by Nick Thacker
He hung up the phone, turned to the open doorway across from the intercom that led to the break room, and lifted his foot to take a step.
“Colson.”
The voice seemed to reach his ears at the same time his subconscious mind interpreted the speaker, translated the electronic signal, parsed the language into understandable speech patterns, and delivered the result — a single word — to the section of his brain dedicated to speech-recognition.
Good Lord, the human brain is complex, he thought.
He turned to see his direct boss, Angela Stokes, bearing down on him. She must have been following him from the moment he had left his desk; her office was in the far corner of the massive floor near the narrow staircase that led up and down to the other levels. She was moving quickly, not an unusual thing, as her demeanor was typically ‘get it done, no matter the expense.’ He wasn’t clear of her motivation now, but he’d seen her steamroll others in the department plenty of times.
He actually took a step backwards, involuntarily reacting to her pace. He didn’t know if she would really bump into him or not, but his body seemed to not want to take the chance. She stopped just short of making contact with him, still leaning forward as her upper body continued moving.
She was what he and his coworkers liked to call a ‘close talker,’ someone completely oblivious to the unspoken rule of personal space. Her breath was often a mix of coffee, peppermint gum, and whatever she’d recently eaten. It wasn’t strong enough to incite negative reactions under normal circumstances, but when engaging in ‘close talking,’ it was impossible to ignore the scent.
Spaghetti today, I think, he thought as she leaned her mouth closer to his face. For someone shorter than the rest of her employees, Colson was always amazed at her ability to still talk down to them.
“Colson,” she started again, “did you hear me?”
“Sorry. What’s up?”
She clenched her teeth open and closed a few times while looking up and then down at the ground, the physical manifestation of a thought process churning to completion. “Well, for one, you’re late. I needed that subroutine completed —“
“The subroutine is throwing parse errors,” he said. “I told you it would, I told Engineering it would, and —“
“I don’t care about parse errors,” she spat back. “I need this program completed. The whole thing. By the end of the week.”
“By the end of — are you serious? I can’t even guarantee the subroutine’s success by the end of the week, and you need the entire program finished then?”
She nodded.
He frowned. She rarely missed an opportunity to fill dead space with talking, so her sudden silence threw him off guard. “What?”
She cocked her head sideways.
“Stokes, what’s going on?”
Colson had been hired a few years before Stokes, but he’d moved up through the ranks much slower than she had. An MBA went further in the real world than actual experience, it seemed. And we are only promoted to our level of incompetence. He had been in the corporate rat race to know that he wouldn’t be moving up much higher at this organization — as different as it may be from any other place he’d been.
He and Stokes had a decent working relationship, which was about the best anyone could say about their relationship with their boss. Angela was a middle management drone, matching outputs to their inputs and then feeding the inputs with more resources, all with the hope of squeezing out even more outputs. Colson mostly enjoyed the work he did, and Stokes seemed to trust him, so they often discussed business-related matters that were typically above his pay grade.
“Something,” she finally said. “But I don’t know what. There’s been… talk. Not sure how much is need-to-know only, but from what I can gather the higher-ups are interested in rolling out by the end of the month.”
“Three weeks? They want this ready for testing in three weeks?”
“No,” she replied. “They want to have a fully operational system in three weeks. That means a reduced testing schedule, and testing needs to begin within a week and a half.”
Jonathan let out a quick clip of air. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Stokes.”
“I wish I was. My ass is on the line with one too, Colson. Still — I have to wonder why. Have you made much progress?”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so? Christ, Colson, if you don’t know, then —“
“What I’m trying to say is that we’re still too far away from even having a reliable set of test variables. The results are skewed until I can isolate the causation nodes, and —“
“Colson, I’m your boss because you know more about this stuff than I do. I have no idea what you’re saying to me right now.”
He grinned, unable to help himself. “Yeah, so what I’m saying is that we’re so far away from locking in this subroutine I can’t even fully test the test.”
She frowned, flicking her eyes up and down, as if checking him out. He knew it was her tic, something she did involuntarily when she was deep in thought.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. Fine. It has to be somewhere, maybe —“
“What has to be here?”
“Oh.” She looked up at Colson again with an expression that seemed to imply she hadn’t known he was even in the room for the past five minutes. “I mean why they’re moving forward if we’re really this far away from completion. There has to be some reason they think it’s wise to move on with the testing phase, especially on an accelerated schedule. You think there’s anything happening on the other levels that would make them want to speed up?”
Again he shook his head. “No. I hate to sound self-serving, but 7’s the final stop before it all goes live, and it’s crucial we get our subroutines in place. Without them, there’s no net, no interconnectivity, no dynamic link —“
“Got it, Colson. Without us, they’ve got nothing.”
He nodded. “Pretty much.”
They both turned to watch as the slow-moving industrial elevator door opened and a lone janitor with a mop bucket slid onto the Level 7 floor. The older man found the spill next to Colson’s desk and started toward it.
“Okay,” Angela said as she turned back to face Colson. “Get back to work, but let me know as soon as you’re ready.”
