by Tom Wheeler
I had never met Ms. Martinez but had seen enough pictures to recognize her long dark hair pulled to the left side of her face, and her mild Puerto Rican complexion. She was wearing a black leather jacket with multiple contrasting colored scarves that hid her neck, and her purple fingernail polish gave her a semi-gothic look, but without any edge—while also matching the fabric on the chairs occupied by other MARSS Conference attendees. She didn’t “look” like a government representative, but from all accounts, that was intentional. Maybe even the point.
“Hello, Representative Martinez,” I said, approaching. “I am Mason—”
“Yes, I know. Good morning, Mr. Thomas. It is a pleasure meeting you,” she said as I took a seat across from her at the table for two.
“Mason, please.”
“Coffee?” asked the waitress who’d just approached our table as we both looked up. She was wearing black slacks, a white shirt, and red bow tie.
“Yes, please. Mason?”
“Just water, thank you.”
“One coffee, cream and sugar. That will be all,” said Martinez as the waitress scurried off. “I am on the Congressional Oversight Committee. I am aware of our assets and your role in their development,” she said, getting right to the point, and referring to the androids without identifying them by name.
“Although my part . . .”
“. . . was extending their battery life, I know,” she said. “Biobatteries were a pipe dream back in my day. You may downplay your role, but there are few people on the planet who can create energy out of maltodextrin.”
“Yes, well, it was bound to happen. I just happened to do it first, at least as far as I know,” I said, smiling.
“My reason for meeting with you is to let you know that there will be no more development of the androids without the committee’s knowledge. The chairman asked me to make it clear to you that you are no longer allowed to obey orders from anyone but the committee. Is that understood?” she said with intensity.
“That is wise, ma’am,” I said. “But I have never done anything without my direct supervisor telling me. I’m not sure what you mean.”
“It means nobody has authority except the committee.”
“Who’s on the committee?”
“For now it’s me, Senator Wheeler, Congressmen Grimes and Vitas, and Marína Crumpler.”
“Marína Crumpler?” I asked curiously. “Isn’t this committee made up of members of Congress?”
“President Tense made a temporary exception for her. If she becomes president of the United Nations, she will be required to resign.”
“How is that even possible? Never mind, I know; money,” I said, looking her in the eye. “Right, ma’am?”
“Why does everyone want to call me ma’am?” she asked, smiling.
“You hold a position of honor as a congresswoman,” I said. “Besides, you deserve it.”
“Most people think politicians are full of nonsense, to use a polite term for it,” she said as our eyes met.
“Most of them are,” I said with pursed lips. “With all due respect.”
“You believe I am different?” she asked, placing her elbows on the table, clasping her hands.
“I read your article in America Magazine about your faith and criminal justice reform.”
“You liked it?”
“It’s difficult to disagree with facts. The United States does incarcerate more of its people than any other nation in the world, as you stated in your article. I agree with you that prison is not the best place for personal growth . . .”
“. . . or a place to warehouse people.”
“I also read you had an encounter with one of the presidential hopefuls, who dismissed your thoughts on spiritual matters because you aren’t as experienced as many of the others,” I continued as she leaned back into the booth. I pursed my lips with a slight smile. “I know the feeling.”
“You read that? She—”
“You don’t have to say it. Politicians walk a fine line,” I said.
“Oh?” she said as the waitress brought me ice water and poured Martinez her coffee. I waited before answering.
“All of us have our inherent beliefs that drive us, at least if they are real,” I said. “Many might dismiss a politician if that politician isn’t careful of what he or she says, how he or she says it, or even when it is said. Rebecca Bronson Larson may be a Christian, for instance, but you sure wouldn’t be able to tell that from many of her comments regarding the former president, although I am not judging her,” I said as the congresswoman poured cream into her coffee, followed by several sugar packets. “Then there are those who allow the president to get away with . . .”
“Just about everything. I understand your point. Interesting insight. I am curious, what do you think of DECREE 2020?” she asked flatly as she stirred her coffee. She acted as if she didn’t hold any contempt for the way the president handled the presidency, although I knew, as with most Democrats, it was just beneath the surface.
“Human answer to a spiritual problem. Unless and until our country returns to the Almighty One as it says in 2 Chronicles 7:14 of the Grand Book, I believe we are in trouble as a nation,” I said calmly. She nodded her approval. “What about you?” I asked.
She took a deep breath, cupping her coffee in her hands.
“Jury’s still out, if I’m being honest. But I do believe DECREE 2020 can help us stop school shootings in a culture that appears to be more divisive than I have ever seen.”
“Huh.”
“What’s that?” she asked as she sipped her coffee.
“That was a nonpartisan answer, although I’m not sure which side of the fence Tense sits on.”
“His side,” she said with a slight smile. “He’s for it, believe me. He makes it out to be the former president’s idea—but it was his.”
“Anyway, the jury is still out about all our advances in technology,” I said.
