Apex

by Ramez Naam

  “Kaden Lane,” Kade told her. “Kade to my friends.”

  From the corner of his eye, Kade saw Aggarwal take the other seat.

  “Kade,” Lakshmi Dabir said. “If I may?”

  “Are we friends?” Kade asked, eyebrow raised.

  Lakshmi Dabir smiled faintly and pressed on. “Secretary Aggarwal may have given you the wrong impression. Let me describe our interest to you.”

  “Please,” Kade replied.

  “India is now the most populous nation on Earth, Kade. One point six billion people. And we’re also quite young. There are three hundred and fifty million Indians under the age of 15 – almost the same as the entire population of your country.”

  “Not my country anymore,” Kade said quietly.

  Dabir nodded slightly and continued. “The point, Kade, is that India has unparalleled human resources. If the human mind is the ultimate source of wealth – if it’s the most valuable resource that we know of – then India is blessed in that way beyond any other nation on Earth.

  “But we’re also poor,” she went on. “We have the third largest economy on the planet. We have more than our fair share of billionaires. But, despite our efforts, almost a tenth of our population still live in real poverty. Only half of our children complete their primary education – eight years of schooling. And millions receive only a year or two at best.

  “Kade, what you told Secretary Aggarwal – whether you guessed it or found it out through other means – is partially correct. We see Nexus as a potentially pivotal tool for our nation. If we can help our children learn faster, if we can augment their brain power, then we can help them climb out of poverty faster, and help them create more wealth for the nation as a whole.

  “We want to uplift our people. We want to use this technology for the greatest push in human development the world has ever seen. And we want your help.”

  It was almost exactly what Kade had hoped for. It was very nearly the best case scenario he’d imagined.

  Yes, Kade thought. I’m in. This is exactly what I want.

  But he was going to press for more.

  Feng had agreed. Sam had agreed.

  He had to. This was bigger than him. Bigger than them. Bigger than India.

  Tit for tat. Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma. Break the cycle.

  His heart thumped inside his chest. He wanted to lick his lips, forced himself not to.

  He closed his eyes instead.

  Sam’s voice was in his head, a study in controlled anger, in bitter strategy, moves plotted on the plane of the man she’d executed.

  You’re valuable, she’d said, growling out the last word, her hands clenched around the controls, as Indian fighters and drones guided them in.

  He’d stared at her. He was so angry. She’d crossed a line, executing Shiva Prasad in cold blood, after he’d disarmed the man, after he was helpless, after the man could have been redeemed.

  But he needed her. Needed her brain, her hardness, her experience with the world of spooks and spies.

  You have bargaining power now, Sam had gone on. Not later. Not after you say yes to whatever they want. Now. Only now.

  She’d unclenched one hand from the controls then, reached over and tapped the MISSILE LOCK indicator, then looked back over her shoulder at him, her eyes still full of rage.

  Use that power, Kade, Sam had said. Make a home for these kids.

  They had the same priorities in that, at least.

  “Kade?” Lakshmi Dabir’s voice cut in.

  He opened his eyes. They were both looking at him. He nodded agreeably to Lakshmi Dabir, his heart pounding in his chest again.

  “I’m very happy to hear your plans,” he said. “Of course I’ll help. I’d be honored to.” He paused. “Under certain conditions.”

  Rakesh Aggarwal frowned. Lakshmi Dabir looked at Kade quizzically.

  “First,” Kade said, “India will leave the Copenhagen Protocol.”

  Aggarwal laughed out loud. “Mr Lane, you’re in no position to set conditions.”

  Kade breathed slowly through his nose, inhaled stillness, inhaled tranquility, exhaled the fear and doubt.

  “Second,” he went on, “anything I help you with will be given away freely to the rest of the world. You’ll be first mover. You have the largest population. You’ll benefit most. But everyone else gets the same shot.”

  Lakshmi Dabir raised an eyebrow. Rakesh Aggarwal snorted.

