by Tom Wheeler
I adjusted my body. “No friends, Capucine is in France, I don’t have a dog, and I’m headed to the United Nations in a few days,” I answered directly with a slight smile.
“Many people your age would be getting wasted,” he said, smiling. “Particularly since you are running back into the lion’s den.”
“Thanks, although I’m hoping the United Nations doesn’t blow up with me in it. Anyway, I left those empty streets behind years ago. Too much drama, too little long-term satisfaction, and the Grand Book considers getting wasted a sin.”
Dhilan smiled.
“The National Counterintelligence Center warned us of a higher threat of cyber-operations by Russia and China. They want all our computers checked for spyware. Now. They are also upgrading the software on our systems, just to be safe.”
“I have spyware loaded,” I said, handing him my laptop through the window. “Careful, now. My life is on that computer, and I’ve already lost it once.”
“I’m your boss,” Dhilan said, smiling as if he was as careful as I was, if not more so.
“Hey, speaking of computers, when am I getting the fancy one you ordered?”
“Should have been here yesterday. I’ll check. Well, if you don’t have anything else to do, why don’t you come on up to the office? I want to show you something.”
“I’ve been here 12 hours.”
“You’re sitting in a parking lot, Mason,” Dhilan said. “Besides, it will be worth your time.”
“Last time I heard that, I was discovering you’re Dr. Frankenstein,” I said, turning off the car and opening my door.
“You will be the only other person on earth who knows about this, so consider yourself fortunate,” he said, handing me my computer as we walked back inside.
“Famous last words. One man’s fortune is another man’s death sentence,” I said, smiling.
“True. Follow me, Igor.”
“That’s not what I expected you to say,” I replied as we both chuckled and made our way up to our office.
Dhilan walked over to Nero, who was plugged into the 880-volt socket. Dhilan then opened Nero’s mouth, took out a pocket flashlight, and aimed it at the back of the android’s throat.
“I still can’t get over how human he looks, even inside his mouth,” I marveled, staring at machine man, a.k.a. Nero.
“See that slight bubble in the middle of the hard palate?” asked Dhilan as he aimed the light.
“You mean the roof of his mouth?”
“It’s called the torus palatinus, or bony growth.”
“Yaes, Dr. Frankenstein, yaes, I see,” I said, trying to sound like Igor.
“Not funny,” he groused, looking me in the eyes.
“The point?”
“Push it,” he instructed. I reached my finger inside Nero’s mouth.
“That’s easier said than done,” I said.
“You can use the head of a screwdriver if necessary, but that can damage his silicone skin,” Dhilan said as I pressed with my finger where he’d suggested. Nothing.
“Remember when you reset Cedra?”
“You told me to push harder,” I said, and Dhilan smiled. I pushed my fingernail into the right spot in Nero’s mouth.
“See that?” he asked.
“What?” I queried, not seeing that I had successfully ejected the chip.
“It’s an A12 bionic chip,” Dhilan told me, reaching into Nero’s mouth with a pair of tweezers. He pulled out the smallest chip I had ever seen, smaller than the chip implanted between my fingers. He placed it in my hand.
“I had to make it larger, for access. But it is a 7-nanometer bionic chip, or neural engine.”
“Larger? You’re serious?” I asked, wide-eyed.
“This is the only other way of altering the orders of Jerome and Nero. Because of the levels of encryption, unless someone has the key, nobody is hacking these machines.”
I must have had a concerned look on my face.
“President Crumpler was supposedly using a congressional committee to oversee development of these androids. There was a committee before Crumpler became president. I know because they made me report to them. That stopped when Crumpler got into office. I try to avoid political drama, but once I was fully funded to complete these androids, I considered the very question you asked me at CEDRA: What is to prevent these androids from becoming the demise of humanity? So I built in a safeguard.”
“Oh my gosh, Dhilan,” I exclaimed, shocked. “That makes you one of the most powerful men in the world.” I grabbed the tweezers and peered at the tiny chip.
“If I’d done this for power, I wouldn’t have told you. I am doing it so our democracy doesn’t go down the drain because a president goes off the deep end.”
I studied his face. “That’s what Snowden said. Go on.” Dhilan ignored my comment.
49
District 12
“In order to program Nero or Jerome, we need to embed their orders into their brains with this chip,” Dhilan explained, holding up a larger chip similar to an SD card. “As you know, this is listed in his schematics,” he said, unscrewing Nero’s head and showing me a place to put the small card. “Of course, it is advanced. But you get the point.”
“Mm-hm, I read that.”
“Once the orders are received by Jerome or Nero by way of the chip inserted into their brain, as such, they cannot be altered, even if someone tried to take them over via an Internet connection. It’s as if they were hardwired,” he said, pushing the SD-like card into the slot in the android’s brain like you would insert one into a 35mm camera.
“I thought you told me that some orders could be sent via the Internet?”
“Secondary orders only. Well . . .”
“Meaning?” I interrupted.
“Nothing critical to their mission. But the chip in the roof of their mouths I just showed you . . .”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Those orders can override any orders, regardless of their mission, and even their mission.”
