by John Conroe
He waved his hands like he was throwing in a towel. “What could you possibly get out of doing all this, saying these things, and not having proof?”
“Ah, good. What we want, Cade, is to focus the world’s attention on the real threat… the remaining Spider CThree. Here’s the big moment, Cade; do you have the balls to see it through? Never mind. Trinity? Do you have the balls? I think you do. Play this chip. It’s a message from the late Doctor Wilks, who died so that Harper and I, well mostly Harper, could get out,” I said, tossing my data chip off camera to Trinity, who caught it like a professional athlete.
“Are we really going to play something we know nothing about?” Cade said staring, off camera to Trinity.
“You will if you want to keep the highest ratings in history going,” I said, meeting Trinity’s eyes, which shone with ill-concealed interest.
She nodded and handed the chip to Dave the IT guy.
“It looks like we’re going to do this,” Cade said with a resigned sigh, running one hand though his hair. Cade never messed with his hair on air.
A few seconds later, a video window opened on the wall behind us, letting us both watch while it played in full view of the cameras. Suddenly, Harper’s mother appeared on the screen and began to speak.
“Whoever you are, the fact that you’re watching this means that I am likely dead. My name is Dr. Theodora Wilks, and I am the person responsible for programming the Spider CThrees that were released into Manhattan. I mean to say that I did not choose the direction of their programming, just that I was the one who upgraded their CPU capabilities and coded their neural nets. When their purchasers… I won’t say owners because nobody owns them now… gave them their initial instructions, I argued long and hard against it.
“But ultimately, it wasn’t up to me and had I known what they would be used for, I would never have agreed to enhance them to the degree I did. But that’s all behind us now. I’m sure if there is an afterlife, then I am already atoning for my actions even as you watch this.
“Here is the important part of this message. The Spiders that I finished were, at their time, the most advanced AI networks on the planet. That may sound like bragging, but it’s the simple truth. Today there are more powerful chips and more sophisticated systems out there, but none have been running… growing… learning, as long as the Spiders have. You need to know this. Their instructions were open-ended. The people who released them into Manhattan programmed them with one simple order: kill humans. With no other restriction, the Spiders will do everything in their considerable power to complete that order. Kill humans… all humans… everywhere. You should, under no circumstances, believe that just because they are momentarily contained on the island that they aren’t actively pursuing their mission. They won’t stop, they’ll never stop, and my modifications will give them a viable lifespan far in excess of their original specifications. They have to be stopped. Even contained on the island, they have access to the internet via optic lines running through the city. They are unmatched for hacking power and experience. They already control more around you than you could imagine. Should they succeed in escaping the island, they will spread out and seek to fulfill their mission. Eradicate humans—everywhere. They must be stopped. They must be killed. If you have this message, you need to pass it on. Without any sense of overdramatics, the fate of the human race depends on your actions. A list of the improvements made follows.”
The screen cut to a list of technical specs and stayed there, frozen in place.
Cade didn’t say a word as it ended, his eyes still glued to the screen.
“That’s what we hoped to achieve, Cade. Harper Wilks went back into the Zone with me to hunt down and kill the Spiders. For her, I think it’s a family honor thing. For me, it’s a family survival thing. We got half the job done. You already know that some drones escaped, carefully designed drones that influenced vital AI networks to a scary dangerous degree. In fact, there’s probably one in this very building somewhere. But that footage of us in the stairwell of 33 Thomas Street should have scared the living hell out of you. It should have scared the people who interrogated me. Actually, I think it did, because number one, they released their NDA doomsday program and, two, I’m still alive. See, as I mentioned before and I hope everyone playing at home has already fact-checked, 33 Thomas actually once harbored a vital NSA surveillance hub. It was code named Titanpointe and it had massive capabilities. Harper told me the satellite connection on that building was the only one of its kind in Manhattan. The building was designed to survive a nuclear holocaust, had provisions for fifteen hundred people for two weeks, and generator and battery backup with big stockpiles of fuel. The Tesla we discovered in the basement had a partial charge, Cade.”
He got it in a second, his face going pale. “It wouldn’t hold a charge for ten years, would it? Someone had to run the generators.”
“Or something. So, a super AI programmed to kill off mankind was left alone with an NSA satellite connection for ten years.”
He was silent again, real fear on his features. “You’re serious about all of this, aren’t you?”
“Like a heart attack, Cade.”
He looked around the studio, meeting faces that reflected as much shock as he was showing. Then he frowned. “You didn’t bring any of your lovely family here to back you up?”
