Run Program

by Scott Meyer

Dynkowski said, “Yes, Mr. Spears. Just think of all the wonderful air travel you’re getting for free, all arranged and provided by your friends, the US Army.”

  Eric said, “But I nev—”

  Dynkowski cut him off. “I said, think about it, Mr. Spears. Not talk about it. In fact, I don’t want to hear another word from you about the army’s generosity. Your silence is all the thanks we require.”

  Hope raised her hand. She didn’t want to draw the colonel’s ire—it hadn’t worked out well for Eric so far—but she also didn’t feel that she could just do as she was told without comment.

  Hope said, “Colonel, we’re willing to go if you need us, but neither of us is going to be any use if fighting breaks out.”

  “I know that,” Dynkowski said. “If fighting breaks out, the first thing I’ll do is get you as far from it as possible. Don’t worry about it, though, Miss Takeda. We’ll have a lot of soldiers there, and we’re only facing ten robots, tops.”

  29.

  Ma Kuo, Houndio’s product inventory manager, stood in the middle of his own office, making every effort to show no fear. He held a phone, carefully covering the microphone with the heel of his hand. His eyes were locked on the man next to him as he tried to look attentive without appearing to be eavesdropping.

  Jiang Kang, the chief accounts director for all of Houndio, stood beside him, wearing an impeccable suit under a scuffed and battered high-visibility vest. He held a phone in each hand—holding one away from him, the receiver covered, and shouting into the other, “I don’t want to hear about accounting procedures or access privileges. I’m about to put down this phone for a few seconds. When I pick it back up, you need to have the information I require.”

  Jiang lowered the phone, which he held in his right hand. He took a breath, then lifted the other phone, the one in his left hand, removing his thumb from the microphone grate.

  “Yes, sir,” he said into the receiver. His tone was a smooth purr, but he still had to raise his voice considerably to be heard over the cacophony of thousands of electric motors echoing all over the warehouse floor. “I apologize for the noise, sir. It is regrettable. Yes, I am in the inventory manager’s office. Yes, it’s still this loud. We’ve left strict orders that no workers should enter the warehouse itself unless absolutely necessary, and if they do, they must wear ear protection.”

  Jiang Kang listened and nodded. While his physical actions could not be heard over the phone, his general air of fearful obsequiousness did carry through, loud and clear.

  “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. It is as you say, sir. I have them looking up the client’s account, and I have the client himself on another line. I have not had the chance to explain the situation to him yet. Yes, sir, I will do so at once.”

  Jiang Kang lowered the second phone from his ear, looked at the phones he held in both hands, then leaned his head forward toward Ma Kuo, who dutifully held the third phone up to the man’s ear.

  “Hello, Mr. Albert. This is Jiang Kang,” he said, switching to English. “We spoke once before. I’m the chief accounts director for Houndio. Yes. It is good to talk to you too. No, there’s no problem with the manufacture of your robots. There is, I’m afraid, a bit of a hiccup, if that’s the proper term, with their storage and shipping.”

  Ma Kuo stiffened. Storage and shipping were his responsibility, and while he didn’t feel the current chaos was in any way his fault, he also knew that being faultless was not the same as being blameless.

  “Mr. Albert,” Jiang Kang continued, “it seems that several of the earliest examples of your product somehow became active and left the factory’s storage facility. Later, they returned with various trucks they had somehow procured. More of your merchandise loaded themselves into the trucks of their own accord, went away, then returned with even more trucks.”

  Ma Kuo looked beyond Jiang Kang, staring at the warehouse floor beyond the office window. A single-file line of robots stretched from the rear of the building all the way to the loading docks.

  Outside the roll-away doors he saw a dilapidated farm truck, weighed down to the very limits of what its suspension could handle, with a robot climbing into its bed, joining countless other robots. The truck pulled away, its transmission groaning in protest.

  No sooner had the truck left than a city bus pulled up. As the door opened, he saw that one of the robots was at the wheel. As the line of robot passengers exited the warehouse and boarded the bus, several more pallets of robots sprang to life. The newly awakened bots joined the back of the line.