“Who knows about this?” I inquired.
“Nobody,” Dhilan said, a faraway look on his face.
“Couldn’t you lose your job over this?” I asked.
“I could be shot over this,” he said, as serious as I’d seen him.
“Why?”
“Why’d I do it?” Dhilan asked, taking a deep breath.
“And why on earth would you tell me, given you have your reasons for the secrecy?”
“I don’t trust anyone, but I do trust you. The fact that I am telling you proves that. That said, I need your solemn pledge that you won’t mention this to anyone. Agreed?”
“I promise,” I said, “although I can’t tell you what I might say if someone were torturing me.”
“You remember what Sam Harris and Leon Tuss said about the future of AI?”
“They don’t believe human beings will have the discipline to control it.”
“The advent of technological singularity. Since nobody else is listening to warnings, like I said, I have made myself the fail-safe—at least for these androids.”
“What does the number 24601 mean?” I asked, straining to read the almost microscopic number on the chip still in my hand. “Isn’t that Jean Valjean’s prison number in Les Misérables?”
“Very good, Mason.”
“I hope you’re not prophetic,” I joked, chuckling. “Although you have already forecast that DECREE 2020 chips are coming to a ‘hand’ on us all.”
“Funny,” he muttered, using the tweezers to take back the chip. “This server has all the artificial intelligence information on Jerome and Nero—years of data. I have a backup at my house.”
I whistled.
“You said ‘well . . .’ when I asked about the Internet,” I said. “What did
you mean, you can alter their orders via the Internet?”
“One step at a time. Nobody can access their CPUs via the Internet, but I can access them remotely if there is an emergency. That is my secret. If I am run over by a bus, check my den.”
“You’re creeping me out, Dhilan. What are they programmed not to do?”
“Right now they are not to harm any unarmed, nonthreatening human being. I programmed Jerome to find you in Iran when I knew the government was going in after Cool Rae. They are still programmed to keep you safe or find you if you are missing. Me, too.”
“The government was going to leave me in Iran?” I asked, stunned.
“People are expendable, Mason, all people. Although Benjamin wasn’t planning on leaving you, either.”
“Benjamin Wilson was involved?”
“He flew the androids over with me. In fact, we almost got shot down.”
“No!”
“Oh, yeah. Benjamin maneuvered that Mach 3.5 jet like a video game, except the missiles weren’t a joke; they were real as they come.”
“So that’s when you were knocked out?”
“Yep. He pulled that monster straight up.”
“I guess that’s better than being shot down,” I said. “Maybe it’s a good time to be an android.” I smirked. “I owe you my life, then? Geez, Dhilan . . . and Benjamin.Can I thank him?”
“Sure, just don’t do it until you’re in the cockpit with him. I did hear correctly that he is transporting you to New York for the United Nations meeting, right?”
“Right. I can’t wait.”
“Will that be your first time in a fighter jet?”
“Yes.”
“Well, be prepared. Don’t eat much beforehand,” offered Dhilan.
“Good advice. You were saying?”
“I may have spared you a lot of pain when al-Qaeda kidnapped you in Iran a couple of months ago, but I’m not sure I saved your life.”
“Rae had another few hours before he would have died from electrocution,” I said.
“How do you know that?” asked Dhilan.
“He told me. I would have been in the same boat.”
“In all fairness, Jerome saved you, or Ahmez, as we called him on the mission. Put this somewhere safe,” Dhilan instructed, placing the small chip into a larger container and handing the chip back to me.
“I thought this was yours.”
“I have another.”
“You sure this isn’t my death sentence?” I asked.
“Nobody will ever know you have it, unless you voluntarily tell someone. If anything happens to me and you see these androids being used to take down America, you’ll have a way to do something about it. Oh, and don’t forget that a short burst of electromagnetic energy can stop them dead in their tracks.”
“Where on earth would I get an EMP, let alone a bazooka to fire it?”
“Like I said, my den is full of surprises. It’s a gun. Do you know where I live?”
“I’m sure it’s on file.”
“Well, my den is a very creatively designed room. One day I’ll show you. I keep a key hidden in the backyard, near a passage from the Qur’an.”
“You’re sure this room is soundproof and there aren’t any cameras?”
“Please. I built these androids, so I can certainly ensure privacy. At least in here.”
I put the container with the chip inside into a small bag and then into my pocket.
“Does Cedra have one of these?” I asked, referring to the android at training.
“No, just Jerome and Nero. I’d know if he did. Oh, one last thing. If you ever have to search my computer, ‘District 12’ is a good place to start.”
“So I suppose Mockingjay would be fitting?”
Dhilan winked. Then he nodded. “I like movies, what can I say?” I remembered my dream about a woman.
“Mockingjay is a woman,” I said, considering how bizarre it was to me to hear such secret information.
“And that matters because?” asked Dhilan.
“It’s nothing.”