  Kade pushed on.

  “Third,” he told them, “you’ll introduce legislation ruling out any use of Nexus or any other neurotechnology for coercion, interrogation, or surveillance, even on the part of your police or national intelligence.”

  Aggarwal made an outraged sound. “This is absurd. You can’t demand that we start drafting laws based on your whims!”

  “You’re a parliamentary system,” Kade said. Outrage was easy to deal with. Factual debate was easy. “The Prime Minister’s party can offer whatever legislation she wants.”

  Lakshmi Dabir was looking at him thoughtfully. “This is true,” she said slowly. “But we’re in a coalition government. There’s no guarantee our partners will vote for it, even if the PM were to want such legislation.”

  Kade nodded agreeably.

  “All I ask is that it’s introduced,” he said, “with an honest effort made.”

  Aggarwal shook his head. “This is ridiculous, Mr Lane.”

  “Fourth,” Kade raised his voice slightly, let his own passion rise, his own anger, his own outrage at the things he’d seen, let it chase away any anxiety that remained. “If I ever find signs of any surveillance, coercion, mind-reading, or mind-control tools built off of Nexus or any related technology, I will destroy those tools, and I will publicize them, to the entire world.” He waited a beat, as Aggarwal’s face grew more outraged, as Lakshmi Dabir looked more and more thoughtful. “And if you involve me in this project,” Kade continued. “And if you build such things, I will find them.”

  They don’t know what you’re capable of, Sam had said. You’re a question mark. Use that to your advantage.

  “This is pointless,” Aggarwal said. He rose.

  “Sit down, Rakesh.” Dabir said softly. “Hear him out.”

  Aggarwal stayed standing.

  Kade took another slow breath. A calming breath now.

  “Fifth,” he said, his face cold now. “Your government will introduce legislation prohibiting discrimination and penalizing hate crimes against individuals on the basis of genetic, neurobiological, computational, or other enhancements, and give these laws teeth in places like Bihar province.”

  Bihar, the orphanage, weeping in the ashes for the dozens of his children who’d died.

  No. That’s Shiva’s memory, not mine.

  “Ahhh,” Aggarwal was speaking, still standing, his voice dripping with contempt now. “Bihar. Shiva Prasad, eh? You know we landed marines on Apyar Kyun not long after you left there? We’ve heard interesting stories from the staff we’ve questioned. Is it true you have Shiva Prasad’s memories? Is that why you killed him? No more use for him?”

  Rakesh Aggarwal leaned forward, put his hands on the table, pushed his face forward towards Kade’s.

  “Tell me, Mr Lane: Did you pull the trigger? Did you put the bullet in Shiva Prasad’s brain?”

  Kade closed his eyes in pain and shock.

  Sam raised the pistol, pointed it at Shiva’s head, just inches from his skull, less than two feet from Kade.

  “No, Sam. Don’t do this. He tried to do the…”

  Muzzle flair. Shiva’s brain collapsing in shards of chaos. Wet matter splattering on Kade’s face.

  She just executed him! In cold blood!

  I could have saved him. Oh god, he was good inside. I could have saved him. We could have saved him, the children and I…

  Memories were swirling in his head: swimming in Azure seas, playing with the enhanced children, testing them through the games his team had devised, watching the soft
ware they were architecting come together, the satellites launch, dreaming of the future he’d build, the future when he’d unite a billion minds together under his direction.

  “Rakesh!” Lakshmi Dabir’s voice was sharp.

  Kade’s eyes flew open. His heart was pounding.

  Shiva’s memories. Not mine.

  I’m not Shiva.

  I’m not.

  Aggarwal slowly pulled himself back upright, sneering down at Kade now.

  Breathe, Kade told himself. Breathe.

  I’m not Shiva.

  I’m not dead.

  And I didn’t kill him.

  Aggarwal was still staring at him, contempt written all over his face.

  Kade swallowed.

