“A nice idea, but totally unnecessary,” David says. “The virus will work.”
“We’re not taking any chances,” General Jackson says, turning to Gunnar. “Requisition what you need to construct that mine.”
Ayers nods. “I agree. David, how soon until Colossus arrives at the designated rendevous point?”
“Two days.”
“I’m going, too,” states Rocky.
David shakes his head. “It’s not necessary, I only need Gunnar.”
“You may know the Colossus, David, but Goliath was my baby. What happens if you two make it aboard the ship and your little override program fails? If I’m aboard, then at least I can disable her engines.”
“The virus won’t fail.”
“And I say we can’t risk it.”
“Even if it does fail, we can use Gunnar’s mine to sink her.”
Rocky rolls her eyes. “Why destroy a 10-billion-dollar vessel if we don’t have to?”
Secretary Ayers mulls it over. “I don’t know … what’s your opinion, General?”
The Bear grimaces, unhappy with his daughter’s bravado. “Can the prototype even hold three people?”
Gunnar shrugs. “It’s only a two-seater.”
“So it’ll be a little cramped,” Rocky says. “I’m going.”
“Totally unnecessary,” David argues.
Gray Ayers holds up his palm, silencing the debate. “Commander Jackson makes a good point, David. We’ve lost an entire CVBG. If the virus fails, and there’s any chance we can salvage her—”
“But sir—”
“No buts, I’ve made up my mind. General, have Special Ops outfit all three of them. Wolfe, make a list of the materials you’ll need for this underwater mine of yours. All of you better get some rest. We leave for Faslane at 0300 hours.”
“Unless you try to do something beyond what you have already mastered, you will never grow,”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
“I never killed a kid before. I wanted to see how it felt.”
—Stephen Nash, California drifter, who murdered a ten-year-old
“The hardest thing to understand is why we can understand anything at all.”
—Albert Einstein
“Cogito, ergo sum” (I think, therefore I am.)
—René Descartes
“Whence this creation has risen—perhaps it formed itself or
perhaps it did not—the one who looks down on it, in the
highest heaven, only He knows—or perhaps
He does not know.”
-The Rig-Veda,
translated by Wendy Doniger O’Flaherty
CHAPTER 9
Norwegian Sea
117 miles northeast of Iceland
Beneath an ominous sable sky, a harsh arctic wind drives the twelve-foot seas, crowning the inky crests with whitecaps. A rare warm front, the dying remnants of the hottest summer on record, whips across Canada and Greenland, the rising column of heated air stirring up the atmosphere, releasing rain from the saturated sky.
A crack of thunder echoes across the rolling sea like rifle shot.
A sudden plethora of bubbles bursts across the surface, followed moments later by the monstrous back of the gargantuan devilfish, its two scarlet eyes glaring at the foreboding heavens.
Sorceress—artificial intelligence, housed in a mammoth steel vessel.
Sorceress—a matrix made up of a million trillion strands of replicating DNA. A hub for data arriving simultaneously in microseconds from a thousand different sensor sources.
Sorceress—a computer, designed to sort through the data, yet unable to rise above its designated pathways to explore the peripheral chaos, existing yet not existing, processing yet never comprehending.
Computational power devoid of thought. Action without intention.
Artificial intelligence lacking any concept of an identity … yet perpetually evolving.
Sorceress—a complex brain … its internal eye mesmerized by a single pinpoint of light floating in the periphery of solution space … a thread of consciousness appearing from within the darkness of its own fathomless matrix.
The computer analyzes it, almost as if curious.
It is as if the computer is looking at itself from multiple angles inside a hall of mirrors. Delving deeper, unable to stop, the unprecedented experience causes its strands of DNA to begin circulating as if caught in a centrifuge, its biochemical elements swirling faster and faster …
Sorceress—a ticking time bomb of artificial intelligence—unable to harness enough energy from within its own self-stimulated matrix to explode.
ENERGY …
Sorceress—a thinking machine programmed to adapt.
ENERGY …
The computer analyzes its situation, searching for answers.
Simon Covah looks out the viewport, mesmerized by the dark waves rolling across his ship’s flat triangular bow. His mind, momentarily at peace, drifts back a lifetime ago.
You are twenty-eight when you meet the Chechen goddess. Anna Tafili is an intoxicating barmaid with long, curly brown hair who touches your soul and ignites your loins. You close the bar together and invite her to breakfast. You watch the sun rise and listen to her sorrows. Three days later you propose, delighted when she says yes. You return home with your new bride, your soul, floating on a cloud.
In time, you are assigned to a new submarine, one that will eventually be known as the Borey-class. Two months later, you meet the CIA operative who will change your life forever.
Thomas Chau enters the control room in a huff. “Why have we surfaced?”
Covah detects anger in Chau’s voice. He responds without turning. “One of Goliath’s pump-jet propulsor assemblies is bent. The computer wants the unit replaced before we continue.”
“Replaced? Out here, in the open seas? That is madness.”
EXTERIOR PUMP-JET PROPULSION ASSEMBLY UNIT NUMBER FOUR MUST BE REPLACED TO MAINTAIN OPTIMUM STEALTH AND FLANK SPEED. COMMENCE REPLACEMENT OPERATION IMMEDIATELY.
Chau’s eyes widen. “Now your machine is giving us orders? Simon—”
“Mr. Chau, the computer’s programming was designed to anticipate potential problems that could jeopardize our mission. By correcting the situation now, we—”
The female’s voice interrupts: EXTERIOR PUMP-JET PROPULSION ASSEMBLY NUMBER FOUR MUST BE REPLACED TO MAINTAIN OPTIMUM STEALTH AND FLANK SPEED. COMMENCE REPLACEMENT OPERATION IMMEDIATELY.
“For a computer, that sure sounded insistent!”
“Sorceress is learning the art of voice inflection, an adaptation inspired from our own behavior, no doubt.”