“That is the understatement of the century. I understand you warned the president of an explosion at the UN. You had a dream of some sort?” she asked, probing.
“I won’t deny I had a dream, but the president asked that I keep it to myself. For the record, I have dreams all the time . . .”
“As we all do,” she added.
“Except some of mine . . .”
“. . . come true. Yes, I am aware, which is another reason I wanted to speak with you. Listen, I know you have no intention of becoming associated with a politician,” she said. “Nor am I asking you to do so. But would you consider meeting with me from time to time to discuss some of the issues our country faces and how you believe we should respond?” she asked.
“Normally I would tell you I am honored, which I am. But there is still an issue with that DVD,” I said.
“What DVD?”
“I’d rather not elaborate, although you will find out soon enough. In the meantime, let’s just say my past caught up with my future,” I said, as my heart sank, since that incident was the gift that kept on giving.
“Don’t tell me you went out in blackface?”
“No, ma’am—sorry; no, Congresswoman—I don’t believe I have a racist bone in my body,” I said. “This was . . . let’s just say regrettable, but it happened.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting . . . ,” she said, holding my gaze for a moment more.
“It appears one mistake can last a lifetime, at least in the minds of men,” I said.
“Well, thank you for being honest, Mason. Then I will look forward to seeing you again with regard to our assets. My ride has arrived,” she said, looking up. “I’m sorry if you were hoping to have breakfast,” she continued, but I interrupted.
“No, I understand,” I said, taking a deep breath.
“Am I interrupting?” queried a stunning woman who appro
ached the table in professional but comfortable attire.
“Mason Thomas, this is Eva Cruise,” said Martinez.
“Hello, Mr. Thomas,” she said. I pushed my chair back and stood up.
“Please, it’s Mason. It’s a pleasure.” I shook her hand and sat back down.
“Eva is my publicist,” said Martinez, pulling out a credit card. “Oh, you both worked for Jonah Soul; have you met before?” she asked, handing the card to the waitress.
“You worked at Phoenix?” I asked Eva, my face probably showing my surprise.
“I did; it’s a large company,” she replied evenly.
“What did you do for Jonah?”
“I was his publicist, keeping Phoenix secrets secret. At least until they decided to release their car, which is now public.” She changed the subject, taking the focus off herself. “Very sad what happened to Jack and Adam. Is that why you left?” she asked.
“Yeah, it is sad.”
“I’m sorry. I know the wounds are still fresh.”
“There were many reasons for my leaving though. You?”
“It was just time to move on.”
“Well, your job can’t be easy with the president taking potshots at Ms. Martinez,” I said.
“You mean calling the four representatives who make up the ‘squad’ racist? It’s not, but Ms. Martinez is far from being a racist. She is aware of the game played by those on the right. I just help keep her level-headed. But you’re right, much different than working with Jonah,” she said as Martinez took a call.
“Oh, you got a chip,” I said, looking at Ms. Cruise’s hand that dangled beside me.
“Excuse me?” she said without expression while pulling up her hand.
“Your left hand is blinking. I saw some of the Swedes showing off their colorful chips; I’ve just never seen that in the United States,” I said. Ms. Cruise remained expressionless. “I guess you like the color red.”
“I didn’t know you had a chip, Eva,” said Martinez, putting her phone away after disconnecting and stretching her neck.
“Convenience,” said Eva, holding her other hand over the blinking light. “Congresswoman Martinez, we need to go if we are going to be on time for your appointment with Dr. Li,” she said.
“Nice to meet you, Mason. If there is ever anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, but I think that’s my line,” I said, extending my hand. “Nice to meet you, and you, too, Ms. Cruise.” The latter nodded.
“Oh,” I said, almost forgetting, “Capucine said she is available to meet. Here’s her number.” I fished out a slip of paper and handed it to Ms. Martinez.
“Thank you, Mason. Yes, I did want to meet her. Are you two a—”
“. . . a thing?” I said. “We’ll see. “She lives in France . . . Life is complicated.”
“Yes, it is. I will be in touch,” she said as they trotted towards the stairs.
After a moment, I headed to the embassy.
105
Powering Anna
US Embassy
Helsinki, Finland
The gates buzzed open as soon as I arrived at the brown and gray Georgian-style US Embassy building, to several glaring or staring eyes of the guards, who had likely never seen anyone but Ambassador Williams driving a beautiful vehicle like this. Of course, neither had I, despite how impressive the Akula Titan was—the car I’d worked on. One guard, apparently new, looked like he was attempting to figure out what make the car was as another threw him a dirty look for staring. Meanwhile, I carefully inspected the people, cars, windows, and cameras in case someone really was following me. I didn’t see anything suspicious.
““I’m here to meet with the ambassador. I was also told you had a place to recharge my car,” I said as the guard looked at me with confusion. Another guard walked over to help.
