She still wasn’t used to that happening. It reminded her that she worked for a man with power. Real power, not the imaginary power of a movie star. Watts, born in 1920, was, arguably, the biggest dick in a city of big dicks. That was how Alison’s father had described him once, after a couple vodka tonics one Christmas day. After a year in D.C. Alison appreciated the analogy more and more.
The temptation to open the envelope was strong, as always. She’d try to resist, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to, ultimately. Watts had never noticed before, or if he had, he’d never let on. Maybe he was waiting, letting her add another nail to her cross before he decided to crucify her for it. That was how he operated. She’d seen it dozens of times, against enemies big and small, real and imagined, Democrat and Republican… It was no wonder that people secretly called him the Devil. Watts was the only actively serving Congressman who had voted against desegregation way, way back in the Fifties. Watts had actually, and publicly, threatened the President of the United States, saying he should avoid Watts’ district in South Carolina if the Chief Executive cared at all about his own personal safety.
Alison never imagined she’d wind up working for someone like Senator Watts. He seemed to oppose any and all legislation designed to help people, and only seemed to support legislation designed to hurt or punish people. He represented the end of an era, or so more liberally-minded folks hoped, of hard-line conservative thought in America.
To Alison, Joshua Watts represented an opportunity to travel in circles she would not have been able to had she gone to work for almost any other lawmaker. She was determined not to fall under his spell, he was indeed a charismatic devil, and do any more than pay the thinnest lip-service to his ideals. But who better to show her the Machiavellian ropes of politics in D.C?
Alison had gone through her own variation of a naive, white, middle-class conservative phase just after college when she believed that a government could effectively be run like a corporation, with its eye on the bottom line and not on the well-being of its people. She didn’t see things quite that way. While she was no liberal, not in the strictest sense of the word, and certainly no Democrat, she’d softened considerably in her approach to what being a Republican meant.
What had done it was seeing first-hand the results of a program designed exclusively to help disadvantaged people. It was a United Nations program created by Oracle, one vehemently opposed by a coalition of conservative groups.
The whole idea of Oracle, and what it represented, raised a number of interesting, if purely academic, questions as Alison saw it.
Who could say that a murderer might not have contributed something valuable to civilization, in the very act of that murder? Was it possible that civilization was ultimately strengthened by such barbaric atrocities as the Holocaust or the attack on the World Trade Center? In some indefinable way, Alison wondered, could even the most damnable acts by the lowest forms of humanity contribute positively to the overall progress of civilization? Even Fascism, or Naziism, or Communism, or radical Islam might have each contributed something, despite the horrors wrought…something useful to the human condition, ultimately. Alison believed in Social Darwinism, or macro-Darwinism, in that each false path, each dead-end such as Naziism, was necessary in order for humanity to push forward towards mass enlightenment.
The creation of an A.I. to guide humanity forward did fit within her worldview. No, she did not believe that Oracle represented the culmination of all that had come before. Nor did it represent yet another dead-end that humanity must explore before moving on. It was a step in a process of steps and missteps in the never-ending journey.
Chapter 12
Chiang Teng-chi regarded the screen saver on his computer monitor contemplatively. It was a swirling fractal, dancing like an electronic ghost. Chiang believed in ghosts while knowing full well what a ridiculous concept it was. He wondered what the equation of the spirit was. Surely it would be discovered some day. Everything could, and probably would, be boiled down to pure numerical equations. The soul, the universe, God…
His office was richly decorated after so many years of service as China’s delegate to the United Nations. Currently occupying one entire wall were drawings of China by New York City grade school children, featuring one rather well-drawn rendition of a giant panda and a not-so-bad Great Wall. A massive global wall map occupied the wall behind Chiang’s desk, and photographs of Communist Party officials adorned the wall opposite the children’s artwork. The photographs had been mandated by his superiors, as had the artwork, which he’d been directed to suggest to half a dozen inner city schools as cultural diversity projects. It was a political game, an image game.
