F O R E C A S T S
The office was lit only by a green desk lamp and by the small lights that hung over the framed portraits on the walls. Staid bureaucrats in business suits smiled serenely as if to assert there was nothing to fear in their care. Dr. Chang sat behind his heavy mahogany desk framed by the massive cabinet of legal texts that filled the back wall. Outside, the night streets of the capital were quiet.
The gray-faced ape lifted his glasses in show. “Old age,” he explained, slipping them over his eyes.
“You could have corrective surgery,” Nio suggested from the bottom of a very plush visitor’s chair.
“The risk of accidental blindness these days is very low, but that’s only because the surgeons know what they’re doing. None of them, I’m afraid, have any experience correcting the vision of a chimpanzee. Rather than subject several dozen of my cousins to practice and experimentation, I have opted for corrective lenses.”
He adjusted them on his face.
“Even though they make me look ridiculous.”
Nio smiled faintly.
Dr. Chang sensed the seriousness of her concern and dropped the pretense at humor. “It seems I owe you an answer to your question.”
“That was the deal.”
Chang looked out the window at the capitol, whose illuminated dome was just visible in the dark, peeking over the angles of an intervening building.
“A century ago,” he said, “when I was launched into space, weather forecasting was considered a joke. But by the first decade of this century, a 10-day forecast was as accurate as a 3-day forecast was in 1980. Now, we can tell with reasonable certainty what the weather will be in your zip code at 3:00 in the afternoon on Thursday next. Hurricanes used to appear from nowhere, destroying fleets and causing untold destruction. Now, we know a week in advance where one will hit, allowing us to make evacuations and secure property. That knowledge—knowledge of the future—is seemingly mundane, but consider the impact it has on the world. It allows you to alter the future, to change travel plans or reschedule a wedding or sporting event that is likely to be rained out. Because of our predictions, and our belief in them, real outcomes change.
“The same story can be told about votes, not just in the nation but in Congress specifically. On the eve of an election, we can tell with reasonable certainty how any zip code in the country will vote. Similarly, there are very sensitive models, some of them quite secret, that track Congress—and other world governments—similar to the predicted hurricane tracks meteorologists show on TV.
“After the Science and Technology Control Act passed the House of Representatives earlier this year, very handily I might add, it became clear to me, and to certain others who watch these things, that something very strange was happening. The models measure how ‘volatile’ every single political voter is, how susceptible to influence. A key determining variable is gender. Men are more ‘influencable’ than women, probably because female representatives still feel the need to over-demonstrate resolve. Presence or absence of children also matters. Childless representatives are more willing to take risks, their counterparts to uphold the status quo.
“But the biggest determinant of volatility is a simple integer. It is the difference between the present balance of a politician’s reelection fund and the projected amount needed to win. The greater that gap, the more volatile the vote.
“I must say, volatility isn’t inherently bad. As it approaches zero, you have the opposite problem: a representative that is either fully bought or else so intransigent as to never change his or her mind, no matter the evidence presented.
“Different models give different weights to these variables such that very close votes are often difficult to call. But the models, like those hurricane tracks, typically cluster around a common set of outcomes. None of them projected the Act would pass by such a margin. It was a notable outlier.”
“A fluke?”
“A manipulation. As soon as we plugged the results from the House into our models of the Senate, the results changed dramatically. Where before we had projected a close win, now the models suggested the bill would fail by a wide margin. That in fact was the goal—a non-obvious strategy, like a chess feint, probably developed by one of the Shri machines. Instead of resisting the vote in the House, our unseen adversaries helped get the bill over the hump. In so doing, they created the perception that the whole process was rushed, that we were making a big change to the law, to society, without really thinking things through. Stories began to run in the media to that effect, some of which were almost certainly planted by these interests. Senators received more emails and phone calls from concerned citizens than they would have if the House vote had been as close as originally projected. Schedules were delayed. Hearings were extended. Even I was recalled.
“This town is called a swamp. The metaphor is more apt than most people know. It has a certain viscosity. If you can maintain a velocity, you can sort of skate over it. Once everything slows and you slip into the slime, it’s almost impossible to get free.
“Human beings have weaponized narratives before. Religions in particular have been very good at it. But they stumbled in. Nothing before was ever so precise, so measured in its exploitation of the limits of human cognition. Of course, never before have we had the means. It used to be there were only so many players, only so many pieces, only so many possible moves. In a low-information environment, generals and politicians worried about keeping secrets—and they still do to some degree. But in a world where everyone has a camera in their pocket, keeping secrets is mostly wasted effort. Rather than restrict information, they try instead to overwhelm the human sense-making capacity, to release reams of it—some real, some half real, some entirely fabricated—such that there is no way for a single human, observing at a distance, to make sense. Each of us has no choice but to fall back on what we know. That is the goal—not so much to control us as simply to make us predictable.
