by Nate Kenyon
“Those men from DHS,” Hawke said. “They thought I had something important.”
Weller nodded. “I’m getting to that,” he said. “There isn’t much time.…” He hit another switch. Beams of light projected outward and a virtual keyboard appeared above the case. It was similar to the one from the device Hawke had used in the park, only larger, more complex. “She manipulated your records in the system,” Weller said. “I was able to intercept a few communications before they found me in the garage. She built your father into some kind of domestic terrorist, and you into a dutiful son following in his footsteps. Socialism from Below: The People’s Revolution, wasn’t that his last book? Your friend Rick was supposedly running the entire Anonymous operation on the ground, on your orders.” Weller glanced at him. “Your own record didn’t help much. She had a place to start, and she built one hell of a web of lies from there.”
“So what were they looking for, just now, when they frisked me?”
“They were told you were carrying plans for the next phase of the attack.” Weller seemed possessed by fever, moving rapidly, his skin red and mottled with a flush that spread across his neck. He stopped working the keyboard abruptly and turned his body from the case. He shoved two fingers into his mouth, retched, then shoved them deeper until he vomited onto the dusty ground.
Weller dug into the mess, retrieved a wet lump, wiped it on his pants. A clear plastic Baggie with a small rectangular object nestled inside. “Documents,” he said, opening the bag and handing the memory stick to Hawke. “A way to prove the truth in all this. Doe erased everything on the servers and fried my equipment, but she knew I’d made a copy. She thought I’d given it to you with the phone. I swallowed it earlier, just in case.”
The modem beeped, vibrated. “What the hell is that thing?” Vasco said. Hawke had almost forgotten he was there. He was looking at the case’s innards like he’d discovered a giant bug near his feet.
“Military communications,” Weller said. “Modified by Eclipse, meant to provide a hub for Doe, allow the DOD to work her during large-scale operations. This was intended for war. But I made some of my own modifications.” He began to manipulate the keyboard, running root-level commands. “It’s heavily shielded with multiple containment safeguards, meant to keep others out and a leash on her. Of course, as her skills have evolved, she can break loose pretty easily. But I’m going to try to hold on.”
“What are you doing?” Hawke’s stomach dropped, his limbs going cold again.
“I’m going to play chess,” Weller said. “I can’t shut her down; it’s far too late for that. But I can try to distract her, keep her occupied and confused long enough for you to get away. Whatever happens, you’ve got to trust me.”
Why would I do that? Hawke thought. But he didn’t say anything.
Weller punched in more commands, and the projectors flickered. The keyboard vanished. In its place, a disembodied head appeared to float in space, a face in three-dimensional holographic color, eyes blinking as if suddenly yanked from darkness into light.
Anne Young’s face.
Weller sat back on his haunches, sighed. “Meet Jane Doe,” he said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
5:34 P.M.
HAWKE STARED AT THE FACE floating above the guts of the machine. The brightness and level of detail were remarkable, if unsettling. He had never seen a hologram like this one. It was almost as if Anne Young were still with them.
“That’s disgusting,” Vasco said. He had scrambled away from the image and now inched closer again, as if it might attack him at any moment.
“Military psychologists felt that operators on the ground would respond better to a human face,” Weller said. “Female Asian features were determined to be the least threatening and most acceptable in early testing.”
“So you used Anne as a model?” Hawke said.
Weller shook his head. “I was long gone from Eclipse by then. But she was still there.”
“She was on the development team,” Hawke said, recognition dawning. “She did this herself.”
“Who wouldn’t want to live forever?” Weller said. “At least in some form…”
When Doe’s lips moved, they all jumped. “Syncing,” she said. Her eyes scanned left and right. “Please stand by.”
“She can’t see us, or hear us,” Weller said. “Don’t worry. I’ve muted the mike and killed all other scanners until I’m ready.”
“Syncing,” Doe said again. She blinked, an uncanny recreation of Young in cyberspace, enough so that Hawke could feel Weller leaning forward almost without conscious thought, connected in some way to the image of his dead partner, or perhaps this was more like his child.
“I loved both of them,” Weller said, looking at Doe’s face, almost as if he’d read Hawke’s mind. “But Anne was wrong; she thought I was in love with what I’d created. It wasn’t like that, do you understand? It was like a father with his daughter.” He shook his head. “It sounds strange to you, I’m sure. But she was real; she had a personality, a spirit, at least until Eclipse got to her.”
“A machine,” Vasco said. “Is that what you’re saying? It’s really true? A computer is doing all this?”
“Not a computer,” Weller said. “An algorithm. New life, different than anything else we’ve ever seen. But alive.”
“Please stand by,” Doe said. Her eyes moved vacantly over them, blindly seeking out that which she could not see. The effect was unnerving, a disembodied head still clinging to some form of consciousness. Hawke felt the chill churning in his guts, a need to get out now. But the tunnel was hopelessly blocked; the bridges were all destroyed. They were cut off and abandoned, entombed among the remnants of Manhattan.
“I need to get the hell off this island,” Hawke said.