“Got it.”
He started to walk away, bending in a wide arc around his boss, but she reached out with an impossibly long arm and grabbed his elbow. “Colson.”
He turned and waited.
“If you hear anything else, my door’s open.”
CHAPTER eight
“So you’re in?” Reggie asked. He looked at Ben, watching the man’s eyes drill holes through him.
Ben repeated the reaction he’d had in the ballroom, taking a deep breath, nodding, and crossing his arms. They had all moved from the Broadmoor ballroom to the Hotel Bar across the hall, and Reggie had corralled them all around a large table outside on the patio, just next to a massive outdoor fireplace overlooking the small lake.
“I saw you do that in there,” Reggie said. “But I can’t tell what it means. You in?”
“If Julie’s in, I’m in,” Ben said.
Julie’s eyes widened slightly. “Of course I want to figure this out once and for all,” she said, “but Antarctica? That’s — it’s insane.”
Mrs. E, Reggie, and Ben were all smoking cigars they had purchased — at an unbelievable markup — from the Hotel Bar’s cigar menu. Ben and Reggie were swirling a local bourbon, Joshua had a water with lemon, and Julie and Mrs. E each had a few empty glasses of what had been cocktails in front of them.
“It’s certainly not what I’d choose for a vacation,” Reggie said. “But this is it. You heard him —“ he motioned to Mrs. E across the table from him — “they found them, Julie. The group you’ve been searching for since Yellow—“
“They’re in Antarctica,” Joshua said, interrupting, “but th
at doesn’t mean we’re going to be able to stop them. This group is better funded than most governments, and — also unlike most governments — they’re not big into debt. If they want something, they pay for it. With cash.”
“So what?” Reggie said. “We’ve all been hunting for them with nothing but dead bodies and lost opportunities to show for it, and these guys just show up and fall into our laps?”
Joshua frowned, picked up his drink and stirred it with its straw as if it was something other than lemon-flavored water. “I’m still not sure how they found you, Reggie. Or Red, or whatever he said your name is.”
Reggie smiled. “I explained it to Ben and Julie on the way here. They were looking for someone outside of the States to help with the project. I had the unique background of having military experience, knowing you all, and sharing a strong desire to find these crooks.”
“Still,” Joshua said, turning to Mrs. E seated next to him. “You two just happened to find Reggie, ask him if he’d recruit a team for you, and then send us all to a frozen wasteland? It doesn’t add up.”
Up to this point, Mrs. E hadn’t spoken a word, instead taking in the conversation and watching — carefully — each team members’ face as they spoke. She seemed particularly interested in Joshua, and she now expressed this in words. “Joshua Jefferson, you are a nut. A hard one.”
Her accent seemed to thicken now that she’d had some beverages, and Reggie’s smile turned into one of confused interest. “Do you mean ‘hard nut to crack?’ he asked.
“Yes, thank you,” she said. “Jefferson, you seem to carry with you the burden of additional responsibility. One you should not concern yourself with.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“You are to lead this team, but that is all. We have identified the necessary equipment and intend to fully outfit the expedition. In fact, arrangements are being made as we speak. Aside from that, there is nothing to concern yourself with.”
“Well, that’s part of the reason I’m hesitant. I wasn’t allowed to choose my own team working for Draconis. I was forced to lead a group of mercenaries, hand-picked by the higher-ups.”
“And this was bad?” she asked.
“Very bad,” he said. “I don’t know who’s loyal, who’s vying for my job, and who’s just untrustworthy enough to get us all killed.”
“This team, however —“
“This team is exactly the same,” he said. “I didn’t pick it, but you want me to lead it? You hadn’t even met me before tonight. Hell, your husband still hasn’t met me in person. How do you know I’m the right guy for the job?”
Mrs. E’s voice dropped to a lower tone. “We are not sure of a lot of things, Joshua, but we are sure of one: you are right man for this job, as are the rest of you. The unique set of skills you have coupled with your knowledge of the situation and willingness to find this group, at all costs, makes you a perfect team.”
A waiter appeared and refilled water glasses, placed more drink orders, and removed used glassware from the table before anyone spoke again.
“Okay, fine,” Joshua said. “Then why are you doing this? I know you’re not spending this much on a trip to Antarctica just to get some unpaid royalties you’re owed. What’s really in it for you?”
Reggie heard Joshua ask the question — one he’d been wondering about himself — but his eyes were fixed on Mrs. E. He knew her response to this would tell him volumes about the man and woman who now wished to be their benefactors. He wasn’t quite ready to fully trust either of them, but her answer would go a long way.
Her eyes flicked quickly to the side, then locked on Joshua’s. “That is a perfect question, Mr. Jefferson. You are correct in assuming we have left something out. Please, however, do not take our exclusion of facts as hostility; on the contrary, we needed to ensure you were not immediately put off by our offer. The fact that you are all still here, around this table — “
“Technically you haven’t given us an offer, yet,” Ben said.
“Yes, of course, we will get to that. But it is important to discuss the answer to Joshua’s question first.”
