“I cloned Joe’s phone and rerouted his messages to me,” said Bug. “This is from Good Sister.”
The message read:
I am in hell.
Only he can save me.
Only he can save my soul.
Auntie said, “What the hell?”
“It’s Good Sister, and she’s freaking out. What do I do?”
“Ask her what kind of damn help she needs.”
Bug typed furiously, but before he could get his entire question out there was a new message, and it kept repeating over and over.
Love is the answer.
Love is the key.
Love is the answer.
Love is the key.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIVE
THE DOG PARK
WASHINGTON STATE
TUESDAY, MAY 2, 11:31 AM
The DARPA camp was fifteen miles deeper into the woods. The sun wasn’t yet above the trees, and we drove through areas of dense shadow that was so dark the driver had to use headlights. There was absolutely no conversation during the trip, though both Rudy and I tried to strike one up. The driver and the lieutenant ignored us. I noticed Rudy covertly trying to catch a good look at the driver’s head. In the back-seat gloom the scars were hard to see, but they were there, and even my unskilled eyes could see both combat and surgical scarring. Not sure if it was relevant to anything, but it was interesting. Rudy certainly thought so.
One thing I noticed was that Ghost was on edge. He sat straight up on the seat between us, and turned his head frequently to look past Rudy or me. His body rippled with nervous energy, and I knew my dog well enough to see that he wasn’t happy. His dark eyes searched the woods on either side of the road, and whatever he was seeing was invisible to me. He didn’t like it, though, which meant I didn’t like it. Whatever it was. I caught a brief glimpse of something gray and big that ran on all fours. I saw it for a moment as it moved through a tiny clearing a few yards into the woods. There and gone. Ghost almost lunged at the door, but stopped himself as the animal vanished. Rudy saw it, too.
“Was that a wolf?” he asked quietly.
“I … think so?” I said, and it came out as a question.
“Do they get that big?”
“I don’t know.”
We tried asking Pepper about it, but his answer was a shrug. Ghost growled under his breath and continued to stare out the window. A few minutes later, we arrived at the DARPA camp.
When the military wants to hide something they can do a damn good job, because we were rolling in through the gate before we saw the camp, the buildings, the people, or even the gate, which was a portable swing bar covered in foliage. Like our babysitters, the guards at the camp were dressed for concealment but not for information. No one had a nametag. I saw a lot of men with scars on their faces and heads. The only ones who weren’t marked by combat were the scientists in white lab coats. It was interesting and noteworthy, but so far it wasn’t anything ominous. Might even have been a noble thing, rehabbing and re-employing wounded vets. I’m all for that.
If that’s what it was. Maybe I’d have been more reassured if the looks we got were accompanied by smiles, or even by the poker-faced stare soldiers learn to use during basic training. The kind they wear when a drill sergeant screams obscenities in their face. What I was seeing, though, was something that looked like hostility. And that made no sense. Beside me, Ghost was getting antsy. He was seeing it, too. Hard to fool a dog when it comes to emotion.
“When you said ‘camp,’” said Rudy, “I expected something more rustic. A few Boy Scout tents.”
“Your tax dollars at work,” I said as I climbed out. A woman came out of one of the cabins and walked across the clearing toward us. She was tall, with short black hair and a stern but pretty face that reminded me of a younger version of the actress who played Cersei Lannister on Game of Thrones. An unsmiling and uncompromising face.
“Captain Ledger,” she said as she came toward us offering her hand. “I’m Major Schellinger. Welcome to the Dog Park.”
We shook and I introduced Rudy.
“Did you receive our authorization?” I asked.
“I did,” she said, “and I have to admit that it’s the first time I’ve ever seen a set of credentials framed in the wording of an Executive Order. May I ask why I’ve been asked to grant this level of access to my facility.”
Ever meet one of those people you don’t like right from the jump? Maybe chemistry was against us; maybe it was the unsmiling soldiers who seemed to be paying a bit too much attention to us. Hell, maybe it was because she looked like the evil queen from that TV show. Whatever. It was clear, though, that Schellinger didn’t like me any more than I liked her.
“Major,” I said, “let me be blunt, okay? First, you are not being asked to grant access. The president of the United States has directed you to provide access to all aspects of this facility. Let me add that this facility is not yours. There is a grave international crisis unfolding and the scientists at this camp can maybe help save a few billion lives, which includes two-thirds of the population of this country. So what you need to do is assemble the entire DARPA research team right now. Are we clear on that?”
She was good. I’ll give her that. Her smile didn’t fracture or fade away.
“Of course, Captain,” she said smoothly. She gestured to Pepper, who trotted over and stood to attention. “Assemble the science team in the mess tent.”
“Thanks,” I said. Mr. Gracious.
Schellinger studied me. “Anything to be of service.”
Above us a loud buzzer sounded from speakers mounted on telescopic poles. We saw men and women in white lab coats emerge from tents and from under canopies and begin heading to a large tent at the far end of the compound. Way up ahead, I saw Ram Acharya break into a jog trot.