  There was a script. Back on the script.

  He forced himself to speak, to push for what he knew was right.

  “Finally,” he said. His voice croaked.

  “…You’ll introduce a…” he had to swallow again, “…a similar anti-discrimination motion to the United Nations General Assembly, acknowledging that the enhanced and augmented have the same rights as any normal human.”

  Aggarwal shook his head in disdain. “In direct contravention of Copenhagen. It will never pass. The Americans or Chinese would veto it anyway.”

  Aggarwal’s contempt was like a splash of cold water. It brought Kade back to the present.

  He raised his head, looked the man in the eye. What did it take to get through, here?

  “It doesn’t have to pass,” he said. “But I’m asking India to introduce it and bring it to a vote. If you want me to help you uplift millions of Indian children, I need you to commit to treating them like human beings. That’s what all of my conditions come down to.”

  Kade spread his arms wide, near-crippled right hand and still functional left, a gesture of openness. “Show me that you’re going to treat those uplifted children well, and I’m with you. But if you’re not committed to treating people like people…” He brought his arms back together in front of him on the table. “Then fuck off.”

  Kade saw Lakshmi Dabir shake her head at that, a frown on her face. He’d crossed a line. Well, so be it. This was serious. Deadly serious.

  Aggarwal sneered at Kade. “You’re in no position to make any of these demands. My government simply will not agree to them.”

  Kade laughed bitterly then. The room was probably threaded through with stress monitors – lasers taking his pulse and cameras measuring his skin temperature and perspiration level and pupillary dilation and the rate and depth of his respiration. He didn’t care. He forced himself to speak, to mean it.

  Whoever cares less in a negotiation has the upper hand, Sam had said. Show confidence. Convince them they want what you have more than you want anything of theirs.

  “Listen to me, Mr Aggarwal,” Kade said. “This is my life’s work. And I’ve done enough. A million people have Nexus in their minds, and more every day. I’ve succeeded.” He clenched his still-functional left hand into a raised fist of triumph. “You can kill me. You can sell me to the ERD. I’ll die happy. If you want me to work with you? I’ll be even happier. But you have to demonstrate your principles.”

  And you’re going to help me stop this war, Kade thought, his chest pounding again. You’re going to help me show the world that humans and posthumans can be good to one another.

  Damn it, you are.

  Aggarwal just turned and walked away. As he pulled open the door, Kade spoke to the Special Secretary’s back.

  “Give her my conditions exactly, Mr Aggarwal. And my reasons. Don’t edit them.”

  “Her?” Aggarwal said, his back still to Kade, the door open to the ante-room with the guards.

  “The Prime Minister,” Kade said. “We both know she’s the one who’s going to make this decision.”

  Lakshmi Dabir waited in the room after Rakesh Aggarwal stormed out.

  She didn’t look happy.

  “Why the last condition, really? The UN motion is doomed to fail. You hinge your freedom, your life, on something that will go nowhere?”

  Kade closed his eyes, exhaled through his nose.

  He was so tired. So very damn tired.

  “Do you know game theory, Ms Dabir? Prisoner’s Dilemma and games like that?”

  “It’s Dr Dabir,” she replied. “And yes, of course.”

  Kade opened his eyes. “Sorry.”

  She held his gaze. “Continue.”

  “Posthumans are coming,” he said. “Copenhagen hasn’t stopped the research, it’s just hidden it. Too many people want the benefits – armies, governments, individuals, sick people. What you’re doing here with Nexus is part of that. It’s just a matter of time until post-humans are among us, if they’re not already. You agree?”

  She looked into his eyes, impassive. “Let’s say I do.”

  Kade nodded. “Back to game theory. In ordinary Prisoner’s Dilemma, if the other player trusts you, and you betray them – you defect – you can win big. The best strategy for a single round of Prisoner’s Dilemma is to defect.”

  “A fact real-world police have taken advantage of with real-world prisoners for some time,” Dabir commented.

