Rescind Order

by Natasha Bajema

  They must be in politics.

  Drew fidgeted with his tablet and tried his best not to listen in, but the heated discussion tugged at his attention.

  “I don’t think freezing her out is the right call,” the younger man said. “Even if she is caught up in something nefarious, it’s better to keep our eyes on her.”

  “Thankfully, that’s not for you to decide,” the older man said, not hiding his disdain. “The president has made her decision, and I don’t think you’ll convince her otherwise. Her building access has already been revoked.”

  The president? Drew’s eyes widened. They must work at the White House. And someone is about to get fired.

  Located on Pennsylvania Ave NW, just a few steps from the White House, the Octane Grill was a favorite lunch spot for many political operators. After working there for more than a year, Drew was accustomed to serving some of the Beltway’s most elite, and he often overheard tidbits of sensitive conversation. He’d learned to feign ignorance while doing his job, and he never mentioned anything he overheard to anyone.

  He didn’t initially recognize either of them. The older man wore a blue, dotted tie and a black suit that had seen better days. His hair was gray and thinning, and wire-framed glasses stood out on his wrinkled face. He looked as if he’d weathered more political battles than he could count. The younger, more timid-looking man was noticeably overweight, had neatly coiffed brown hair, and wore a newer navy suit, a pinstripe shirt, and a navy tie. Though he had far fewer wrinkles, the younger man had dark shadows under his eyes.

  Suddenly, Drew recognized the younger man and gulped.

  Wait a minute… That’s David McDonough, the national security advisor.

  His heartrate rising, Drew smoothed his black apron, held his tablet ready, and waited another moment for their attention.

  “For the record, I think the president is acting in haste. Dr. Shaw is her top nuclear weapons expert. This is about the worst possible day to give her the boot. But you’re not thinking about U.S. national security, now are you?”

  “So, you’ll deliver the news?” the older man asked gruffly, ignoring the barb.

  McDonough nodded grimly. “Tell me. Are you gunning for me next?”

  “Excuse me?” the older man said, his eyes bulging.

  “Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m insinuating,” McDonough said.

  “You’re gonna have to spell it out for me.”

  “Fine,” McDonough said. “I think you know that I know something about what you, Jack, and President Monroe covered up about Nightfall. You’re worried Jack might grow a conscience now that he’s been kicked out of the White House and tell me or Morgan the truth. That’s why you want me gone as well.”

  Drew cleared his throat and wiped his free hand on his apron.

  McDonough nodded grimly and then turned to face Drew.

  “Welcome to the Octane Grill. My name is Drew, and I’ll be serving you this afternoon. Can I get you both anything to drink?”

  The older man frowned deeply, possibly realizing that Drew had caught the end of their conversation. “Just some black coffee for me, thanks.”

  “I’ll just have ice water,” McDonough said, “but I think we’re ready to order, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, I’m happy to take your order now,” Drew said, looking down at the screen to make sure the voice recognition software had registered the drink orders.

  “Great, I’ll have the cornmeal-crusted cauliflower,” McDonough said, folding his menu and handing it to Drew. “I assume that’s gluten-free?”

  “Yes, sir.” Drew nodded.

  “Did you actually just order a plate of veggies for twenty-five bucks?” the older man asked snidely, still studying his menu. “Life is too short for ordering that shit.”

  Drew glanced over at McDonough, who didn’t answer the rhetorical question. McDonough’s intense stare met his gaze, causing Drew to shrink back.

  Without missing a beat, the older man said, “I’ll have the eight-ounce filet mignon, rare. And if you wouldn’t mind, could you talk to the chef personally and make sure it’s bloody and pink this time? I don’t have time for another do-over today.”

  Drew nodded and was about to head to the kitchen to deliver the message when McDonough said, “Hey, I recognize you. Aren’t you that kid from The Counter View clip this morning?”

  Crap.

  “Oh… no, sir. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Drew fidgeted with the tablet. The lie came off his tongue more smoothly than he expected, but the rush of adrenaline surging through his body made him tremble. He hoped desperately that McDonough wouldn’t figure out the truth. He couldn’t afford any trouble at work.

  The manager of Octane Grill had expressly forbidden staff from discussing politics in the workplace to protect against any damaging conflicts between the restaurant and their high-powered customers. As far as Drew knew, there were no exceptions to this rule. Not even if the customers started the conversation in the first place.

  “Yes, you are that kid,” McDonough said, touching his forehead. “His name was Drew Hudson. And that’s your name.” He pointed to the name tag on Drew’s black vest. He stared up at Drew’s face in disbelief for a moment and frowned. “I found your statement about autonomous weapons to be hyperbolic and oversimplified.”

  He must have missed my live interview.

  Drew’s chest tightened, his frustration growing about the cut video footage and how the brief clip on social media had misrepresented his views. Tori had released the remainder of their discussion, but most people only saw the clip. Drew nearly opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it and held his tongue.

  “But what’s new? You people don’t understand what’s at stake,” McDonough said. “And this is why your movement won’t succeed at achieving anything meaningful.”