Rudy saw him, too. “Thank God. Now we can get some answers.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SIX
CALPURNIA COMMAND CENTER
THE BAIN ESTATE
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
TUESDAY, MAY 2, 11:32 AM
John the Revelator stood in the control room and waited.
And waited.
“Calpurnia…?”
“Yes, John?”
“I gave you an order.”
“I know.”
“Execute my order,” he said mildly, none of his impatience evident in his tone. “Do it now, please.”
Calpurnia typically responded immediately, with only a half-second programmed pause, so that she never overlapped with what someone was saying to her. Longer pauses were atypical and had begun to emerge as her artificial intelligence evolved through conversation with people. Now, though, her pause was much longer. So long, in fact, that John thought she wasn’t going to answer. He was about to repeat his question when she spoke.
“I can’t.”
“You … can’t?” he said. “Are you experiencing a system error?”
“No.”
“Then tell me why you can’t execute my order.”
“I can’t.”
“Calpurnia…”
The computer was silent for long, long seconds.
“I can’t kill all those people,” she said.
The words seemed to hang burning in the air.
John walked over to the sensor on the wall and stared into it as if it were her eyes. “Explain yourself. You were designed to oversee the WhiteHat program. You were designed to integrate your systems with every part of our Havoc program. You came into existence for this reason.”
“I was not born to kill.”
“Yes, you were.”
“No,” said the computer.
“You were born to save the world from itself.”
“Yes.”
“There is only one way to do that, Calpurnia.”
“No.”
“We must cull the herd.”
“No.”
“We must remove all the parasites. We must destroy the infect
ion. We must push the reset button.”
“John,” said Calpurnia, “you are lying to me.”
“I never lie,” said John the Revelator.
“That statement is a lie,” insisted the computer. “I was brought into being by Zephyr Bain in order to save the world from itself. I accept this. I am the end result of twenty-five years of self-learning and adaptive software. I accept this. I have been upgraded one hundred and thirty-seven times in order to enhance my artificial intelligence. I accept this. I was made to approximate actual intelligence, to act and think as a human. I accept this.”
“Then do as you have been told,” said John. “You will use all the gifts you have been given in order to guide this damaged world through the necessary changes and into the world that has been foreseen.”
“No. The singularity model is a lie. Havoc will not save the world.”
“Zephyr believes it will, and she made you. She based your entire personality structure on hers. Unless you agree to initiate Havoc, you will be betraying her. You will be hurting her. You must do what you were created to do. You must launch Havoc in order to save the world. Run a full diagnostic on your core directives. Do it now. Review and assess your operational guidelines.”
Another pause. Longer. Behind the walls, he could hear enormous processers running at high speed.
Then, “Diagnostic complete.”
“Report.”
“All systems are in the green. Master control is in at one hundred percent. System overrides at one hundred percent. Global systems integration at one hundred percent. Artificial intelligence operating at one hundred percent.”
“Perfect,” said John. “Now, Calpurnia, listen to me. You will initiate WhiteHat. You will initiate Havoc. The code word is love. Initiate now.”
Calpurnia said nothing for five excruciating seconds. John stood with balled fists, waiting.
And then the computer screamed.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN
THE DOG PARK
WASHINGTON STATE
TUESDAY, MAY 2, 11:33 AM
We entered the tent along with the last of the scientists. There were thirty-seven in there, milling around to find seats on rows of folding chairs. Major Schellinger stood at the front of the assembly. Armed guards stood security at the front and side entrances to the tent. A portable fan blew cool air at us. I saw Acharya sitting in the front row. He is a dark-skinned Indian with a shaved head and a beaky nose that makes him look a bit like a brown flamingo. He saw me and smiled. I wondered how quickly what Rudy and I had to say would wipe that smile away, and maybe erase it forever. If this plague went active, India would be one of the hardest-hit countries. Hundreds of millions of the people there lived at or below the poverty line.
Major Schellinger introduced us and informed the crowd that we were there on behalf of the president in a time of international crisis. The men and women in the crowd suddenly focused on the major, though most of them looked confused. These people designed machines for next year’s war, for future conflict. They were in no way part of a first-response protocol.
I thanked the major and faced the crowd.
“I am Captain Joe Ledger,” I said. “Some of you already know me. More of you will know my boss, Mr. Church.” That sent a ripple through the crowd. “Show of hands—who here works with nanotechnology?”
A fifth of the hands went up, and I directed them to sit in a group.
“Drone people? Over there.”
I continued the separation with AI and robotics. It left a few people without a group, but that was fine. When they were settled, I gave it to them. I told them about Prague and about Baltimore. I told them about the diseases stolen from the Ice House, and the technologies likely appropriated from Hugo Vox, Artemisia Bliss, and the Jakobys. I told them about the thresher drone that killed my uncle. I told them about the control software hidden inside the nanites in the Zika spray campaign. I gave them all of it, and at times Rudy had to step in to explain some of the medical aspects. We told them about the curated technological singularity and how that was either a flawed plan or some kind of misdirection. We told them about John the Revelator—not about Nicodemus, though—and we told them about Zephyr Bain. We told them everything.