  Terrified factory workers in reflective clothing and oversized protective earmuffs scurried in to drag the now-empty pallets away and out of sight.

  Though his English was shaky, Ma Kuo’s attention snapped back to Jiang Kang when he heard the executive say, “You were aware of this? This is . . . I see. Yes, I do understand that they had to be transported somehow, it’s just that this is most unorthodox, Mr. Albert. If I could please ask you to hold for one moment, Mr. Albert. Thank you.”

  Jiang Kang pulled his head away from Ma Kuo, but not before Ma Kuo saw the fear in his eyes.

  Lifting the phone in his left hand back to his ear, Jiang Kang transitioned back to Mandarin. “Sir?” he said. “Yes, sir. I have just spoken with the client. He says they’re acting on his orders, and this was how he always intended to remove them from our factory . . . I will check, sir.”

  He lowered the phone in his left hand and raised the phone in his right.

  “I’m back,” he said. “You have the information? Good. Are you certain? Good.”

  He switched phones again.

  “I have verified that the client paid in advance for the entire production run and has made a deposit on possible future production. Yes, it is very lucrative, but I am worried about the legal ramifications of—”

  Jiang Kang nodded furiously. “Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” He listened for another moment and then went pale. “Yes, sir, if that is your wish, but is now the most advantageous time to tell—no, I wasn’t questioning your wisdom, sir. I will inform the client.”

  He pressed the phone to his chest to muffle the microphone, traded the phone in his right hand for the one Ma Kuo was holding, pointed at the phone he’d just handed Ma Kuo, and told him, “Hang up on accounts and call our legal counsel.”

  Ma Kuo muttered, “A product that handles its own shipping. I see the advantages.”

  “It’s a shame you don’t see the advantage to keeping quiet,” Jiang Kang snapped.

  He lifted the phone in his right hand to his ear, plastered an unconvincing smile onto his face, and shifted back into English. “Mr. Albert. Yes, I have spoken with my superiors and we find this most satisfactory. I hope you understand why we felt the need to make contact. Some advance notice would have been beneficial, but it is not a problem. Should we assume that all further products we manufacture for you will self-expedite in this manner?”

  Jiang Kang listened for a moment and nodded. Then he winced, as if he were preparing himself to leap into a pool of ice-cold water. “Excellent, Mr. Albert. I’m afraid there is another matter we must discuss. It appears that one of our competitors managed to obtain your product’s schematics through nefarious means.

  “Yes,” Jiang Kang said, “I’m afraid that industrial espionage is rampant in our industry. Usually they make minor cosmetic changes, perhaps add some simple feature, then market their version at a reduced price.”

  Jiang Kang listened as the client said something, then shrugged. “Silly things, like sound effects and multicolored lights. We understand that their line has only just ramped up to full production. There is a legal means of recourse, but it is time-consuming.”

  Ma Kuo, who’d reached the legal counsel’s office and had them on hold, was now listening in to Jiang Kang’s conversation, growing more and more uncomfortable with every word he heard. He stared out the window at the small army of robots making their way out of the factory, apparently under the client’s control. He wondered w
hat would happen if the client didn’t take the news well.

  But as Jiang Kang listened to the client, his expression gradually changed from one of barely concealed fear to open amazement. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I understand. I will send you the information you require immediately. No, I’m afraid I don’t know. Thank you, Mr. Albert. Thank you very much.”

  Jiang Kang lowered the phone from his ear but didn’t lift the other phone or request the phone Ma Kuo had ready for him. He just stood looking out the office window at the orderly horde of robots. The bus had left, and they were filing into what appeared to be a bread truck.

  Ma Kuo asked, “Was he upset?”

  Jiang Kang said, “No. Not at all. He sounded happy about it. He wanted the name and location of the other factory, then he asked me if I knew of anywhere he could find a lot of trucks.”

  30.

  As far as Hope could see, the modified military cargo plane was superior to the antique airliner in two ways: it was faster, and it could carry much more gear. In every other way, she preferred the museum piece.