  Feeling his ears burn with heat, Drew tried to shrug it off. “Sir, I’ll go talk to the chef to make sure your steak is cooked to perfection.” He smiled politely at both men, turned on his heel, and marched toward the kitchen, hoping smoke wasn’t blowing out of his ears.

  Pushing the door open, Drew poked his head in the kitchen and asked one of the assistants, “Can you tell Benny I’m sending him a special steak order for a VIP? He claims he ordered it rare last time, but it wasn’t bloody enough.”

  The kitchen assistant nodded.

  A ding alert sounded on his tablet, signaling he’d been assigned to a new table. When he saw it was a table of ten customers, Drew sighed heavily. The extra work of managing such a table at lunchtime was never worth the tip in most circumstances. Approaching the table, he smiled, introduced himself, and took drink orders. As he stepped away and walked across his section to check on a previous table, Gordon Stemper, the restaurant manager, intercepted him.

  “I need to talk to you,” Gordon said, motioning for him to step to the side and out of hearing distance of their customers. Just like all the servers, his manager wore a white shirt, black vest, black trousers, and a black bowtie.

  Drew furrowed his brow. It was highly unusual for a manager to interrupt a service shift.

  “Don’t worry. Jennifer will cover your tables.” Gordon gave him a stern look. “I stopped by your section to see if our customers are enjoying their experience at the Octane Grill. And something interesting happened. A VIP customer said that he recognized you from TV. Do you have anything you want to tell me?”

  Drew’s heart began to race. He knew he couldn’t wiggle out of this one with a fib. His boss could quickly verify that it was him in the video or on the subsequent interview. “Uh… I was, um… at a protest this morning and was interviewed by a reporter. The clip went viral on social media. Apparently, the VIP customer saw it and asked if it was me. I said no, but he didn’t believe me.”

  Gordon frowned. “Let me get this straight. You lied to the national security advisor of the United States?”

  Drew shuffled his
feet. “Sir, you said that we should never talk about politics, even when customers engage us in conversation. I thought it was better to deny it and avoid a discussion that would go against the rules.”

  “But I never told you to lie to VIP customers either,” Gordon said.

  Drew’s stomach sank. He’d only meant to dodge the issue and refrain from a political discussion. “Sir, I’m very sorry. It was the wrong call. It won’t happen again.”

  Gordon waved off his apology. “The lie isn’t the issue. I watched the video—”

  “Sir, the reporter cut out twenty minutes of—”

  “The impromptu video footage was one thing, but then you decided to go on The Counter View for a follow-up interview,” Gordon said, his nostrils flaring. “And now I have to hear from our VIP customer that you’ve finagled yourself a one-on-one with the president.”

  Drew’s mouth ran dry. He didn’t know his impending meeting with the president was widely known. He’d honestly pushed the thought of it away for his shift, trying to focus on his job and not freak out about it.

  “We don’t run political campaigns out of my restaurant,” Gordon said. “The Octane Grill can’t afford to take sides. If we do, we lose half our clientele and our business.” He made a large sweeping gesture, snapping Drew out of his daze.

  “But sir—” Drew said.

  Gordon’s eyes protruded, and he chopped his hands through the air. “I’m surprised you didn’t think about how such public, controversial statements directed at the president might affect your job here at the Octane Grill. After more than a year on staff, you must know our business depends on serving an elite political clientele. The last thing we need is for that crude news show or people on social media to make a connection between your political views and our establishment. Which is something one VIP customer has already done. For this reason, I’m sorry, but I have to let you go.”

  “You’re firing me?” Drew’s lip quivered.

  Gordon’s face softened. “You’ve been a great server, always reliable and professional until now. I really hate doing this. But you’ve left me no choice. I can’t have you damage the Octane Grill’s longstanding bipartisan reputation with your political views.”

  “But…” Drew said, reeling from the shock of what was happening.

  “To honor your good work for the past year or so, we’ll give you one week’s severance pay to make up for the short notice,” Gordon said. “But for now, please hand over your tablet and apron.”

  Glimpsing sympathetic looks from other servers, Drew undid his apron and handed over his tablet to Gordon. Without saying another word, he turned and stumbled toward the front door.

  39

  Transfer Learning

  GRACE

  1300

  National Military Command Center

  The Pentagon

  Arlington, Virginia

  Grace sat stiffly in front of Arjun’s terminal, studying the changes he’d made to the code of ARC’s algorithms. Although she understood the impact of each change separately, she couldn’t foresee how the revised code might interact with each other and produce unexpected outcomes.

  Her stomach tightened at the notion of going into the monthly test and evaluation with senior Pentagon leadership, not knowing exactly what might happen. But she didn’t have enough time to compare and analyze the two versions side by side. Although Arjun’s story about his sick mother in the hospital and his financial sacrifice had moved her, there was only one viable option—to return everything to the way it was before Arjun messed with it. That way, the test would demonstrate the problems with ARC. Maybe then, her bosses would finally listen to her.

  “I need you to reverse the changes,” she said over her shoulder with a stern tone.

  Arjun grimaced and shook his head. “I can’t do that. If I reverse my changes, ARC will most likely start a nuclear war during the simulation this afternoon. Then the Pentagon leadership will lose their confidence in the ARC system. And they’ll take the system offline.”