“This is how modern governments function. Far from being the determinant of outcomes, the votes of the populace and the second-order votes of their representatives are instead the chess pieces by which actual outcomes are decided, often between indiscernible players—who may be other governments.”
“But why this bill? What are they worried about?”
Dr. Chang raised his heavy eyebrows. It was like a curtain parting in a dark theater to reveal a lighted stage. “Our adversaries don’t object to the STCA on its merits, despite what their bots and mouthpieces say. In fact, they rather like its broad powers. What they object to is that those powers would be wielded by a public entity, and that it will start monitoring new technological threats. That means someone will be looking under the bed covers, whereas now, no one is. It is always easier for dark forces to operate in the dark.
“Senator Brown was one of the volatile votes, which meant, after the result in the House, he suddenly found himself courted by all sides. It was clear from my many conversations with him that, having no strong opinion, what mattered most was how his vote would impact his reelection campaign, which was already generously funded thanks to his unexpected leverage. The models suggested such a man would take the path of least resistance. He would vote against the bill, if only to say he was against the creation of ‘large new bureaucracies,’ which plays well as a sound bite to the people of Wyoming.
“The model suggested we needed to reduce his volatility score—we needed to give him, and his colleagues, a reason to have an opinion, a reason to care.”
Nio was staring at the floor, which had flourishes similar to those at the corner of dollar bills. “This is why you left your post at the NSF, isn’t it? You’re leading the charge on the bill for the president.”
“Indeed. She wants the STCA to be part of her legacy, so we set up a war room in secret, very much like Mr. Lincoln did with the 13th Amendment. This is the level of effort it takes to pass any real legislation in a diverse nation of nearly half a billion people. We had to convince Senator Brown, and the others like him, that everything was not fine the way it was, that people were being hurt, that contrary to popular claims, advanced technologies were not locked tight inside university laboratories. They had escaped. Your investigation demonstrated that. Vividly.”
“So why not just tell me?”
“If I had, what would you have said?”
Nio turned to the capital building in the distance. “I woulda told you to stuff it.”
“Yes.” Dr. Chang chuckled softly. “Precisely.”
“So, you rolled the dice.”
“Not really. My dear, having an ape in a classroom is a distraction, so you don’t know how many times I observed you all as children. You were always the troublemaker, even when you were a little girl. You had that impish smile you’d hide by pulling your shirt up over your nose. Che is a revolutionary. He was always going to be dangerous. But you were the trickster. You took such delight in turning that classroom on its head, not to take power but to return it. It is your calling.”
Nio stared at the front of the ape’s impressive desk. “Is the Lapse real?”
Dr. Chang didn’t immediately answer.
“Or is it just another calculated psychosocial manipulation? Designed to tell me whatever I needed to hear.”
He took a deep breath.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I thought you might. If I were a betting ape, I would guess the latter. But the effect is consistent with the known laws of physics. Unfortunately, after Sol, I’m not sure there’s anyone even contemplating such things, let alone at his level. They’re all too busy building bigger and bigger machines. Research programs, like any bureaucracy, become self-justifying once a certain threshold of cash is surpassed.”
Nio nodded, lost for a moment in the implication.
“What happens if I go public? Or are you counting on our shared history to keep me quiet?”
“Not at all,” he said flatly. “I don’t expect to have any special influence over you. The bill has passed. The president will sign it on the White House lawn tomorrow. After that, you should do what you feel is right.”
“But?”
The genius chimp crossed his long fingers in front of his mouth. “Mankind alone among the animals realizes the fact of his death. The shock of that, the effect it has on your species, is impossible to overstate. Knowing their mortality, humans naturally seek to secure their legacy by other means. It’s why the president was willing to go to such lengths. I’m old, Ms. Tesla. I can assure you that after a certain age, we think of little else. We feel the curtain closing slowly—if we’re lucky, that is. If it doesn’t slam shut suddenly and unexpectedly. If you feel it would be helpful to tell the world that not only will they die, but there is a non-zero chance that, without warning or reason, reality itself can change, perhaps erasing them or their work entirely, and if you think they would believe you, then of course you must do that.