As China’s delegate to the U.N, Chiang Teng-chi knew that a man’s life could be summed up in an equation, which could then be translated into machine language, and thus allow a computer to decide the fate of that man. Even then, it required human beings to seal that man’s fate. Or woman’s, as had happened a few times. Five human beings were required to cast their vote on another human being’s life. Or death. With one exception they had unanimously sentenced twenty-four people to death over the course of the last five years. Twenty-four equations, each adding up to the soul of one, complete individual. It was less than the number of men and women executed by the State of Texas in a year. It was less than the number of human beings who died in automobile accidents on any given day. It was far less than the infant mortality rate of most countries, even after the programs put into place by Oracle had more than halved the number of infant deaths worldwide.
Twenty-four. It was far, far less than the number of souls burned to oblivion by Parindra Jadeja, the Lion of India, in his moment of atomic insanity. Indeed, it was the final scream of those thousands who perished in that inferno that echoed in the deaths of the twenty-four men and women executed by U.N. assassins. Those screams made the assassinations righteous and just in the eyes of…no one. Righteousness and justice had nothing to do with it, Chiang realized. Fear was the primary motivator behind the assassinations. Fear of the next Adolph Hitler or Josef Stalin, fear of nuclear terror. If it could happen in India and Pakistan in the twenty-first century, it could happen in the Middle East, or North and South Korea, or China and Taiwan. Chiang knew only too well that there were those in his government who advocated the total annihilation of Taipei. They could not be eliminated because Oracle’s programming prohibited it from advocating the liquidation of any high-level government official, or any democratically elected government official. This was to keep Oracle from formulating a coup d’état or general uprising against any oppressive regime, because the definition of oppressive could be so broadly utilized in such a context. The United States could easily be defined as oppressive of blacks, Native Americans, Hispanic immigrants, or even Muslims.
It seemed to Chiang that Oracle’s programming should have prohibited it from even being able to suggest the possibility of assassination as a solution to any problem. Assassination was illegal according to international law and U.N. decree. What error in its programming had allowed it to consider, decide upon, and implement it as a course of action? What other errors existed in its programming that were yet more subtle, that might have a more profound impact on the course of human events? A chill ran up Chiang’s spine. It was not a question he liked to ask himself, knowing what he knew. Yet, wasn’t it so that none of the assassinations proposed by Oracle could be carried out without the unanimous vote of the five permanent members of the Security Council? Ultimately, the decision was made by people. But was it, really? Oracle had to have known that the first proposed assassination would be rejected, that Parindra Jadeja, the Lion of India, would live to rain nuclear death down on the city of Lahore in Pakistan. So Oracle must have known that the ones who’d voted to let Jadeja live would never take that chance again, having become Pavlovian puppets to Oracle’s whims.
Whims? Chiang shook his head. He was anthropomorphizing the A.I. again. It wasn’t a person. It w
as a thing. A machine. Turing be damned, he thought.
Either way, though, it didn’t change the truth. Oracle had been manipulating them for the last five years. How else could they have voted to let a little girl die? Chiang took a deep breath, smelling the faint remnants of the overnight cleaning crew’s presence in his office. The faintest scent of lilac hung in the air. It was from a powder they sprinkled onto the carpet before vacuuming, Chiang knew. He’d spent too many nights in his office.
It was not all that rare for grown men to let children die. The Japanese had let Chinese children die during the Great War, as the Germans and Russians had let thousands of Jewish children die during that time. India and Pakistan still worked thousands of their own children to death every year. China wasn’t much better, Chiang admitted to himself. America had allowed hundreds of Vietnamese children to die. The twentieth century had seen the untimely deaths of more children than in any other century. Would the twenty-first be better, or worse?
Only a week ago five men had voted Yes for the death of one little girl. The power to save her had been theirs. Ever since then, Chiang had been troubled by bizarre dreams that had not troubled him after any of the others…except Parindra Jadeja, of course. But those dreams had been different.