  “Like I care what happens to your precious software,” Grace said as she started to get up from the chair. “If the ARC system really is that fragile, then maybe it should stay offline.”

  “You don’t understand,” Arjun said, grabbing her arm and pinching hard.

  “Let go of me,” Grace snapped, wincing from the tightness of his grip. She glared at him as she sat back down.

  “Grace, there’s more at stake than just my company’s software. It’s way too late to reconsider this kind of automation for nuclear weapons systems. Without ARC, the United States will be exposed to the threat of an attack by nuclear-armed countries with their own automated command and control systems. We won’t be able to credibly deter our adversaries anymore, and they might be tempted to initiate a first-strike nuclear attack. We need ARC online to prevent nuclear war from happening.”

  Why do these guys think everyone wants a nuclear war?

  Grace raised her eyebrow. “Alternatively, if we don’t take ARC offline now, the United States will face the risk of nuclear war anyway as a result of escalation. The system will continue to misinterpret actions by other countries as aggressive.” She stopped to look at him for a moment. “Arjun, you do know that’s where the ARC system was heading—down a slippery slope toward recommending nuclear war with China. That’s why your CEO had you make these changes prior to the test. This morning, the ARC system recommended we go to DEFCON 3 and take action against China’s two missing submarines. Do you want to find out what the system will recommend at the next stage of the conflict?”

  Arjun shook his head but pointed up at the wall clock. “Look, even if I wanted to revert the ARC system back to its previous state, I don’t have enough time before the scheduled test.”

  Grace shook her head. “Well then, that leaves me no choice. I can’t just let you make major changes to the ARC system without reporting them to my leadership. It’s my job to make sure ARC is functioning properly. And obviously, there are some serious problems with the system if you’re recoding the algorithms to cheat on a congressionally mandated test.”

  She started to get up from her chair again, but Arjun grabbed her arm once more, causing her body to tense. “Before you do something you regret, there’s something I haven’t told you,” he said.

  Grace whipped her head around and raised her fist to punch him. “Touch me again, and you’ll regret it.”

  He shrank back in his chair.

  Grace narrowed her eyes, scowled at him, and remained seated. “You’ve been lying to everyone since your first day on the job. Not to mention screwing me over. Why should I believe anything you say now?”

  Arjun winced. “I’m sorry. It was never my intention to mislead or screw you over. Whatever I’ve done, I did on the orders of my CEO. If my company finds out I’m telling you this now, I’ll be fired.” He swallowed hard, waiting for her response as he furled and unfurled his fingers.

  Grace crossed her arms and tapped her foot on the floor. “We don’t have all day, you know.”

  Arjun initiated direct eye contact. “So… you’ll keep this between us?”

  She frowned. “You know I can’t make that promise. But if you don’t tell me right now what else you’re hiding, I’ll have no choice but to report what you’ve done to Pentagon leadership.”

  The more she threatened to report him, the less confident Grace felt about it. At first, she was carried away by her moral impulse to do the right thing. But every time she imagined how it would go down when she informed Pentagon leadership, she shuddered. Someone would have to take the fall for what happened. And she worried it would be her head on the chopping block.

  “Okay, okay,” Arjun said, throwing up his hands. “Look, the changes I made today… they actually reverted the ARC system back to its original version.”

  “Original version?” Grace’s eyes popped, and she blinked at him several times. “You’re saying this is how ARC was set up when the system was fi
rst launched five months ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “But then… how?” Grace stared at him dumbfounded for a moment. “You’ve altered the algorithms before today?”

  Arjun shook his head vigorously. “No, it wasn’t me. I didn’t know any of this until today. I swear.”

  Grace tilted her head. “You’re the onsite systems engineer for ARC. If it wasn’t you, then who did it?”

  “It was my CEO, Dennis Warren,” Arjun said, lowering his head and whispering.

  Grace gasped, covering her mouth. “Your CEO made the changes himself?”

  “Well, not directly. He ordered his senior programmer to make them using an invisible back door to the program.”

  Invisible back door?

  Grace blinked rapidly. She was at a complete loss for words.

  “I know it’s hard to believe,” Arjun said. “After ARC’s first test passed with flying colors, a senior engineer working directly for Warren accessed the system remotely through the back door and secretly tinkered with the algorithms.”

  “But why would Warren do that, if the ARC system was such a success?” Grace asked.

  “Warren said without the changes, the ARC system would quickly become outdated and useless for providing strategic warning of a nuclear attack.”

  Grace furrowed her brow. “But I thought your boss sold ARC to the Pentagon on the basis that it could adapt to changing technological and geopolitical circumstances. Isn’t that the point of the monthly data infusions and simulations—to keep the ARC system up to date?”

  Arjun cleared his throat. “That was definitely Centoreum Tech’s pitch to the Department of Defense in its response to the request for proposal, and we did build the system to include such capabilities. To give the system the ability to adapt to changing circumstances, we integrated several deep neural networks into ARC using different learning methods. But when all was said and done, my boss didn’t think your leadership would accept ARC if we launched the system with its full functionality.”