“We got it,” Fionna called back, then asked Charlene, “Well?”
Charlene finally picked up. “Hello?”
“Yes, this is Clive Fridell. I was looking for Jevin Banks. I tried his cell but he’s not picking up.”
“Mr. Fridell? This is Charlene Antioch, his assistant. We’ve met a few times.”
“Yes, yes, of course, Miss Antioch. I didn’t recognize your voice. Good to speak with you.” She got the impression that he really did remember her and really was glad to be talking with her. “Is Jevin there?”
“He’s out, I’m afraid. Running errands.” She decided not to elaborate: He’s currently sneaking into a top-secret military installation. May I take a message?
“And how is he? I mean, after last night? Be honest, now.”
“He’s alright. He’s a pretty resilient guy.”
“That he is. I’m glad to hear he’s recovering. And how have you been through all of this?”
“I’m good. Thank you for asking.”
“Well, I told him I’d call back when I knew more about the status of tomorrow evening’s show. I’ve been talking with our lawyers and it looks like we’re a go. But the piranha tank is out, I’m afraid. We’ll be removing it in the morning.”
That was going to be a chore. She had no idea how they were going to get it off the stage before the evening show.
“Jevin won’t be happy to hear that.” Actually, she wasn’t either. It was going to be hard to top that for their finale.
“I understand, but some matters are out of my hands. Oh, one other thing. Emilio had a locker that he used when he performed here. As I understand it, he didn’t have any family in the area?”
“That’s right. We’re taking care of his estate.”
“Perhaps you or Jevin would like to pick up his things. There are a few notebooks and some paraphernalia for a couple tricks. It’s not much, but I don’t want the box to get lost or misplaced.”
“Are you there now?”
“We have the items in the security office.”
“I should be able to come by tonight. If that’ll work.”
“No rush. Give me a call when you get here.”
“I will.”
“See you soon.”
He told her his cell number and they ended the call.
Then Charlene went back to helping Fionna with her research.
But, honestly, it was hard to concentrate.
Her thoughts of Jevin just wouldn’t leave her alone.
And now, her curiosity about what might be in Emilio’s notebooks was edging in, a close second.
Groom Lake
In the late afternoon sunlight, desolate mountains rise in the distance.
As we approach the base, we review the information from the files Fionna pulled up. I can’t help but think of our discussions regarding the essence of human nature, and that sends my thoughts back to the sermon from this morning, to the paradox of terror and beauty that the missionary pointed out lies at the heart of this imperfect world.
I summarize the message as concisely as I can for Xav — the incongruity between who we are and who we aspire to be, what we dream of and the nightmares we have to live through.
“I wonder if that’s what makes us different from machines,” he reflects.
“What’s that? Being incongruous?”
“In a way, yes. Or free will, the ability to choose. We’re not programmed to do it.”
I think of equivoque, or the magician’s choice, when the person we’re doing an effect for appears to have free will but doesn’t. We force him to choose a specific card or we don’t tell the audience what we’re going to do, so we still have control over the outcome. Then we can adapt to what they choose to make things end the way we want. It’s one of the keys to mentalism. “Like a psychological force.”
“But the deal is, in real life we have freedom, the ability to do otherwise, and no one is out there stacking the deck against us. If free will didn’t exist, all societies would have to abandon their justice systems because behavior would simply be hardwired in our brains.”
“And you can’t hold someone accountable for an action if he can’t do otherwise, if he has no actual freedom to resist that act.”
“Right. A world without a belief in free will would be one without accountability. And, I guess when you think about it, it’d also be one without punishment for criminals. In fact, no concept of crime or morality or right and wrong at all — that’s our turn up ahead. About a quarter mile from here.”
I slow down and look for the turn, but all I see is an unmarked, dusty road off to the left up ahead. “That’s it?”
“Yup. It goes a couple of miles across public land. They use dust, not gravel. It’s so the Cammo dudes can see any vehicles approaching.”
“They can probably see us from a mile out.”
“At least.”
I turn onto the vacant road, sending a cloud of dust trailing in the pickup’s wake. “So you’re saying that we can create machines that respond to algorithms, make decisions based on complex protocols and vast amounts of data, but the machines can’t choose to go against them. You can have all sorts of robot laws, but as long as they have to follow them, they’re not free.”
“Right. Machines don’t choose to go against protocol, but we do. Humans do. We’re incongruous, like you said a minute ago. We go against our nature. That’s why we hold people responsible for their actions. We wouldn’t condemn a drone to be destroyed — the same as a death sentence for a human — because of firing a missile at a civilian or for following its protocol or being true to its mission. No, we would hold the human designers or software producers responsible.”
My thoughts float back to what we were talking about yesterday: computer technicians being held accountable for war crimes when all they did was program in a certain algorithm.
Our conversation trails off and silence takes over. I have the sense that, for both of us, it’s a lot to think about. Especially considering the autonomous weaponry and unmanned aircraft we know — or at least highly suspect — is being tested and manufactured here at Groom Lake.
Aircraft that can, for all intents and purposes, choose on its own when to fire and who to target.
Calista was impressed with how well Jeremy Turnisen was holding out keeping the launch code sequences from Derek.
She couldn’t tell if Derek was getting frustrated or not. He was not an easy person to read.
“I know you’ve been developing drones that can fly autonomously,” Derek told Jeremy. “Unmanned aerial vehicles that can be flown using the neural impulses of pilots in remote locations.”
“Thought-controlled drones?” Jeremy gasped. “This is crazy. I’m telling you, I’m not the man you’re looking for. Please, you have to—”
Derek went on unfazed. “I want one of the drones you’ve developed. I have someone waiting across the border in Mexico to take delivery of it. All I need from you is the updated launch codes for tonight’s test flight, and we can both be done with this unpleasant business.”
He removed the robotic arm from the suitcase in the corner of the room. He placed the needle between its thumb and forefinger, set the arm on the floor next to Jeremy’s leg, and removed the man’s left shoe.
Apparently he was going to use it to do some of the stitching.
Calista had been sitting on the bed doing her nails. Now she stood and entered the conversation. “Just tell him, Jeremy. I’m serious. I have stuff to do, and things are just gonna get worse for you if you don’t.”
“You should listen to her,” Derek said. “She knows what she’s talking about.”