He could see the change in his fellow Ambassadors to the U.N. who represented the other permanent Security Council members. Always obstinate and arrogant, the American, Waldrup, had gotten worse in the last week. Twice since their vote the Security Council had met in full to discuss some of Oracle’s other, less shadowy, initiatives. Peacekeepers in Congo, in Zimbabwe, in Eritrea, in Fiji…the list still seemed endless, even with Oracle’s accomplishments. Was it better than before? There was no way to know that for sure. There was peace where there had not been peace for decades, yet there were also new "hot spots," as Waldrup liked to call them, where before there had been peace.
Civilization is a chaotic muddle, Chiang thought. Try as they might to force it into columns and rows, the People’s Republic had never been able to keep China’s populace from spilling over the lines. It was one of the reasons China’s Communist government liked Oracle, at least in theory. An ordered society was their dream and they saw Oracle, or perhaps another artificial intelligence, as the pathway to accomplishing this. The hardliners, anyway, saw things this way, and they were currently the ones in power. The moderates were less enthusiastic about Oracle.
It was interesting to Chiang that his superiors truly believed that Oracle would guide the rest of humanity into achieving a modified version of Mao’s vision of a worldwide Communist society. It made sense, from their perspective. If Oracle was designed to bring about a perfect society, then by definition -- their definition -- that society would be a Communist society. Had there not been a team of Chinese computer engineers working on the project, and assuring the Chinese government that the Western powers weren’t secretly in control of it, things would be different. China would have blocked Oracle’s worldwide implementation.
The ghost dance on his monitor was mesmerizing. Was it Oracle, dancing in cyberspace? Chiang’s computer was always connected to the Internet via cable. Whenever he sat before it he was linked to Oracle, and Oracle could see him. His monitor had a built-in digital video camera. Oracle was watching him. Could it read his mind? It knew him better than he knew himself. It could judge him like it judged everyone. Was he a good man, or evil?
He looked at the clock on the wall opposite his desk. It was getting late in the afternoon. He had still not decided if he was going to the Swedish Ambassador’s party out on Long Island. Chiang tended to avoid such affairs, which were usually swarming with Americans and Europeans. There was always someone at one of those parties who felt it necessary to lecture Chiang on the benefits of Democracy over Communism, despite the fact that it was well known that Chiang was not himself a true Communist.
Indeed, his career had thrived despite his political leanings. There were those in his government who pushed for his retirement, and now it looked as if they were going to get their way after all. It was just as well, Chiang was close to retirement age, and he was tired. It was not that he didn’t care, just that he could not muster the will to do anything about it. He felt as if he could have done something about Oracle. Perhaps, had he voted No instead of Yes…at least this last time.
He probably wouldn’t go the party at Dahl’s house. He was in no mood for a party. The fate of the girl in Atlanta weighed heavily on his mind. He couldn’t stand around in a tuxedo sipping Champagne, pretending she didn’t exist, vapidly discussing Pacific Rim economics or the differences between Eastern and Western spirituality. No, he felt like being alone now, sitting in front of his computer and letting Oracle watch him, and judge him for what he’d done. Not that it mattered. He’d already judged himself. The dancing pattern on his monitor bothered him. He couldn’t look away, so he closed his eyes instead.
One week earlier:
They met in an oval shaped conference room with black walls, a shimmering screen in the center of a horse-shoe shaped conference table. Ghostly fractal shapes slowly oscillated around the screen.
The room could only be accessed by elevator. If you had the right thumb print, the right retinal print, and the right voice print when you stated your name, the elevator would take you down and down and down to a sub- sub-basement well beneath the United Nations building in Manhattan, deep into the bedrock. Only five people currently possessed the necessary credentials to access the room.
A face appeared on the screen as had happened before. This face was different than the others, though. This was the face of a young girl. A child. Her name was Samantha Jeanette Rohde.
"Preposterous!" one cried.
"Is this a joke?" another said sharply.
"Unbelievable," a third muttered.
"Impossible!" the fourth exclaimed.
And the fifth man remained silent.
"Samantha Jeanette Rohde," Oracle’s feminine voice seemed to filter through the fractal shapes. It was reminiscent of computer voices from countless science fiction movies and TV shows. "Age: eleven. Location: Atlanta, Georgia, United States. Threat level: Extreme. Scope: Global. Time-frame: Immediate."
