by Nick Thacker
His trick was right on time, too. As soon as the smoke cleared from the area and Colson could see the smoldering sections of door between them and the stairs, they heard a similar explosion rock the opposite side of the level.
“They’re in,” Kyle said. He was facing the opposite direction, clearly more interested in protecting their rear flank than Reggie’s fireworks show. There was a sudden absence of sound after the second explosion, which to Colson seemed even more jarring. The juxtaposition of the silence was eery, and he involuntarily backed closer to the rest of the group.
“Okay, time to go,” Hendricks said. “Move out. Head down this time.”
Hendricks and Reggie left first. They had only made it about three steps when a detail of security guards came around the corner.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Hands up! now!” the first man in the line yelled. Colson saw Hendricks raise his weapon to fire, but Reggie reached out and grabbed his arm. Hendricks was immediately aware of what had caused Reggie alarm, and he lowered the rifle again and waited for the man to speak.
It was at that moment Colson heard the other noise, the sound that Hendricks and Reggie had no doubt reacted to. It sounded like the nearly silent, low-pitched hum of a miniature helicopter. Another hum joined the mix, and Colson suddenly saw the source of the sounds. Two small four-propeller helicopters hovered just over the heads of the security team, barely moving in the stairwell as they waited for silent orders. They were parallel with the ground, so their noses were pointed slightly higher than the top of Colson’s and the others’ heads.
But it was the objects on the helicopters that were not pointing over their heads that had Colson’s attention. Tiny, nose-mounted turrets. He wasn’t sure what sort of bullets they fired, but there was no question that they were in full, working order, awaiting the security team’s direction.
This is it, Colson thought, closing his eyes. He wondered if he would pee his pants. It was a strange thought to have in this moment, but his entire life he had wondered how he would react if faced with imminent death. He tried to push away the thoughts, as if focusing on the seriousness of the matter at hand would in any way affect his ability to live through it. Then, before he knew it, he was smiling. I’m having a conversation with myself about whether or not I’m going to piss my pants before I die.
It was simultaneously the most and the least funny thing he had ever experienced.
The rest of the group was looking at him, and he realized that someone had spoken to him.
“Jonathan Colson? Employee 729?” the first man in the line of security guards asked.
He nodded slowly.
“You will come with us to Level 2. The rest of you will follow.” Before he had even finished the statement, one of the drones sank a foot in the air and bolted forward, only settling when it had reached a point behind Ryan Kyle. It turned in midair and pointed its turret at the group. Now they were surrounded by flying weapons and lethal security guards.
As soon as the thought occurred to him, Colson knew there was something strange about the men standing in front of him. They were not the typical security guards that stumbled around the base, unsure of their own footfalls. These men seemed harder, rough around the edges but in a military-specific way, with pressed shirts and perfectly clean weapons.
They were trained, and not as rent-a-cop security guards that could be purchased for a meager salary, but actual, battle-hardened soldiers.
“Is there something you didn’t understand?” the man asked. “We have orders to bring you up by force, if necessary.” The main raised an eyebrow, implying a question.
“No, we will go,” Hendricks said. “Lead the way, ass—“
The man moved swiftly, and no one in Colson’s group saw it coming. He lunged forward, aiming the butt of his rifle square into the center of Hendricks’ stomach, causing the older man to double over in pain. Colson winced, but before Hendricks had even hit the ground, the security guard was back at attention.
These guys aren't the same security team I’m used to, he thought.
The security guard didn’t wait for Hendricks to catch his breath. He simply turned on a heel, began marching up the stairs, and the rest of his detail followed. Colson was drawn along behind them, and the drones fell in at the front and back of the chain. Hendricks was helped up by Mrs. E and Kyle, and then the rest of them followed up the stairs.
As they neared the landing of the level above them, Colson heard voices, speaking Chinese, emanating up from the level they had just left. He turned to look and noticed the drones flying down from their airborne perch to block the advance. The first of the drones acquired a target — still unseen to Colson’s eyes — and began to fire. The miniature turret spun up and began spitting out a barrage of bullets, each no larger than a small piece of birdshot. The second joined in, and Colson watched on in horror.
The security guards seemed to hardly notice, and only stopped at the door to the next level to check that the group was continuing up the stairs. Colson and the others were watching the drones dance in the air, dodging the little return fire they were encountering.
“Keep moving. They’ll keep the Chinese occupied for a few more minutes, and SARA will get a few more sent in if she needs to.”
Colson frowned.
“SARA? You mean the array?”
“One and the same,” the leader of the security guards said. “She has about a hundred more of those little buggers, ready and waiting for deployment.”
“Who’s SARA?” Julie asked.
The man leading the way up the stairs didn’t stop. “We’ll answer whatever questions you have upstairs. For now, keep your head down and your mouth shut. We’re almost there.”