She cleared her throat, downed the remainder of her cocktail, and leaned forward in her chair. “My husband and I own a communications company, this you already know. We have invested in startups and other businesses, and many of these are working toward building nothing more than newer versions of the same technology. Still, many of them are attempting — either knowingly or not — to acquire the holy grail of tech. It’s an interest many tech investors are pursuing, and it’s how we’ve come to follow this mysterious company’s dealings as much as possible.”
“The ‘holy grail?’” Julie asked. “Let me guess — perpetual energy?”
“No, perpetual energy is still considered impossible according to most branches of physics. What we are referring to is much simpler, and yet something we haven’t seen: artificial intelligence.”
Joshua frowned. “But we do have artificial intelligence. AI, right?”
“We have weak artificial intelligence. That is, we have computer programs that can perform tasks and subroutines that are considered below the general human intelligence level. They may be faster parallel processors than the human brain, but they are still ‘weak.’ The true holy grail of the technology industry is ‘strong’ AI — an artificial intelligence smart enough to compete with a human on just about any intelligence test.”
Reggie pinched the top of his nose. “And you think they’re on to something. Draconis Industries, in Antarctica. And Artificial Intelligence.”
“We do. By watching the types of communication information they have requested, even without being able to fully decrypt the data, we believe they have built a supercomputer strong enough to support an artificial intelligence machine.”
“So they’re building Skynet down there,” Joshua said. “Great.”
Mrs. E held up a hand. “Before we get too carried away with American science-fiction culture, understand that this ‘artificial intelligence machine’ could be something as simple as an extremely fast network of parallel processors built on an isolated grid. Still, giving a corporation that much computing power without regulation or restriction…”
“Why isolated?” Julie asked. All eyes turned to her.
“Excuse me?”
“Why did you say ‘isolated’ grid? There’s a reason you’re hoping it’s isolated, isn’t there?”
Mrs. E smiled. “Yes, and this is a perfect example of why we’ve decided that having you with us is a major asset.”
“What are you two talking about now?” Reggie asked.
Julie explained. “‘Isolated’ implies that this AI — whatever it is — can’t get ‘out.’ It’s built on an intranet setup with no outside connectivity, so it’s locked to the facility’s mainframe just like a caged animal at a zoo.”
“But they do have connectivity,” Ben said. “They’re using McMurdo’s satellite connection for that.”
“Yes, they are connected to the outside world,” Mrs. E said.
Her eyes drifted away for a moment, a fact Reggie noticed immediately. He filed the information away.
“And that is exactly why we need to get to Antarctica as soon as possible.”
“I’m sorry,” Joshua said. “I’m not yet understanding your haste. How close do you think they are to figuring out this ‘artificial intelligence’ thing?”
“We have reason to believe they have already finished it. Why they are sitting on it and not using it for whatever purposes they intend, we do not know. But from what we have been able to decrypt and understand, it is clear that they have made astounding progress just in the last few weeks.”
CHAPTER nine
For a man who hated flying, Ben had been doing an awful lot of it lately. He and Julie had flown to Brazil in search of Draconis Industries, and now they were now preparing to fly to one of the most remote locations on the globe. He wasn’t sure if was excited,
terrified, nervous, or something else entirely. Julie didn’t seem to be faring any better, and it was all he could do to not complain to her during the days-long journey to New Zealand, and, eventually, to Antarctica.
The endless expanse of ocean had stared up at him as the plane continued southward, leaving an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach, and reminding him just how small he really was. They’d chosen a route that would take them over as little land as possible, opting for a path over open water. From Colorado, they’d flown to California, then Hawaii, then began their journey south on a private jet contracted by Mr. E and his wife. In New Zealand, they switched planes once again to the massive C-130 that would take them to Antarctica.
They’d met the rest of their crew onboard the C-130. Packed into two rows of chairs with barely a seatbelt, Ben and Julie found themselves staring directly into the cold eyes of the hardened soldier sitting across from them. Simply introducing himself as ‘Kyle,’ the man offered little in the way of small talk or pleasantries, choosing instead to occupy the time before takeoff checking his phone and texting.
“All right,” Ben heard a voice yell out from the far side of the two benches. “Listen up. Lot to cover, so pay attention. My name is Roger Hendricks, and I’m the man who’s going to get you to Antarctica.”
Ben swiveled his sore, travel-logged head to the right to see the man talking. He was tall, stretching up into the equipment hanging from the plane’s rafters, and lean. Muscular but covered with layers of dark clothing, his face was completely devoid of emotion as he spoke.
“As you all know, we are on a mission to identify and eliminate any possible threat that may exist to Mr. E’s business, including the retrieval of sensitive data and communications technology.”
Ben looked at Mrs. E, sitting on the bench across from him next to the soldier named Kyle. To his credit, the antisocial young man was now intently focused on Hendricks. Ben waited for Mrs. E to look his way, and he tried to read her expression. She simply smiled, nodded once, then looked down the fuselage toward Hendricks once again.