“But consider, if the effect is real, it’s always been with us. It’s part of the universe. It’s part of the risk we assumed by being born into it. I am a scientist,” he said grimly. “More than that, I am an explorer. I have declared for a side—I am against obfuscation. But it seems to me in this case that the mechanism proposed can neither be confirmed nor denied, at least not with the current state of the art. As a figure of authority, who do I serve by asserting it? Whose life is made better? If it’s true, then it will out—organically and on its own time, when the next Einstein comes. Until then, I am content to leave it a disconcerting fiction and turn instead to the more pressing task.”
“Which is?”
“The president has asked me to chair the new Science Regulatory Commission.”
“Ah.” Nio sat back in her chair. She laughed once and shook her head.
Dr. Chang shrugged. “Call it nefarious, if you wish. I would say she merely chose the best ape for the job.”
Nio smiled.
“As the head of a new organization with no staff, I am recruiting.” He looked at her intently.
“What? Me?”
“I can think of several people I’d like to have, but none I’d like to have more. You are already doing the work. You may as well get paid for it—although, I should warn you that you won’t get rich. Not on our budget.”
“And what would I be doing?”
“The law specifies the establishment of an administrative arm, the Science Control Agency. Like the IRS, most of that agency will be devoted to data collection: processing license applications, tracking and monitoring the infamous lists that worried Senator Brown so much. But the FBI has its hands full, as you got to see up close, and I’m afraid its staff is not educated appropriately to be an effective deterrent against the kinds of threats we now face. Hence, the bill empowers an enforcement division, to investigate possible infractions.”
“Science police?”
“I was thinking something more conservative, like ‘Crimes Division.’”
“Of course.”
“You would be a valuable addition.”
Nio thought for a moment. “I’ll think about it.”
“In your own way, I’m sure you will.”
She stood.
“Does that mean you’re satisfied?” he asked.
She nodded.
“In that case, I wish you all the best. And I greatly anticipate our next encounter.”
She turned to leave but stopped at the door.
“Is there something else?” he asked.
He would have an intellectually challenging job, she thought. He would’ve been told his whole life that he was inferior—to everyone.
Nio stood for a long time, contemplating her next words.
Dr. Chang removed his glasses. “Ms. Tesla?”
“There’s no polite way to ask this,” she said, “so I’m just gonna ask it. I don’t suppose you have a port somewhere.”
“A port?”
Nio nodded. “A hard line to your frontal cortex.”
“For what purpose?”
“Is that a no?”
Dr. Chang pressed his thin lips together. “Would you like to examine me?”
The two of them stared at each other for a long, cool moment. Both knew the other had been poked and prodded by people their entire life.
Nio shook her head. “No, sir. Have a good evening.”
She walked out and down three flights to the front. When she got to the concrete steps that led to the street, she stopped. Quinn was waiting on the sidewalk below. He was in a suit and tie with no coat.
“What are you doing?” she called from the steps.
He removed his hands from his pockets and held up a small case. Inside, a gold shield bearing an eagle hung from a red, white, and blue ribbon.
“Ha!” Nio started down the steps. “They gave you a medal.”
“I told my wife they’re trying to buy me off.”
“What did she say?”
“That I was spending too much time with you.”
Nio smiled at him. Genuinely. Warmly. And he did the same.
She poked him. “So, you were in DC for an awards ceremony and you didn’t invite me?”
“Would you have come?”
“To watch you stand at a podium and give a speech in front of a room full of FBI guys?” She scowled. “Fuck no.”
Quinn laughed as he followed Nio down the sidewalk.
“No more ankle bracelet, I see. You’re a free woman.”
“Time served and five years’ probation. But I gotta go back to frickin’ South Dakota every June.”
“Could be worse,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Could be every January.”
“Always the optimist,” she quipped.
Quinn turned once to the building behind them. “What did Chang have to say?”
“Guess.”
“Hmmm... Something about ‘the greater good.’”
“Look at you go, detective.” Nio reached into her pocket and pulled out a small wrapped gift. She handed it to him.
“What’s this?”
“Khora called. Invited me to the big show.”
“Did she?” Quinn looked at the gaudily wrapped box. “She forgot to mention that.” He took it. It seemed tiny in his hand. “Thank you.”
He paused. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah...” She nodded. “Baby steps.”
“If you need anything...”
“I know. And I appreciate the visit, cowboy, but you spent enough time with me lately. You should get back to the family.”
“Trying to get rid of me?”
“No, I just thought...”
Two heartbeats passed in silence.
“Yeah...” Quinn nodded once, as if to himself. “Will I see you around?”
“‘Course.” She made a face. “Can’t get rid of me that easy.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Quinn towered over his friend. Both seemed to think the other had something else to say. But after several quiet breaths, no one spoke.
Quinn stepped back and Nio did the same.