50
GIRLS’ NIGHT OUT
September 14
Paris, France
Capucine felt the irony of floating down the Seine River in the past week as two different people—lives she had been able to keep separate for the past three years. She wanted to tell Mason whom she worked for, what she was really doing, and why it was so important. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t even tell him why she was the perfect person for the assignment. Nor could she tell her friends, even her closest ones, like Daniela Sofia, Abella, and Margot. What seemed even stranger to her was being comfortable in both personalities, rarely skipping a beat as she traded places between them like a fancy game of subterfuge.
She sipped her mimosa and stared at the skylit evening. The only trouble she was having was real feelings for Mason, something she knew must be kept in line with her work at all cost. There would be no winner if and when she removed her masks, revealing who she really was, although that, too, was becoming confusing. Her eyes wandered to the moon sitting lower in the sky tonight. For a moment she wondered what it would be like if she got out of the spy business.
“Regarde!” said Daniela Sofia with a big smile as she pointed at the Eiffel Tower. “Vous êtes de si bons amis! Can you believe we get to live here? Well, sort of,” she corrected, since they had just taken a 300-mile train ride. Daniela Sofia was a tiny, dark-haired, angel-like girl with a curvy body whose idea of life was a flock of servants caring for her every need, including accomplishing her exercise routine. Capucine was amazed that she hadn’t blown up, having watched the amount of food she’d consumed.
“France is the best country in the world! Anyone want another shot?” asked Abella, the heftiest of the crew, with purple hair and without the fashion savvy of the others. She was also the most direct, speaking her mind without the filter of most.
“I’m in!” Margot exclaimed as the girls headed to the bar a few feet away.
“Me, too,” said Capucine as Abella raised her hand to the bartender.
“We’d like four absinthe frappé cocktails,” said Abella as the girls laughed out loud.
“Ceux-ci sont du monsieur, mademoiselle, à votre santé,” responded the bartender, pointing at the gentleman at the bar who was now looking at the girls. The bartender poured the drinks, and the four girls raised their eyebrows at one another while raising their glasses toward the stranger, who apparently had bought this round of drinks.
“He’s cute,” said Daniela Sofia. “A rich American if he bought those drinks.”
“Well, it’s your birthday. Why don’t you go and say hello?” said Abella.
“Have you already forgotten our rules?” Daniela Sofia said, making a face.
“Oh, right. Play hard to get,” said Capucine, and the girls laughed.
“Why don’t you go, Capucine? He’s probably drooling over your leather skirt,” Daniela Sofia suggested.
“She’s taken,” responded Abella. Capucine smiled. “Anyway, I’d say he’s drooling over what’s under the black leather. You look so cute!”
Capucine raised her eyebrow, then returned a funny look and said, “Looks like he’s coming over!” She turned her back.
“How do I look?” asked Daniela Sofia as she patted the right side of her dark hair, pulling her tight red dress up a little higher on her leg.
“Parfait!” answered Capucine as the girls shared a conspiratorial look, laughing and pretending to ignore the strange man now approaching.
“Although, if you pull that any higher, you might be arrested for flashing,” said Abella.
“In France? Please!” Daniela Sofia scoffed.
“Bonjour,” said the fit, jovial, 20-something blond with an electric smile, p
rimarily aimed at Capucine, who studied his boyish-looking face. He wore a black T-shirt with a shell necklace, fitted blue jeans, and Top-Sider shoes that were white and black with red sides; two stunning women in their late 20s or early 30s followed. One was wearing low-hung jeans with a high halter top, revealing a good-sized strip of skin that dared men to study her figure. The other wore a short red skirt with a black top. She had noticeably intense grayish eyes and high cheekbones like a model’s.
“Bonsoir,” said Daniela Sofia, moving her body toward him in a sexy manner that would normally stop a boy dead in his tracks.
“Right, I mean, oui, pardon, bonsoir!” he said, offering his hand and stumbling with his French.
“Don’t worry, we speak English,” said Capucine, shaking his hand.
“Thank God!”
“And you are?” asked Daniela Sofia.
He extended his hand. “My name is Matt Gibson.” Each of the girls shook his hand.
“American?”
“You can tell?”
“Hardly,” said Capucine, making a sarcastic look. “How’d you get to Paris with the travel restrictions?”
“Work. How else? I also have family here, which helps. Evidently that is still allowed in the world. Are you girls celebrating?”
“It’s Daniela Sofia’s birthday,” said Capucine.
“It’s not your birthday?” he answered, smiling at Capucine. Daniela Sofia’s eyes narrowed, lips pursed with disappointment. “Lemme guess, you’re a Sagittarius?” he said, immediately flirting with Capucine, who flashed an odd look. “I’m sorry, how rude of me. Happy birthday, Daniela Sofia,” he said. “Let me introduce two of my friends. This is Angela and Sandy.”
“Hi, ladies,” said the two girls in unison, nodding their heads slightly while smiling.
“You all look like you’re having fun. Is this a private party?” Angela asked, appearing to be staring at Daniela Sofia.
“Not at all,” said Daniela Sofia in a sexy voice. “The more the merrier,” she added, raising her absinthe frappé to Sandy and Angela’s glasses. “Es-tu sérieux?” Daniela Sofia asked, looking at Angela, who moved her head to Daniela Sofia’s ear.