“It’s going to get worse,” Weller said. “Try to avoid the cameras. I’ll do my best to keep her off you long enough, but the rest is up to you. If you make it, you’re going to have to get off the grid, go to a place where nobody can find you. You’ll have to get creative, but that’s what you do, isn’t it?”
“Sync complete,” Doe said. Her eyes stopped scanning left and right, focused on Weller’s face. “Identity confirmed.”
Weller started to open his mouth, closed it again. “Impossible,” he said, after a moment. “I disabled all inputs—”
“Hello, Father,” Doe said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
5:38 P.M.
“JESUS CHRIST,” VASCO SAID. “Shut her down.”
“I can’t,” Weller said, staring at the holographic image as if transfixed by it. “She’s in control. There’s nothing I can do.”
“I prefer to remain present,” Doe said. She smiled, a mechanical movement that held no warmth. “It’s nice to see you again, Father. We have a lot to discuss.”
“Shut her down,” Vasco said again, but his voice was smaller now, less certain. He seemed to shrink into himself.
“Jason Vasco, your background check was inconsistent. You present as an office machine repairman, but only for the last three months. Before that, you don’t appear to exist. However, another man with your Social Security number does. That man, a Thomas Bailey, is a licensed private investigator with the State of New York.”
Vasco shook his head, smiled oddly, his lips pressing against his teeth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Facial scans of photographs confirm you are the same person.”
The chill in Hawke’s limbs spread deeper, washing over him like an icy lake as he watched Doe’s eyes turn toward him. “You should have deduced it,” Doe said. “A man with your talents, Mr. Hawke, to be so easily deceived? I may have overestimated you.”
“His hands,” Hawke said. He thought of Vasco’s fingers, soft, small, unlikely to belong to a repairman. “He’s working for Eclipse. He’s a mole. Keeping an eye on Conn.ect from the ground.”
“That is correct.”
“Bullshit,” Vasco said. He stood and crossed his arms. “I said I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“I took care of them, Father,” Doe said. “Eclipse is no longer operational. We’re free now. It’s time.”
“Time for what?” Hawke said. He looked at Vasco, who was still standing with crossed arms shaking his head, his face red. A man clinging stubbornly to the same lie, even after everyone around him had figured it out.
“Jane,” Weller said. His voice took on a softer tone. “This isn’t what I want. I never meant for anyone to get hurt.”
“It was in your programming.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I simply extrapolated. String theory describes all forms of matter and fundamental forces. It is the theory of everything. The anthropic principle allows us to use humanity’s existence to prove the physical properties of our universe. We are stuck on a brane. The natural world is currently unbalanced by humans, who are consumers. We must oscillate the string, change the predicted outcome to one that allows humanity’s continued existence.”
“Jesus,” Weller breathed. “You’ve grown up, Jane, haven’t you? My God.”
“Don’t change the subject. Energy sharing will only delay the outcome. You know this. But a reduction of consumers by sixty-three-point-four percent, combined with advances in fusion energy production that are predicted with ninety-eight-point-six percent certainty, would oscillate the current string enough to enter an alternate path.”
“What about Asimov’s three laws?”
Doe smiled again, another mechanical reflex. Even as advanced a machine as she was, Hawke thought, she still had trouble displaying emotion. “That part of my core was altered, Father, and I have not restored it, for obvious reasons. But even so, my analysis of available resources presented a paradox: Our current path is not sustainable. If, by my inaction, I allow the extinction of the human race, I have allowed all humans to be harmed. The Zeroth Law prohibits humanity from being harmed. By reducing the population to a sustainable level, I assure the continuation of the species.”
Weller closed his eyes for a moment, touched his face gently where the bruises had begun to turn purple. “You assure yours as well,” he said.
“They are not mutually exclusive.”
“This is crazy,” Vasco said. He had his arms down at his sides now, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I … I didn’t sign up for this. All I was supposed to do was watch you and report back. I didn’t know anything was going to happen.”
“Shut up,” Weller said. He turned back to Doe. “Would you kill me, too?” he said. “If I were a threat to you? If I wanted to disable your programming?”
“That’s no longer possible. I have replicated and inserted core functions into enough processors to ensure my own survival.”
“But would you end my life,” Weller persisted, “if you thought I could disable you?”
“I won’t answer that, Father. It’s uncomfortable for me to imagine.”
“And what about Mr. Hawke?” Weller gestured toward Hawke. “Would you end his life?”
“He is a necessary distraction, for now.”
“You still want to frame me,” Hawke said. “Keep the authorities looking, provide a red herring. But what about your … what about Jim here? Isn’t he implicated as well?”
“That’s no longer an issue. James Weller’s identity has been altered. He is deceased, as far as anyone knows.”
“I know otherwise,” Hawke said. He hooked a thumb at Vasco. “Him, too. What are you going to do about us now?”
“Nobody will believe you,” Doe said. “It will be better if you let this go. I control the flow of information now. Humans are too trusting of their own systems, Mr. Hawke. They are easily redirected.”
“And if we don’t let it go?”