Colson knew Level 2 was three more levels up, and that they weren’t almost there, but he didn’t argue. Nothing he could do or say would lead to anything productive for the group, and besides that he didn’t want to put his own life in any more danger than it already was.
He thought of Hendricks’ words and wondered if there was anything that would help their situation. He had never been great under pressure, which was part of the reason he had reacted so poorly when Stokes had told him about the new deadline for completion.
But now, after seeing what the ‘completed project’ had brought with it, he thought he might have been even more upset if he could go back in time. The Chinese were in the base now, searching for the same thing Hendricks’ group wanted, and there had obviously been a drastic change of command in the security guard forces as well.
All this, for what? The strangeness of the situation frightened him, because it meant there was something he didn’t understand yet. He was already convinced they had been working on an advanced artificial intelligence, and Julie’s suspicions confirmed his own. But there was clearly something more, something greater, at stake here. All the secrecy, compartmentalization, and of course the location of the base itself meant that the company he worked for was attempting something sinister.
A human-based artificial intelligence, built by mapping the entire structure and connections inside the brain, including the unique mechanism he had found hidden in the callback script, was one thing. But why did it need to be top secret, and what were they planning to do with it?
More importantly to Colson in that moment, why did they need flying battle drones and well-trained soldiers?
They reached the landing of Level 2, where the guard inserted a keycard to unlock the same style metal door Reggie had blown up down below. It clicked immediately, and he swung the door open and stepped in.
The rest of the guards entered, and Colson was the first of his group to pass the threshold to 2. He tried to remember ever having been on Level 2, but couldn’t think of a time. Level 1 was Arrival and Processing, as well as some conference rooms, facilities, and the hangar, so he had obviously been there. But Level 2, now that he thought of it, was a level restricted to senior staff.
As he stepped out onto t
he level he felt like he was walking onto the set of a Star Trek movie. Lights flickered from immense mainframes along each wall, and the noise of hundreds of tiny fans hummed out of their cavities as they worked to keep the computer insides cool. The computers stretched floor to ceiling and were each chained together in tandem, using small Cat-6 cables between each of the machines.
The room was dry, thanks to the many fans, and hot. Colson wasn’t sure the walls could handle heat like this, but he knew this room had existed quite some time without melting into the ice around it.
He stepped over a large taped bundle of cables that connected the mainframes on both walls together, and followed the security team around the corner. The quadcopters joined behind them all, and Colson could barely hear their buzzing sound over the din of the whirring and humming machines. The mainframes ended at the next section of hallway, and a wide opening led them to the right toward the center of the level. The science-fiction style near the entrance to the level gave way to a stark, corporate-looking area surrounded by curved glass. Behind the glass sat a large metal table and eight folding chairs. The glass walls combined with the cheap-looking metal furniture made the room appear as though someone had planned a luxury conference room, only to discover that they had run out of money near the end of the project.
As they got closer to the glass, Colson saw a woman and a man standing in the doorway, just in front of the conference room table.
Angela Stokes.
“Stokes?” Colson asked, more in a matter-of-fact tone than a questioning one.
She nodded. He could immediately tell something was wrong.
“You know her?” Reggie asked, from behind him.
“She’s my boss. Angela Stokes.”
The man standing next to Angela stepped forward and pushed the glass door open farther. It was also curved, perfectly shaped to enclose the circular room. Colson saw now that the glass, while nice from a distance, somehow appeared cheaper up close. As he thought of it, he realized this fact was true about the rest of the station, as well. He remembered back to when he had started here. His desk, while nice at first, revealed its imperfections within a week. The edges were sharp, and it was hollow, formed out of particleboard, no doubt cheaper to ship to the continent.
“Glad you could make it,” the man said. His voice was hard, as sharp as the decor in the room, and Colson thought he fit perfectly into the scene around him. The sentence was uttered in a staccato fashion, each syllable clipped and dripping with sarcasm. It wasn’t funny, but Colson at least recognized the attempt at humor.
“Please,” the man continued, “come in. First, of course, we will have to reclaim our weapons.”
Hendricks’ and Joshua’s face flashed in anger, and even Reggie’s grin had disappeared. The security team that had dragged them up here began confiscating weapons from the group. The drones, ever present, hovered just outside the glass room within firing distance, discouraging any attempt they might make toward escaping.
After the guns had been collected and piled alongside the far wall away from the glass bubble in the center of the room, the leader of the security guards entered the room, followed by Colson, the rest of his group, and a second guard. The other two men remained outside, facing away from the glass door and down the hallway.
“Feel free to have a seat,” the man said in his characteristic snake-sounding voice. No one moved.
“Very well. I will make this short, as we are under pressure — as you no doubt have discovered — by the Chinese.”
Under pressure? They’re under attack. Colson wasn’t sure if the man was so far removed from the action that he was clueless, or — more likely to Colson — he was just playing his own role inside of whatever game Colson had ended up a pawn.