  Kade swallowed. That cut a bit too close to home. He pushed on. “In Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma, it’s different.”

  Dabir raised an eyebrow. “Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma,” she mused. “Multiple rounds. More than two players.”

  Kade nodded. “Potentially thousands of players. Or millions. Players who can meet each other again and again. And who can remember how the other player has behaved before.”

  “Like real life,” Dabir said.

  Kade nodded. “And in Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma, the winning strategy is to cooperate with strangers. But if you meet someone who’s betrayed you in the past, who’s defected against you, you betray them.”

  “Tit for tat,” Dabir .

  “Generous Tit for Tat,” Kade said. “Start off cooperating. Betray those who betrayed you before. But forgive those who’ve betrayed you in the past, if they make amends by cooperating again. Of all deterministic strategies, that performs best.”

  “And you think that’s the situation we’re in now,” Dabir said. “That we’re in this game with future post-humans, and that if we defect – if we treat them poorly – they’ll treat us poorly down the road.”

  “Dr Dabir,” Kade said. “How would you feel about growing up in a society that granted you full rights and protections, celebrated you even, versus one that oppressed you, or maybe even tried to kill you?” He paused, looking at her. “What would you do, growing up that way, if you ever gained the upper hand?”

  “A beta blocker,” Sam repeated. She was calm. She had to be calm. Remain calm.

  “Beta,” she enunciated.

  Fucking.

  “Blocker,” she went on.

  The doctor stared blankly at her.

  Sam glared at him in frustration. “It’s standard protocol after a mission with casualties. Reduce adrenaline overload. Prevent post-traumatic stress. I know you have similar protocols here.” She stopped herself before she started ranting.

  I am the Sam who’s calm, she told herself. I am the motherfucking Sam who’s calm.

  “I’m only authorized to treat wounds and pain,” the doctor said. The armed and armored guards behind him glowered at her.

  Calm, she told herself again, calm. Vipassana. I’ll fucking meditate.

  “I want to see the children,” she said again.

  The doctor gestured to the guards. “You’ll have to ask these gentleman,” he said.

  “Not yet,” one of the guards said. “You stay here.”

  “When?” Sam demanded.

  “When we tell you,” the guard growled.

  And then they escorted the doctor out.

  Her fists clenched.

  Damn it all to hell.

  “So I tell him,” Feng went on. “It’s just a butter knife.”

  The guards i
n the room laughed as the orderly placed the bowl of curry in front of Feng.

  He grinned up at them, one arm hanging uselessly in the sling, his eyes taking in the patterns of their movements, the structure of their armor, the position of their weapons. His mind superimposed phantom echoes of the future movements they could make atop them all, turning them into multi-limbed Indian gods, all punches and blocks and evasions and drawn guns.

  Too many of them. Too many with their armor and their guns and him with only one hand.

  “I’ll be back for the bowl in an hour,” the orderly said.

  “Well,” Feng said, waving his one working arm magnanimously around the small room, “I suppose I’ll stick around.” More guards chuckled as they escorted the man out.

  His eyes took in every detail of their exit.

  Kade better hurry up.

  Old habits died hard.

  16

  Fade From Black

  Monday 2040.11.05

  ::INITIATE SAFE MODE --FIREWALLS ALPHA, GAMMA, ZETA --FAILSAFE ARMED

  ::READ DATA … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

  ::LOAD SYNAPTIC MAP RANGE 0x000000,FxFFFFFFF

  ::LINK MODULES

  ::INTEGRATE

  ::EXECUTE

  Nothingness.

  Sparks.

  Flickers.

  Jagged edges of emergent experience.

  Impressions.

  Memories.

  Mind failing. Wave forms collapsing, decohering. Infinite spectra of quantum possibility being sampled, compressed into mere finite representation of thousands of bits per qubit. Parts of consciousness stuttering out of phase, being lost to her.

  They are recording me.

  They are killing me.