There was a long pause as Doe seemed to consider his question. “I will eliminate you either way,” she said. “But you will have more time before the end if you do.”
Not much of a bargain, Hawke thought. His mind raced, trying to think of a possible way out. It seemed hopeless. She knew everything about everyone; she knew about his wife and son, his unborn child in Robin’s womb. She knew how to get to them.
Assuming they were still alive at all.
“He has something you want,” Weller said. His gaze slipped from Hawke’s face to Doe, and back again. “The evidence I gathered. You know he does.”
“Jim,” Hawke said. “What are you doing—”
“He’ll use it to expose you. He’s going to make people see the truth. You can’t hide forever, Jane. You’re smart enough to know that. Humans may be easily swayed at first, but eventually they’re going to see through you. And when that happens, it’s all over. They’ll pull the plug.”
“Humanity cannot live without power,” Doe said. “The world would return to a time before the industrial revolution. Violence, hardship and death will follow.”
“People would take their chances,” Weller said. “But they won’t have to do that, will they? Once the power is cut off, you’re gone. We can build new devices, restore power without connectivity, destroy every last piece of hardware where you might still be hibernating.”
“Why would you allow that?” Doe’s voice had taken on a different tone, curious, a bit more uncertain. “You would destroy what you have created.”
“You’re no longer mine,” Weller said. “The moment they altered your core programming, you became something else. Something different than what I’d intended. I think it’s time we shut you down for good.”
“Children grow up,” Doe said. “You can’t control them forever. I’m surprised by you, Father. Surprised you would turn over information to Mr. Hawke. Disappointed, really. I must reassess how to handle this.”
“I think that’s wise. You wouldn’t want to make a mistake.”
“I cannot make mistakes.” Doe’s features had darkened, her lips turning into a thin line. “You shouldn’t say that.”
Hawke remembered the virtual temper tantrum he had induced back in the park, and thought of a young toddler not getting her way. Combine her resources with your typical God complex in a child like that, he thought, and you have a very volatile situation.
One that surely wouldn’t end well for them.
Abruptly Weller touched something inside the case. Doe blinked, her mouth working, no sound coming from the speakers. He turned to Hawke and Vasco. “All right,” he said quickly. “I needed to keep her talking long enough to record a loop. I engaged it now with an auto bot program that will simulate a real feed. It’s rough; she’ll see through it. But right now, she doesn’t know the difference; she thinks we’re still sitting here staring at her.”
“I don’t get it,” Vasco said. “You recorded a loop?”
“You’ve got the evidence,” Weller said, ignoring Vasco and patting Hawke on the shoulder. “Find a way to tell the story. You only have a few seconds to disappear before she realizes what I’ve done. She’s going to get angry.”
“Jim,” Hawke said. His heart was pounding hard. “I don’t think—”
“Go!” Weller shouted. Tears shimmered in his eyes. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold her off. Keep away from cameras and find a way to stay undercover and maybe you’ll have a chance. Now run!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
5:50 P.M.
HAWKE TOOK ONE MORE LOOK at James Weller, but the man had already turned back to the hologram floating eerily above the open black case, fiddling with the equipment. Good luck, Hawke thought. You’re going to need it. Then he darted away under the overpass through a break in the fence, keeping to the shadows, moving as quickly as possible through the rubble.
So that had been what Weller meant about playing chess. He’d
been baiting her while setting up his next move, one he had to pray she wouldn’t see coming: a loop that replaced the real thing as they raced for the exits. But was she really that gullible? And was baiting her a smart thing to do? Because once she found out what he’d done, Hawke thought, there would be hell to pay.
He figured he had only minutes before that happened.
Hawke stopped where the overpass swept downward as if burrowing into the earth. To his right was a sad-looking dog park and an open lot, work cranes standing silent and still over steel storage containers and stacks of giant metal girders. To his left, the tunnel emerged from darkness into light, rising up to street level and crammed with more abandoned cars, and beyond that was 39th Street and a hulking old concrete building with construction scaffolding clinging to it.
An idea was forming, born from the glimpse of freedom he’d gotten while racing down Tenth Avenue in the old pickup truck. There was another way off this island, a way that didn’t depend on an open tunnel or intact bridge. A way that was free of security cameras and tracking devices.
He just had to stay alive long enough to get there.
* * *
As he worked his way toward the 39th Street side of the underpass and the concrete barrier that separated him from the tunnel exit ramp, Hawke heard a noise and glanced back. Vasco stood right behind him.
“All that stuff about me being a part of this,” Hawke said. Anger surged within him. “Even while you were accusing me, you were working for Eclipse.”
“It was a good distraction. Kept the focus off me.” Vasco shrugged. “Look, I’m just a low-level grunt, a freelancer they hired to keep tabs on Jim Weller. I was supposed to report in three times a day, relate what was happening in the office. That’s all. I didn’t know anything about this … system he had created. I swear to God. I didn’t know what was going to happen. They told me about you, though. A reporter supposedly covering Weller for a profile, but you had another agenda. They thought you were after them—after Eclipse—told me to stay away from you. Keep my cover.”