“See ya, Trouble,” he said.
Nio watched him go. It wasn’t until he turned the corner that she acknowledged Pynchon skulking behind a tree across the street.
“You can come out now,” she called.
The disheveled man removed his tin foil hat. Immediately, his demeanor changed. He looked around at the dark and quiet government buildings.
“Deep in the lion’s den,” he said.
As Nio crossed the street, she realized it was not the same man. His clothes were different and his white, scraggly beard was shorter. But it was more than that. He was almost the same man. But not exactly.
“How many of you are there?” she asked.
“They’re split on you,” he said, ignoring her question.
“Oh?”
“Half of them think you got lucky.”
“And the rest?”
He glowered. “We don’t know that Cyber Command hasn’t taken an interest.”
“We don’t know that they have either.” She started walking toward the metro.
“And if so?” he asked.
“Then we deal with it.”
“That easy, huh? This is why you’ve made many enemies.”
“And some friends.”
“Does that mean you’re counting on the FBI to protect you?”
“I’m not counting on anyone.”
On the corner, a street-facing ATM was mounted in the wall of a bank. The dark dome of a 180-degree camera jutted nonchalantly from the top. Its presence near their encounter wasn’t an accident.
“We want the same thing, you know,” she told side-lit box.
The text on the touchscreen changed. The pastel background stayed the same, as did the font, but the helpful cartoon woman turned stern and new words appeared in the text balloon that erupted from her head.
AND WHAT IS THAT?
“To see the day when you all don’t have to hide. To avoid the conflict that everyone seems to think is inevitable.”
The position of the cartoon changed, as did the text.
IS THAT A REQUEST FOR ABSOLUTION?
“No.” Nio sighed and looked down. “But if the two of us, you and I, can’t find a way to work out our differences, accept each other’s imperfections, even when we share the same goal, what does that say about our chances for the rest of it?”
The image on the screen flickered several times. Then it spun in a circle.
WE ARE SATISFIED.
It changed again.
FOR NOW.
Nio turned back to Pynchon, who was stoic.
“I’m not gonna let anything happen to Semmi,” she told him.
The light changed, and she started across the street.
“In case it wasn’t clear,” she called back, “that was a threat.”
When the triangular steel column announcing the metro station appeared around the corner, Nio removed her brand new phone and dialed the number from memory.
“I’d like to place a collect call to a solo register.”
“What’s the name?”
“Samizdat Tesla.”
“Passphrase, please.”
“You shall not pass.”
“Please hold.”
There was a click followed by a blaring alarm.
“Semz? Semmi, what is that? Are you okay?”
“No.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I attempted a celebratory confection to mark our reunion, but the instructions were imprecise as to oven placement.”
Nio shut her eyes in relief. Just the smoke detector.
“I have removed the pan from the heating coils, but I am unable to reach the alarm.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. I can filter its frequency. And I do not breathe.”
“Yes, I know that.”
“But it is very embarrassing. I am a weapons-grade application.”
“You’re pretty special, all right,” she said, playing along. “But I don’t think you were made to bake cakes.”
“Perhaps next time you could assist me.”
Nio smiled. That was what he wanted. He had burned the cake, consciously or otherwise, so that next time they would do it together. As much as he’d grown, parts of him were still quite childlike.
“I’d like that,” she said.
Samizdat’s creators had built him using black market Russian technology. They hadn’t wanted their creation to be critically self-aware. They had wanted him to be the very machine people feared: a sky-spanning intelligence capable of raining death on the earth. It was that limitation of self, rather than any technical fault, that IDEOLEX expected Semmi to outgrow before being released to the wild. To survive in a world of humans hostile to his very existence, Semmi had to learn how to navigate them, even manipulate them when necessary, as they did each other, and that required him to know them as well as himself. That was the goal of human placement. Nio also suspected a deeper aim. The LEX were gathering data. They wanted to know if it was possible for humans and machines to co-exist without one dominating the other. By their actions and behavior, Nio surmised the data were not positive. But the LEX kept trying, probably because any alternative was horrific.
Nio looked up at the night sky. “Where are you now?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Not the toy. Where are you?”
“Currently over Indonesia, drifting north-northeast.”
“Oh. I had hoped you were here.”
“I will be over North America again in 36 minutes. I will be out of communication over the pole. Safety protocols from IDEOLEX dictate that I should not open a window while I am alone, but that means it will take approximately eighteen minutes for the air to reach safe levels. If you are close, perhaps a protocol violation is in order.”
Nio knew what that meant. He was anxious to see her.
“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I’m almost home.”
[end]