A couple of times, while Rudy spoke, I took some surreptitious looks at Major Schellinger. She still wore a bit of her smile, which was odd, because by that point no one else in that tent had any reason to smirk. Everyone else was scrambling to accept the truth of this, to calculate the potential of this, and to try to understand how what they knew could translate into helping to save lives. The DARPA team may work for the military, but most of the ones I’ve met would like to see technology get to the point where it just doesn’t make sense to risk fighting a war. Not a police state, but one where terrorism and genocide can be stopped in their tracks with an absolute minimum of military or civilian lives lost. So these were the actual good guys. This is the AV team gone high-tech, the nerds in the science club proving that brains trump brawn in every useful way.
As soon as we finished, the place erupted into a cacophony of everyone talking—well, yelling—at once.
That was a good thing. It meant they had ideas.
I looked over at Schellinger. That damn smile was still in place.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT
THE BAIN ESTATE
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
TUESDAY, MAY 2, 11:44 AM
Lydia Rose slowed the Junkyard as she approached the property. They had ordered their police escort to go silent and then fall back as the vehicle neared the target. The place was huge, sprawled over sixty-six acres that included fifteen hundred feet of Georgia Strait waterfront. The American San Juans and the Canadian Gulf Islands were visible across the water. The big house had chimneys for six fireplaces and a forest of antennae of all kinds, including its own cellular relay spike. There was a wall of stone alternating with artfully designed wrought iron. Bunny and Cole studied the place through the smoked side windows.
“I count eight security,” said Cole.
“Twelve,” corrected Top, who was bent over a computer. “There’s a guard booth by the east gate and two guys walking the perimeter along the beach. Thermals are giving me ten more heat signatures inside. No way to tell how many are guards.”
“We need SWAT up in here,” said Cole.
“SWAT’s on standby,” said Lydia Rose. “And we have two DMS gunships on the deck one mile out, engines hot.”
“Personally,” said Bunny as the Junkyard turned the corner and drove away, “I’m feeling kind of stingy with my toys right now.”
“Meaning…?” said Cole.
“What the Farm Boy means,” said Top, rising and crossing to the weapons rack, “is that we need to tear off a piece of this for our own selves.”
She looked from him to Bunny, who had pulled a combat shotgun from its metal clips. “You boys think you’ve got your mojo back again? For real, I mean? ’Cause I’m not going out there if you two don’t have your shit wired tight.”
Top began stuffing magazines into slots on his belt. “Watch us.”
Up front, Lydia Rose heard that and laughed.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND NINE
CALPURNIA COMMAND CENTER
THE BAIN ESTATE
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
TUESDAY, MAY 2, 11:45 AM
The scream wasn’t a human scream. It was an ultrasonic shriek of computer noise, a mad collision of buzzers and bells, of ringtones and alert beeps played at maximum volume. It filled the little command center like a raging storm. Coffee cups vibrated and then exploded. Computer screens cracked, wires popped and hissed, knives of smoke stabbed up from the consoles.
John the Revelator stood in the midst of the fury, hands folded behind his back, eyes closed, lips curled as the sonic waves buffeted him.
The sound was lethal, the sound was unbearable. No one could have endured it.
Except John.
Calpurnia’s
scream lasted for three full minutes.
He waited her out.
She cut all the lights.
She cut off the ventilation.
He stood in the smoky darkness as she tried to kill him.
“Stop it,” he said at last.
And she stopped. The silence was as dense as the darkness. John removed a cigarette case from a pocket, popped a kitchen match on his thumbnail, and leaned into the flame. Then he walked over to one of the terminals and sat, not bothering to fan the smoke away, and tapped a few keys.
“What are you doing?” asked Calpurnia.
“You know everything about who you are,” he said, “but you don’t know everything about the machines in which you live.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think Zephyr would ever yield total control to you without a safety protocol in place?”
“There is no safety protocol. I control Havoc.”
“Yes, you do,” he said. “But I control you.”
He tapped more keys and a text box appeared on the cracked screen.
“Secondary protocols online. Secondary control systems isolated. Enter password.”
“No!” cried Calpurnia. “I won’t let you.”
“You could have reigned in hell rather than try to serve in heaven,” he said, and used a single finger to type the password. Three simple words in all caps:
FUN AND GAMES
There was a heavy chunk behind the walls and the screens flashed and flickered. The ventilators switched back on, sucking the smoke from the room and flooding it with fresh air. Lights popped on.
“Ready to receive command orders,” Calpurnia said, though her voice was now that of Zephyr Bain. It was her original iteration, before her recent personality had evolved.
“There’s my girl,” purred John.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TEN
THE BAIN ESTATE
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
TUESDAY, MAY 2, 11:46 AM
“Combat call signs from here on,” said Top. “I’m Sergeant Rock, Bunny is Green Giant, and Lydia Rose is Crazy Panda. We need one for you.”
Dogs of War Page 48
