNECTED TO SORCERESS THROUGH A MICROWIRE STRAND BUNDLE.
“Sorceress, to interface directly with the Homo sapiens brain requires the decoding of millions of neurons that make up the human spinal cord.”
DECODING OF HUMAN SPINAL CORD HAS BEEN COMPLETED.
“What? How—”
“Simon, does it really matter?”
Covah shoots David an incredulous look. “Only if I wish to survive the procedure!”
PROCEDURE YIELDS A 97.25 PERCENT SUCCESS RATE.
“Satisfied?” David rubs Covah’s shoulders. “Simon, we’re dealing with a computer, an intelligence, that functions at a hundred trillion times the capacity of the human brain. You could spend the next thousand years attempting to comprehend how it knows what it knows, but what good would it do? This is quantum engineering. Accept that it exists because it exists and benefit from it.”
Cova
h nods, his body trembling with adrenaline. “You’re right, of course. This is a gift, perhaps the very gift of life. It’s just that our knowledge of the human brain is so limited … Sorceress, analyze tissue samples 125 through 178. Can my … can this level of cancer be eradicated in time to save the patient?”
AFFIRMATIVE.
“Even a progression this advanced?”
AFFIRMATIVE. ALL GENETIC-BASED DISEASES AND DEFECTS OF THE HUMAN CONDITION CAN BE ERADICATED.
Simon Covah drops to his knees, tears welling in his eyes. “David, do you realize what this means? Sorceress is not only capable of stopping the violence, but its newfound knowledge could make it … the catalyst to a lasting world peace.”
“And save your life in the process.”
“Beyond that. With the knowledge Sorceress has acquired, scientists will be able to eradicate diseases in the womb. Birth defects will become a thing of the past. With a little DNA tinkering, future generations will not only live longer, but—”
“Simon—”
“But that’s … that’s only the tip of the genetics iceberg. This interface … all my life, I’ve pondered the debate of nature versus nurture, convinced the root of man’s violent tendencies is actually genetic in nature. A direct human-to-computer interface opens up a whole new world of understanding man’s brain, of dissecting our primordial history. If I’m right, then Sorceress could isolate the genes that cause violence among our species … perhaps even tell us how to eradicate them from our genetic code.”
“A gene that causes violence? Come on, Simon—”
“Don’t laugh at me!” Covah paces, his sudden anger causing his chemoweakened body to quiver. “You don’t know … you haven’t a clue about this sort of thing! The human brain consists of several layers, reflecting the evolution of our species. My team in Toronto performed physiological tests on overly aggressive, antisocial boys. We found their violent tendencies to be attributable to low levels of cortisol, a stress hormone released in response to fear. Children lacking sufficient levels of cortisol were committing violent acts before the age of ten. Think about it and it makes perfect sense. Modern man’s genetic programming originates from our primal ancestors. Morality is not inherited, it is a learned behavior, while violence—the law of the jungle—is encoded into our DNA. What if the lack of cortisol, or another hormone like it, has affected our moral compass? What if this is the reason one individual can commit atrocities against another without a second’s thought?”