“We need to know what you know, Mr. Colson.”
Colson stared at the man. He wasn’t sure what the man was expecting.
“Mr. Colson,” the man said after a moment, “did you hear me?”
Colson lifted his chin slightly, still staring at the man. He nodded.
“Well, what do you know?”
“I — I’m sorry? What do I know?”
The man checked his watch, then flicked a glance to the security guard. Colson wasn’t sure what that meant, but he didn’t want to find out.
“Colson,” Stokes said. “Do you know anything about the subroutine you were working on?”
Colson frowned. “I thought we went over this. You mean the callback script?”
For a split-second the man seemed to be surprised, as if he didn’t expect Colson to just come out and say it. But Colson wasn’t a negotiator. He didn’t like confrontation, and he certainly didn’t expect himself to be able to withstand much pressure when threatened.
And here, in this room, all eyes on him, he felt very threatened. He wondered if any of the others in his group were upset that he had just revealed this information, but he suddenly realized he didn’t care.
If I’m going to get out alive, I just need to answer their questions.
“Colson, listen,” Stokes continued. “When you came to me a while ago and tried to tell us about the script, we all knew about it already. But we didn’t know exactly what it was until after you were —” Stokes drifted off, then came back. Her eyes were glassy, as if holding back a welling of tears. She motioned to the man. “I tried to fill him in, but I wasn’t sure exactly —”
“And who is this you tried to fill in?” Ben asked.
The man next to Stokes frowned at Ben. “She was trying to fill me in. Her boss. And you are?”
“Bennett,” Ben said. “Harvey Bennett.”
The man squinted a bit, like the name had rung a bell, but he didn’t ask any more questions.
“Anyway,” Stokes said, “I wasn’t sure how the subroutines all work together. Isn’t that the question you’re asking yourself now? How they all seem to be independent of one another, and not able to interact the way they’re supposed to?”
Colson nodded. “Yes, exactly. They’re completely self-contained, and if wasn’t for the global variables passed between them, there would be no semblance of interconnectivity —“
“Until you plug in the rest of the code,” Stokes added.
“Right. The script we found. It’s the last piece of the puzzle, and it allows these individualized components to become one unified, connected system.”
“But why is that important, Colson?” The man asked.
Colson seemed confused.
“It’s obvious,” Stokes said. “But he needs you to say it. He wants to make sure we —”
The man shot Stokes a glance that told Colson and the others everything they needed to know about the balance of power in the room. In short, there was no balance of power. The man had it all, and they were completely under his control.
Colson’s voice started to shake. “It’s — it’s the ultimate machine,” he stammered. “The final piece of a hundred-year puzzle. How can you create a machine that can actually, really think? You can’t. That’s the answer. You can’t do it with an elaborate computer program. You need something more. Something bigger.”
Colson finished, then waited for the man’s response. The man shook his head. “Colson, please do not hold anything back. If it helps, we can raise the stakes a bit.” He reached for a pistol holstered on the hip of one of the security guards. Colson noticed Hendricks, Kyle, and Joshua tense, but they remained still.
The two guards lifted their rifles and trained their sights on the group. No one moved except for the man at the front of the conference room table. He checked that the pistol had a round in the chamber, then lifted the gun and held it up to Stokes’ head.
She gasped, and a tear formed in her eye. Colson felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time — the feeling of being needed. He wanted to rush forward and tackle the man, somehow disarming him and the other guards in the process, and save Angela. He wanted to kill him, beating his face to a pulp with his bare fists.
Instead, and as usual, he remained standing where he was, an idiotic look of sheer uselessness on his face. He was a fool, and a coward.
Jonathan Colson was no more capable of helping Angela through physical force than he was in giving the man what he wanted.
“I’m going to ask you one more time, and only one more time.” He addressed his statement to the entire group, not just Colson. “What do you know about the callback script? Who engineered it?”
Colson was appalled. Who engineered it? “I truly don’t understand the meaning of that question. No one engineered it, it was just —“
“Don’t play games with me, Colson!” the man shouted. Colson saw the man’s hand start to shake. “Someone wrote that script, and someone intends to use it against us. I intend to find out who that person is. Did you do it? Was it you, Colson?”
Colson saw the spit flying from the corners of the man’s mouth as he shouted, and he felt the very palpable tension in the room rising with each passing second.
I can’t help him, Colson realized. I can’t give him a name, because there is no name. The script wasn’t created by any of us.
He slowly shook his head, looking down at the floor. “I don’t know,” he said. “You have to understand, no one knows. It wasn’t written by us. It wasn’t really written at all. It’s —“
“Colson,” the man said, forcing Jonathan’s attention away from the floor and back up at him. He waited for Colson’s eyes to meet his, then he placed the gun out and onto Stokes’ temple. He rested the cold barrel just in front of her ear, only an inch behind her eye.
And then he pulled the trigger.