Maria made to say something, but Morgan raised his hand to stop her, “My colleague here,” he nodded to the still sullen Doug, “is right, we know all about your aversion to allowing the military to use your tech. But I would gamble that aversion is based almost entirely on our well-earned reputation, which is in turn, based on how we have acted in the past.” Maria nodded slightly in confirmation, “There is nothing I can do to change the past, no matter how much I would like to, but our reputation can be changed if we start showing a little more… honour… in the way we deal with people like yourself going forward. The simple fact is that twenty years ago, the man with the bigger stick won the fight, today it’s the man with the bigger brain. We need people like you to help us, but we know we need to re-earn your trust. So, here is what I propose: We will purchase the licence to this new encryption technology and will live by every stipulation and condition you put into the contract, we will commit to only use the technology as you give it to us, we will not try to disassemble it, we won’t try to reverse engineer it, we won’t use it for anything that we do not run by you first.”
Maria was starting to look interested, but she still made the obvious statement. “I still have issues about how this technology could be used offensively – to attack people, even if they are enemies of the state.”
Morgan smiled, “Ma’am, with all due respect, we have plenty of swords in our arsenal. What we need is a damned good shield, and, from what my advisors tell me, yours is the best shield we have ever seen. I can guarantee, in writing if necessary, that your technology will only be used for defensive purposes. Over time, I hope that your trust in us - and the new way we do things - can be built up enough for us to be able to work together on a more frequent and open level in the future.”
“General,” Maria finally said after a long pause, “those are terms I can live with.”
Hands were shaken, goodbyes were exchanged, and Doug continued to look at the floor. Twenty minutes later Maria walked into my lab.
“So, what do you think?” she asked simply.
“Providing their contract is as airtight as they are suggesting, they haven’t given themselves much wiggle room when it comes to using Alice’s tech.” I answered after carefully considering the question and the series of events leading to it.
“I agree,” Alice confirmed, “but even if they try to do something under the radar, I am still able to monitor and – if needed – reverse any deviations in the technology’s usage. I think we have all bases covered – to use a human expression.”
Maria and I smiled at each other, now getting more used to Alice’s incredible program and her ability to seem almost alive. “Before we get ahead of ourselves,” I said, “I want to know everything there is to know about those two generals, and anyone else of relevance in the chain of command. They could have made that performance to a hundred companies and reneged every single deal, or they could be on the level. We need to know more.”
“I will start on it immediately.” Alice replied, her screen promptly going blank.
“So…” I said, pulling Maria into a tight embrace, “what could we possibly do to pass the time?”
“Well,” she purred back, “that was a very stressful meeting, there’s only one really good way to relieve stress…”
Chapter 7
Matters of state
The early afternoon sun was now high in the sky; the warmth of the day, coupled with the cool northerly breeze, felt incredible on my skin as Penny and I strolled in circles around the balcony. We had now been talking for more than four hours. I had been fairly apprehensive about giving this interview; as talented as this young journalist was, and as pleasant as her company had been, I had felt uneasy about reliving memories about my life before I became the speaker.
Of course, I understood the relevance, I understood the part they played in the narrative of our young nation, but I was a private person for a reason. Maria hadn’t been the only person I had ever become close to, but the nature of our relationship – or more accurately, the way it had ended – had left some scars which were yet to fully fade.
Despite that, there was a certain level of catharsis to talking through these events; some foreign and domestic policies, some of the more… challenging… choices I’d had to make over the past few decades, had solidified in my mind. Plus, I had to admit, talking about Maria after all this time felt… nice.
“I’m sorry Mr Speaker,” a voice came from the western doors leading from the balcony back into the residence, “it’s almost time to leave for your appointment.”
“Thank you, Jonathan,” I turned towards the handsome and dark-haired man, “We shall be right there.” Jonathan nodded deeply, almost a bow – something he knew I hated, but did it anyway in a fairly successful attempt at humour.
Jonathan was a native, one of the few now old enough and qualified enough to work in the higher levels of Atlantian power. His official title was ‘Aide to the Speaker’ but his job was a lot more complicated than being a glorified secretary as the name suggested, he was essentially the equivalent to the US President’s chief of staff; his job being to ensure the smooth running of the ship and although he was far from second in command, he was defiantly the man to go to if things went wrong or you needed to get things done.
He gave a not so subtle admiring glance at Penny, the pretty young writer smiling with a slight blush at being the focus of such a respected man’s attention.
Ah… to be young.
“Well then,” I turned to Penny, interrupting her sultry gaze as Jonathan disappeared back into the residence, “would you like to call that a day? Or do you want to join us on some ceremonial duties?”
“It’s entirely up to you sir… Marcus… dammit. I have plenty to work with for now. I can come back another time if you like or….” Another not so subtle glance towards the door.
“Jonathan will be there.” I said with a smirk. She looked shot back to me, her expression trying to feign confusion, or even insult, but one cocked eyebrow from me and her pretences crumbled.