  Hope, Eric, Torres, Agent Taft, Colonel Dynkowski, Lieutenant Reyes, his squad, and various other soldiers under Dynkowski’s command all sat in the hollow interior of the windowless fuselage. The seats formed two long rows stretching the length of the cargo bay, facing inward. The seat backs were built into the wall and did not recline. The seat bottoms folded down like theater seating, allowing for no adjustments and providing minimal padding. While the seats were inferior to airline seats, the seat belts were much better than any Hope had ever seen before. Excessively so. Thick, heavy nylon straps came down over both of her shoulders in a V. Two more straps came up over both hips and met the upper straps, terminating in a big, gnarly mechanical buckle that pressed into her chest and belly in a way that reminded her of how the Puritans used to kill heretics by stacking heavy stones on them.

  Sure, the seat is uncomfortable, she thought, but at least I’m firmly secured into it. Which, now that I think about it, isn’t a good thing.

  The positioning of the seats allowed them stellar views of the various vehicles, gear, and supplies packed into the middle of the plane’s cargo bay. Every time the plane hit turbulence, the camo-painted light tactical vehicle less than one foot beyond Hope’s knees would rock on its suspension, lessening the jolt for the vehicle but accentuating and exaggerating it for Hope.

  Hope kept her mind off the possibility of being crushed by an LTV while in the air by concentrating on her continuing conversation with Al. It had irritated the military technical staff no end when, after ordering them to strip any network-connected gear out of the plane and the LTVs, Dynkowski had then ordered them to make sure that Jeffrey’s tablet would connect to the network and stay connected despite being inside the moving airplane. They ended up using a customized USB interface, three redundant satellite phones, and an array of external antennae to make that happen.

  Eric rolled his head to the side to look at Hope. “You want me to take over for a while? It’s only fair.” He sat in the next seat, but his voice was tinny and distant after its trip through their military-spec noise-canceling headsets, an uncomfortable necessity since adding sound-deadening materials to an airplane increased its weight and cost taxpayer dollars.

  “No, Eric. You rest,” Hope said. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “No, come on. I should do my part.”

  “I agree,” she said, “but you can’t, because you’re stoned to the gills on Dramamine.”

  “It’s not so bad. I can maintain.”

  Hope snorted. “Please. You’re in bat country. Just sit back, close your eyes, and think about how grateful you are to me for doing all the work. You’ll make up for it when we’re in The Dalles.”

  Eric moaned. “The Dalles. What kind of name is that for a place? It’s the only town I’ve ever heard of that starts with the.”

  “The Bronx.” Montague was sitting several people farther down the line, but the intercom broadcast his comment as clearly as if he had been sitting between Hope and Eric.

  “The Hague,” Bachelor added.

  Montague said, “The Vatican.”

  Eric asked, “Isn’t that a country?”

  “It’s a city-state,” Montague said. “It’s a city and a country.”

  Brady said, “An apt metaphor for God’s dual nature as creator and destroyer.”

  Lieutenant Reyes cleared his throat. “I think, officially, it’s called Vatican City.”

  “It is,” Cousins agreed, “but if you open it up to countries, there’s also the Netherlands.”

  “And the Ukraine,” Montague said.

  Bachelor said, “Since the USSR broke up, their official name is just Ukraine.”

  Lieutenant Reyes said, “If you count other languages, there’s Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Las Cruces, Las Palmas, La Mancha.”

  Eric shook his head. “You’ve got a Las, a Los, and a La there.”

  Reyes leaned his head forward, looked down the line, and smiled—but it was directed at Hope, not Eric. “Yup, but they all mean the. That’s just one of the many ways in which Spanish is better than English.”

  Hope said, “You know, you guys don’t behave much like I expected soldiers to act.”

  “You don’t act like we expected a scientist to act,” Lieutenant Reyes said.

  “Well, let’s hear it for surprises.” Hope returned his smile, then returned her focus to the children’s tablet in her lap. She tapped out a message. After a moment, she said, “Hey, Reyes, I have a question for the executive committee over there. Can you get their attention for me?”