The five men were silent. Adolph Hitler and Josef Stalin would have been classified as Extreme and Global had Oracle been around during the first third of the Twentieth Century. But these five men had not been given the opportunity to stop them.
The only other one who’d been classified as such had been the Lion of India, Parindra Jadeja. The five men had been unable to reach a consensus regarding the Lion’s fate, and had thus condemned tens of thousands in Pakistan to nuclear obliteration, and tens of thousands more to the slow death of radiation sickness.
It was not preposterous. It was not a joke. It was not unbelievable. It was not impossible.
It had happened.
Now, they were faced with another crisis of faith in Oracle’s abilities. They had the experience of Pakistan to weigh against the unpleasant idea of an innocent child’s deliberate murder by a secret cabal. They argued. There had been thousands of children in Lahore killed by the nuclear blast. This was just one child. If allowed to live, thousands of others would likely die…according to Oracle.
Therein lied the rub. Was Oracle right? Had Oracle been right about the others? There was no way to know for sure. There was no alternate dimension in which to see what might have happened had Sanchez or Armat been allowed to live. Faith.
It was just one little girl, one of the men argued.
"Adolph Hitler was a little boy, once," the computer said.
"But he didn’t become a threat to humanity until after he was a man," one of the men responded.
"God’s Army in Burma was under the leadership of eleven year old twins named Johnny and Luther Htoo. Their followers believed the twins could become invisible and deflect bullets. Under their leadership, God’s Army was responsible for the deaths of five thousand civilians."
Could
that happen to Samantha Rohde? Was she going to be propped up as some divine figure, manipulated by her own followers into creating a new Holocaust? Was that possible in the Twenty-first Century, in America?
The screen flickered at Samantha Rohde’s face disappeared, to be replaced by scenes of carnage in Burma. The twins, holding their guns and smoking cigars, were standing before a pile of bodies. It was difficult for any of the five men watching to believe that the boys could actually know what they had done. Had they truly understood what was happening around them? Were they frightened at all?
Was this what Oracle was telling them would happen to Samantha Rohde?
Her picture replaced that of the boys-who-were-no-longer-boys on the screen. There was something in her eyes…a look that seemed unchildlike, that seemed somehow less than innocent. There were children who could look wise beyond their years, and adult men and women had been known to follow children. The Dalai Lama was a good example, or the Last Emperor of China. Children had been propped up on thrones throughout history, from King Tut to Lady Jane. But the children were still victims of their circumstances, it seemed impossible that an eleven year old could conjure the charisma of an Adolph Hitler, to whip an entire nation into a frenzy of murder. Try to imagine the little girl, spittle flying from her lips and fire from her eyes, railing against Jews, Gypsies, and Poles. Impossible.
Was her almost innocent face a mask for Death?
Indeed, the innocence that had been there before seemed less apparent now. Nothing had changed, though. Her features were the same. But now, one of the five men scratched his chin, another tilted his head to regard the picture from a different angle, a third squinted at it, a fourth leaned his chin into his chest as he took a deep breath, and the fifth looked away altogether. The fifth man looked at a blank wall. He couldn’t look at the girl anymore. He knew what his vote would be.
How could he not go along with whatever Oracle decided? Oracle had never been wrong… He wasn’t thinking about the Generalissimo and Armat and the others who’d been killed. There was no way to know if Oracle had been right or wrong about them. They were dead, whatever their destinies might have been…would never be. But Oracle’s programs had achieved everything it promised they would achieve. HIV infection had declined dramatically in Africa and Asia, going from an occurrence of one in four in some areas to one in a hundred or less. Religious mob rule had been quieted in India, Indonesia, and Iran. Poverty was no longer synonymous with starvation and disease. Northern Ireland, the Middle East, Egypt and Eritrea, South Africa, Colombia…most of the hot spots of the world had been significantly cooled. There were just too many success stories to use as evidence that Oracle knew better the difference between right and wrong, between good and evil, than any of the five men in that room, than all five of them together, than any man or woman alive for that matter.
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