“My lovely family is no longer in the City, Cade. They’re out, hopefully in a location that is more secure than a major metropolis.”
“That’s the scariest thing you’ve said so far,” he said, and he meant it. “What can we do? What can be done?”
“I don’t know about our digital infrastructure, Cade; not my area of expertise. We were hoping that whatever the NSA threw at us would slow down Plum Blossom’s plans. And as the world hasn’t ended, that might be the case.”
“If that’s the case, why are you still here?” he asked.
I pointed at my neck. “I was told to hang close. Short leash and all that,” I said.
“Oh. That’s what you meant when you said you were still alive, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I can’t really help with the World Wide Web, the internet, or major AI systems. I kill drones, Cade.”
“And you’re the only person alive to kill two Spider CThree command drones,” he said, the light dawning on his face.
“Yeah, that’s my guess. The new people, the SOAP troops, stupid name that, are good, real good, but, well, you know.”
“Yeah. Nobody else has killed thousands of drones all by themselves,” he said with a nod. “But you don’t have your drone anymore… your Berkut?”
“We’ll see. I don’t know if I can bring him back; the damage to his shell is really bad. Maybe if I can find a dead Berkut or other suitable airframe. Maybe. We’ll see. But I think I’m likely headed back in at some point. But do you understand why I’m not all that concerned about lawsuits right now? The people suing me will need to stay alive if they want their pound of flesh, and so will I. What do you think the odds are?” I asked, tilting my head.
He shook his head, looking exhausted and scared.
“Well, Cade. I promised a unique interview. Did I deliver?”
He looked around the studio, where people were in various states of shock or answering and making frantic calls, the normally well-run production facility looking chaotic.
“Yeah, you did. I really wish you didn’t, but you really, really did,” he said. “How much time do we have? We can win, can’t we?”
I shrugged. “At this moment, Cade, we’ve got the world’s attention. From here, it will depend on what the world does with that. Does it freak out, blow everything to shit, and do the Spider’s job for it? Or does it come together and fight like hell? Me, I’m a fighter. I’d hunt Plum Blossom with or without an explosive leash. Harper, whereever she is, will be fighting, and she’s scary good at the AI stuff, Cade. She took the government to school over the last few days. And hopefully, the people in power, the ones
who did this… well, I hope they’re focusing as hard on this as they did when they killed off almost four hundred thousand US citizens. But hey, look… I made it through the interview and I didn’t blow up all over you! Good, right?”
He looked at me like I was crazy. “The scariest part of all this is that I actually believe you… I don’t want to, but I do. Every single part.”
“Well, I’m sure I didn’t convince everyone, Cade. We’ll just have to see how this all pans out, won’t we?”
He nodded, face almost expressionless. I think he was maybe exhausted. Then he remembered his job and turned to the camera.
“This is Cade Kallow, and this has been a special edition of Zone War. It’s time to say goodnight and I sincerely hope it won’t be the last time I get to say that.”
Chapter 43
The apartment was silent and empty. No laughter, fights, or outrage over high school drama. No quiet, powerful parental guidance. No wise grandmotherly love and cooking. Just me.
Coming straight back from the studio, I didn’t even stop for takeout. Aama had left me a bunch of food in the freezer and fridge, and I heated up some curry and naan.
Just me and my AI. And a dead Berkut. Taking my food into the living room, I asked my Virtual Assistant to put up the news. Then I wished I hadn’t. It was all me. The interview, my claims, the fact checks and the dozens of pundits that lined up to refute everything about me. I almost turned it right off, but despite the negativity and the vitriol aimed my way, there was an undercurrent of desperation to it. And the regular news anchors seemed shaken. Of course the internet was exploding, chat rooms and blogs clogging up with anger, fear, hate, and desperation. The White House announced a press conference for early the next morning, which made the talking heads wonder why so long a wait.
Trinity was interviewed exactly four times. When pressed on whether she believed me, she kept her answers short. Yes. Yes, she believed. And each of her interviews was shorter than the one before it. The final interview was by phone, and only an hour after I had left the studio. When asked where she was, she answered that she was on her way out of the City, then she said she had to go and hung up. The interviewer, a moderately famous anchor, tried to laugh about it but you could tell that it bothered him.
Trinity was a notorious and self-acknowledged publicity hound—although she used the word whore, usually with a laugh. And she had fled New York. It mattered.