“Mason Thomas,” I said. “The ambassador is expecting me.”
“Yes, sir. What about your car?”
“I was told you have a charging station.”
“It’s behind the new building,” he said, pointing. “This fellow will show you when you’re ready.” He indicated another approaching guard. “A charging station for what?” asked the first guard. “Is that a—”
“I’ve got this, gentlemen. Welcome, Mr. Thomas. I’m Ambassador Williams,” said the well-dressed man who had just walked up to my vehicle. “Nice car. I thought I was the only one allowed to drive one of these,” he added, smiling, as the guards walked away. “Not everyone knows I have it, yet,” he said, glancing at the new guard. “I normally drive a Volvo. I save the Porsche for long trips on straight highways.”
“Too bad the autobahn is 1000 miles away,” I said, smiling.
“No kidding.”
“Hello, Ambassador. What a beautiful facility. Very rustic.” I got out of my car and shook his hand.
“Please, call me Mark. It covers three acres,” he said, now looking me in the eye.
“Where exactly are we?”
“Kaivopuisto. If you look over there, you can see the Baltic Sea.” I looked in the direction he was pointing. The embassy sat up on a hill, allowing a view of the bluish-green water.
“Oh my goodness,” I enthused, enjoying the view.
Ambassador Williams escorted me to the garage and showed me the charging station. Then he took me inside the embassy, giving me a quick tour of the facility while asking me questions about NASA and the conference just as small talk, since he appeared distracted. He led me to the internal conference room in the Innovative Center.
“Here is the cord to charge your vehicle,” he said as I noticed a large yellow cord sitting on the table. “You are expecting . . . ,” he started, but I interrupted.
“Laura Lepistö,” I said, referring to Anna/Nero. It was becoming an intellectual obstacle course just trying to keep people’s names straight in my head.
“Yes, we will escort her to this room. You’ve got it for as long as you need,” he said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Has the conference been beneficial?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“Very much,” I said. “I’m attending with Dr. Steve Mescher.”
“One of the best surgeons in the world; yes, we know of him. If there is anything further I can do, please let me know,” said Williams before moving from the room, closing the door behind him. I walked through the door to the garage and the 880-volt station. Then I headed back to the car, pulled it inside, and retrieved my laptop from my bag to check my e-mail.
Fifteen minutes later, the android walked through the door.
“Hi, Laura.”
“Hello, Mason,” she said, as if she were the real Anna Butwina.
“We don’t have much time. Follow me.” Laura complied. I pulled the converter from my bag and attached it to the electronic tank. Laura pulled her shirt up, revealing a perfectly formed stomach. For a second I felt like I was intruding on the intimate space of a real woman—there was nothing suggesting this wasn’t a human being, except the blinking light to the right of her belly button.
“So it worked,” I said, referring to the actuator I had designed and installed. “You didn’t twitch,” I added, having had enough time with Laura to know she would have been twitching if the power to her appendages had been constrained. “Or did you?”
“Hold on,” I said, pulling out another cable. “Have a seat.” I moved up to her head and removed the cap from it, then plugged her into my computer. The diagnostic confirmed that the auxiliary power had kicked in as it was supposed to.
“I am a genius,” I said, feeling my oats, and glancing back at the blinking light. “That is so funny. It looks identical to the chip in Alexandra’s associate . . . What was her name?” I asked myself, pausing. “Eva Cruise!” I blurted out. For a
second, all was well.
Then another second passed as the dream that seemed to portend the coming chaos flashed through my mind; the warning about “Eve,” the same name Phoenix had given its artificial intelligence, and the sky falling on what appeared to be American citizens blindly following the former president. Jack and Adam were dead, someone had mysteriously recorded my promiscuous behavior and sent the DVD to NASA years later, and . . . there was that dream with a mysterious woman as the mastermind.
In a nanosecond my demeanor changed. My heart raced. My palms began to sweat, my eyes darting back and forth, my breathing increased.
“Alexandra said Eva had worked for Phoenix . . . ,” I murmured, wide-eyed, as if experiencing déjà vu from the last time I had met an android without any knowledge except my own discernment. It was when I saw Ahmez twitch in Iran, I thought to myself, recalling the incident. Now this. Was it possible I’d been working on an android the entire time I was working for Jack and Adam at Phoenix? How could they possibly have pulled that off?
That would mean Jonah . . . No, not possible; surely I would have known, wouldn’t I? I’m a prophet . . . I’d know. I dismissed the thought.
Focus, I said to myself as I pinched the area just over Laura’s belly button, pulling back the silicon skin and revealing the outlet. I plugged her into the cable, reclined the seat so she was out of sight in the event someone came strolling through the garage, and rigged the standard cable to the car. I continued piecing together a puzzle that couldn’t be true. She works for a congresswoman who wants to be president of the United States. A shot of fear electrified my body, my heart racing once again at another twist in the journey of life.