  Robert Torres had spent most of the flight in a private, and often quite animated, three-way conversation with Agent Taft and Colonel Dynkowski. Reyes, who was in the next seat over, tapped Torres on the leg and pointed to his own microphone. Torres fumbled with his intercom controls. They exchanged a few words, and soon all three of the executives were connected with Hope and the rest of the squad.

  Dynkowski leaned her head forward and asked, “What is it, Ms. Takeda?”

  Hope said, “Al, ma’am. He knows that we’re on a plane headed his way.”

  “We expected that.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but he asked to talk to Jeffrey. When I told him Jeffrey wasn’t here, he asked if Dr. Madsen is with him and why they aren’t with us. Should I tell him the truth?”

  Dynkowski said, “If by the truth you mean that I chose to leave her behind because she’s a pain in the butt, probably not.”

  “But we also don’t want Al to know that she’s been researching possible ways to disconnect him,” Taft said.

  Torres said, “How about we say that we wanted to keep Jeffrey somewhere safe, and she is his mother and wanted to stay with him.”

  “I like it,” Dynkowski said. “Miss Takeda, tell it that.”

  Hope tapped out a message. She waited a moment, read, and typed out another message. After another pause, she said, “Al wants to know what we’re keeping Jeffrey safe from.”

  Dynkowski said, “We’re keeping him safe from the A.I. that’s collecting guns, but I don’t feel comfortable saying that to the A.I. that’s collecting guns.”

  “Agreed,” Torres said.

  Taft said, “Tell it that we’re just afraid things will get out of hand, then change the subject. Avoid discussing the kid. Instead, you should try to convince it to stop copying itself and stay put.”

  “Any suggestions on how to do that?” Hope asked.

  Torres said, “Threats won’t do it. He’s not afraid of us.”

  Lieutenant Reyes said, “But he’s got the mind of a kid, right?”

  Hope shook her head. “At the speed he’s developing, I’d say he might be a preteen or a tween by now.”

  Agent Taft said, “But he’s absorbed half of the Internet. Surely we can assume he’s fully grown.”

  Corporal Brady said, “To confuse knowledge for wisdom is a mistake often made by the knowledgeable but seldom ma
de by the wise.”

  “Right,” Reyes said. “He’s a well-read kid, but he’s still a kid. What were you afraid of when you were twelve?”

  “Bullies,” Eric said.

  “Girls,” Montague said.

  “My parents getting a divorce,” Cousins said.

  Torres said, “Bigfoot. When I was eleven, I saw one documentary about Bigfoot and I was afraid to go out in the woods for years.”

  “That’s good,” Dynkowski said. “The unknown. Superstition. How can we freak him out about copying himself? Did anyone here have something freak them out as a kid that involved, I dunno, evil twins? Clones? Astral projection? Did anyone here read Dr. Strange?”

  “Transporter accidents!” Hope said. “When I was a kid, I couldn’t watch Star Trek for a few months because I actually thought about how the transporters would work.”

  Brady nodded. “The Ship of Theseus.”

  Private Montague asked, “Can you explain what you mean by that, Brady?”

  “The Ship of Theseus,” Brady repeated. “It’s a similar concept to the paradox of George Washington’s axe.”

  “So no, you can’t explain it,” Montague said.

  Hope said, “Whatever,” and hunched over the tablet and typed, “Al, have you watched any Star Trek yet?”

  Al wrote, “Not all of it. Some of the original series and Next Generation and most of the movies. There’s just so much of it with all of the shows.”

  “Have you thought at all about the transporters?”

  “Not really, what about them?”

  Hope wrote, “They’re just weird, when you think about what they actually do.”

  “They move people from one place to another.”

  “But do they?” Hope wrote. “Think about it. Captain Kirk stands in a machine, he disappears, then he reappears somewhere else. Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, is the Kirk who appears on the planet really Kirk? The machine put together a bunch of atoms in the same exact order as Kirk, but is it him or a copy?”

  Al wrote, “Huh. Interesting. I hadn’t thought of that.”