“Ok, if you insist.” She finally conceded, I caught the sides of a smile as she turned back towards the city for a last look at the view, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she did.
An hour later, the chariot – a modified condor class dropship, painted blue with the silver phoenix emblazoned on its hull armour – landed on the roof. Jonathan, Penny and I all climbed in, it always amazed me how quiet the plasma drive engines were from within the cabin of this vehicle, the roar which could be deafening from outside was little more than a dull rumble from the plush leather seats – similar to the interior of a private luxury jet – as the chariot powered itself into the air. The 400 or so mile journey to Gemini in the south west would take about 90 minutes.
If the city of Atlantia was the political capital of the country, then Gemini was the nations cultural capital. Modelled after Broadway in New York, Leicester Square in London and - of course – Hollywood, it was the place to be for artists, musicians, actors, screenwriters and any other profession dedicated to the arts. Theatres, opera houses, the national ballet, cinemas, film production lots, recording studios, art galleries and open public parks gave every conceivable creative profession a place to call home
The city itself was built into a shape similar to a dreamcatcher – not a coincidence thanks to the city’s designers. In the centre of the city, on a large hexagonal green, stood the looking glass; a 150ft tall star shaped obelisk covered entirely in mirrors – the creative minds who designed it wanted the viewer to not only see the world from a different perspective, but also to be able to see themselves from another point of view. In both respects, they had been overwhelmingly successful.
Five roads branched out from each corner of the hexagon on which the monolith stood, although traffic in Gemini – as in most Atlantian cities – was almost non-existent, these were largely pedestrian thoroughfares. Every hundred yards or so, each road would intersect with
one of the ring roads that circled the city at ever increasing intervals, this created a circular grid pattern with the blocks of real estate between each ring road becoming increasingly bigger as the distance from the looking glass - and the distance between the ring roads – increased.
Industries which required little physical space took up positions on the smaller plots closer to the city centre; recording studios, art workshops, dance halls and so on. The industries that required more space – filming lots, art galleries, museums – took position in the larger plots towards the city’s edge. The National Opera house, The National Dance academy and the nation’s largest concert arena were among the occupants of the largest plots. Around the centre ring was a single, huge park which entirely looped the city, a band of green dotted with the blues of lakes and ponds, the green, browns and yellows of trees, fountains, playgrounds, walkways, gardens and the odd sculpture ringed the city at its central point. Residential high rises interlaced the city at various points giving the occupants of this vibrant and magnificent city somewhere to live.
I had always loved this city. I had been brought up with a deep and undying love of music and had spent much of my childhood lost in the literary worlds carved in the imaginations of great authors. Unlike the residents of Atlantia city - who lived there in a desire to be close to the political action – or Paradise Bay – with its seafront promenades white sand beaches - the people of this city didn’t live here through convenience, or because they liked the view, or simply because they were born there. They lived here because they wanted to create, they wanted to contribute something to the cultural landscape of Atlantia, because they wanted to hone their skills at the feet of the modern masters – most of whom lived and plied their trade here, because they wanted to be inspired and in turn, to inspire others.
The Atlantian people, no matter their backgrounds, never ceased to amaze me.
Today we were heading to the newest edition to the city: The Tolkien academy of literature. The grand children of the great JR Tolkien lived somewhere in the city and had allowed their forebear’s name to be used on the Nation’s newest school; whereas the Hawking institute was dedicated to the study of the sciences, this school was dedicated to the study and creation of great works of literature. It was one of my life’s singular honours when Tolkien’s own granddaughter had told me that the legendary author would have loved to live in Atlantia, Gemini in particular.
As the chariot touched down on a cordoned off intersection of the ring and branch roads, the crowds waving their phoenix banners, I looked up at the arched entrance way to this monument of cultural learning. Carved into the stone at the apex of the arch was a quote from another of history’s literary giants, Roald Dahl.
Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.
I was only at the ceremony to be part of the ribbon cutting, other – better qualified – people were already lined up to give speeches and enjoy the accolades that they more than deserved. But I never refused a request from any of the nation’s public services if there was not a legitimate commitment elsewhere; when I had received the request to be part of this delegation, I had accepted gladly.
Smile, wave, shake a few hands, hold an oversized pair of scissors, smile some more then leave… turning up was the least I could do, especially on such a beautiful day and in honour of such a worthy cause.
Being sat between Jonathan and Penny – their awkward sideward glances and flushed faces – on the trip down here was pretty amusing too.
Life lesson: never pass up an opportunity to laugh.
On the return trip, two hours later - and with that lesson in mind – I sat and watched another flirtatious, albeit fleeting look between my two companions. The four leather recliners were facing each other with an aisle to one side between the chairs and the hull, I was sat in one, nearest the window, Penny was sat between me and the aisle and Jonathan was sat in the chair opposite me.