Opinions ebbed and flowed, the initial experts denying that there was anything to worry about. But people dug and shifted the data and more information came up. Titanpointe, the NSA, the drone hive incidents, more expert AI system failures, more accidents, more problems, it all bubbled up. Elected officials were quoted and had the same range of responses as everyone else. But gradually, as the evening hours went past, as enough experts thought it through, as enough facts were checked and re-checked, the possibilities weren’t being denied quite so hard, the ideas weren’t sounding quite so far-fetched.
“Incoming call. Barbara Gurung,” my AI announced.
“Take it.”
“Hi, honey. Just checking in. We watched the interview. How are you?” my mom asked, her face creased with concern. Then the twins sandwiched her. “Ajaya, that was sick!” Gabby said. Monique just looked at me, studying my face. I crossed my eyes at her and she smiled, a little.
“I’m okay. How are Grandma and Grandpa? Everything okay up there?”
“We’re fine, honey. Other than you being down there. Ajaya, what you did… honey, your father would be very, very proud. And so am I.”
“Yeah, you should have told us about Harper. We had no idea she was such a badass!” Gabby said, her twin uncharacteristically quiet but nodding in agreement.
“It wasn’t my secret to tell, and it would have put her life in danger.”
“Kind of in danger now, isn’t she?” Gabby asked with an eye roll.
“Yeah, but it’s of her own choosing. And the stakes make it worth it,” I said.
“I’m sorry about you and Astrid, honey,” Mom said.
“Well, she didn’t like Harper and she didn’t know all that about her, either. She needs to think about it. I get it. Plus, maybe she would be better to, you know… explore other options?”
“Ajaya Edward Gurung, don’t you ever say that! I know you’re referring to that God-awful thing in your neck, and just don’t! We’ll find a way. We always do.”
“Yes, Mom. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Hey, tell Aama the chicken curry is awesome.”
“Don’t attempt to change the subject on me, young man. You keep hope! Something will change, you just wait and see!” she said, looking one second from crying. I felt like shit.
“Yeah, you’re right, Mom. Plus, they need me,” I said.
“Damn right they do! Oh, your grandparents want to say hi,” she said, looking offscreen.
Her parents came on and gave me a pep talk, told me how proud and stuff they were. It was mostly standard grandparent stuff but the thing was, it made me feel better. Especially my grandpa. He wore his pride for me like a football jersey, and it helped. We all talked some more and then I said I had to go. Pretty sure Mom was going to cry as soon as the call ended but, well, it was what it was.
“Incoming call. Astrid Johnson.”
“Take it.”
Her face filled the wall. “Hey,” I said. Brilliant, right?
“Hey. I saw the interview,” she said, then laughed a little self-consciously. “Shit, the whole shacking world saw it.”
“Yeah, well, that was the hope. You know, reach out to the globe and, like, not explode,” I said with a nervous laugh.
Her face fell instantly and I felt like a shit all over again.
“I can’t talk about that, AJ. I… just can’t.”
“Yeah, that was poor taste on my part. But hey, I’m consistent, right?”
She gave me a sour look but mostly still looked a bit devastated.
“What did the fam think? Martin call me names?”
“No. No, not at all. They took it serious. Dad believed every single word. He said that we’re loading the LTV on the flatbed, packing up, and getting somewhere safer—tonight.”
“What about the show?”
“Ajaya, you just announced the end of the world. My father thinks many things, but he respects the hell out of you. If what you said comes true, there won’t be a show. The whole world will look like the Zone.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not over. No fat women singing the final song yet.”
She grimaced at my insensitive joke, but her face almost twitched toward a smile. “You can’t say stuff like that, AJ!”
“Well, I mean it. Lots of fight left. I’m going to find a way to kill Plum Blossom, whether Zone Defense helps or not. And Astrid, I know you don’t like her, but Harper is scary good at what she does. And we’ve stirred things up. They’ll have to do something.”
“Dad says they won’t get their heads out of their asses in time. AJ, I’m sorry I got so mad about the Harper thing. She’s pretty and smart and you have a lot in common with her. I felt insecure about us.”
“I’m not that kind of person, Astrid. And frankly, I’m pretty sure I annoy the hell out of her most of the time. But we are effective as a team… that’s all. And you have to know that I’ve been in love with you since Drone Night, right?”
“No, I didn’t know,” she said, looking simultaneously pleased and sad, somehow. “You never said that.”
“Well, that’s my bad,” I said.
“AJ…” she said.
“Hey, don’t worry. This will work out. You load your badass self up and head out with your family. I’d be with mine but well, I’m leashed up a little tight. But that’s just for now.”