I stood up, pulled Jonathan from his seat, turned and unceremoniously dumped him into my newly vacated seat. “Jonathan, this beautiful young woman is called Penny. Penny, this dashing young man’s name is Jonathan. Have fun.” And with a wink at the two mortified faces I went to the service area at the back of the chariot and made myself a drink. By the time I had returned they were deep in conversation, Penny’s hand frequently coming up to rub Jonathan’s arm when he made her laugh and Jonathan making no attempt whatsoever to remove it. I chose not to interrupt the two young lovers and sat myself in one of the lounging chairs towards the rear of the chariot, perfectly content to watch the spectacular Atlantian landscape speed past beneath us.
By the time we had arrived back at the Speaker’s tower, numbers had been exchanged and an official date organised. I stepped off the chariot first, standing to the side of the steps extending from the fuselage, Penny came behind me, another bashful smile and another hair swept behind her ear, Jonathan came up the rear, a beaming smile on his face. A subtle fist bump between mentor and student and we were making our way back to the residence.
Three days later, and after an apparently very successful first date, Penny was back in the tower, this time in the large circular room that made up the Bastion. The highest point, not only in the city, but in the Atlantian government. Penny looked around the room, awestruck not only by the beautiful works of art - most of which coming from the artistic geniuses of Gemini - but by the room’s political significance. The oval office, Buckingham Palace, Downing Street, Versailles, The Reichstag, The Kremlin; these places had seen some of the greatest and most tragic episodes of human history play out within their walls, yet in only a quarter of a century, this room had risen to be their equal. This was a truth that was not lost on the young journalist.
It was late afternoon; the work of the day had already been finished and the bright orange sun was slowly sinking across the western horizon. The Whitesnake reflected a new colour on its route to the sea and the broken clouds defied the sun with a deep purple hue as Penny sat in one of the four leather sofas, arranged in a square, in the centre of the room, I eased myself into the one opposite her.
“So…” I started after catching up on her work on my story so far, offering her a drink and subtly querying her romantic intentions with my aide, “where were we?”
◆◆◆
It was the morning after Maria’s meeting with the military, we had driven in to work together, entered the building together, held hands through the lobby, separated with a kiss outside her office – much to the delight of the secretary pool and passing employees – only for her to walk into my office an hour later.
“Alice,” she said after giving me the kind of kiss usually reserved for lovers who have been apart for much longer than an hour, “how did you get on with getting information on our military friends?”
“and a good morning to you too, Maria,” Alice joked back, ever playful.
“That must be the PMS,” I quipped back, laughing at the humour Alice was now displaying on a regular basis.
“In your case, Marcus, that would be Premeditated Murder Subroutines.” She threw back, the speed of her rebuttal and the snort of hysterical laughter from Maria causing me to choke on my coffee.
I loved watching that woman laugh.
“Anyway,” she continued. “I have found everything on our two visitors that there is to find, at least digitally. Both men are Army, the rude one is named Douglas Reaves – Doug – currently a three-star general stationed at the Pentagon, but he spends most of his time between Fort Meade and Langley. He was – until a year ago – the commanding officer of the USCYBERCOM, the military cyber command division, but he mostly liaised between the CIA and NSA. His job role also included the acquisition of technologies relevant to the field of cyber warfare, the defence of US military and civilian electronic infrastructure and co-ordinating offensive cyber actions against foreign powers.”
An uneasy glance from Maria.
“That role,” she continued, “passed to Mor
gan Blake when he took over as commander of CYBERCOM 16 months ago, it would appear from emails and a long list of other correspondence that Reaves’ conduct in all but the offensive elements of his job were woefully below par. Not only that but he and Blake have been friends for years, he was demoted and Blake was promoted to take his place, Reaves is NOT happy about that.”
“What about Blake?” I asked, trying to get the subject back on track.
“As far as I can tell, he seems pretty on the level,” Alice replied. “You were right about him having made that speech to other companies, there is evidence that he spends time rehearsing it, but as far as follow through goes, he seems above board. So far, I have counted 23 new contracts he has brokered, all of them with companies less than eager to do business with the military. Yet in all 23 cases, the terms of the contract have been honoured to the letter. I was actually quite surprised, I spent a lot longer than I needed to digging into all sorts of records looking for a red flag but nope, nothing.”
The uneasy look faded from Maria’s face, replaced by a small smile of relief. She hadn’t been duped.
“There is more to say about Reaves though.” Alice continued, “that throw away comment about the Deputy Director of the CIA wasn’t bravado, he really is under pressure from the CIA and the NSA to get new technology. What’s more, the encryption software we have just licensed to them only allows for use by the military, not any of the intelligence agencies. Blake is sticking to the letter of the contract and refusing them access to it which means that the one successful negotiation that Reaves was part of…”
“Still gets him nothing.” Maria finished.
“and as I said,” Alice finished, “he is under a lot of pressure, and he is NOT happy.”
We all stood in silence for a while as this new information percolated. “Could he be a threat?” I asked, not being able to come the conclusion myself.
The Rise of the Speaker Page 9