“But that will take much too long,” Malcolm said.
“It will,” Ben answered. “But there’s a lab at the park — it’s not much, but it’ll have to do. I’m going back there, to figure this out.”
As if remembering the dire situation they were all in, Ben looked down at his hands and arms.
“Does it hurt?” Julie asked.
“No. It hasn’t really done much at all, and it’s not itching at the moment.”
“Neither is mine,” Julie said, examining her own arms.
“So,” Malcolm said, calling them to attention. “I guess it’s just us, then?”
“Dr. Fischer, you don’t need to come along,” Julie said. “If what we’re saying is true, we’re going into an infected quarantine, looking for a massive bomb hidden below the surface somewhere. It’s not exactly a risk-free mission.”
Malcolm lifted his chin slightly. “Julie, I understand that you are concerned. And you are right to assume that this is an extremely dangerous mission. But I will not sit idly by and do nothing to right the wrongs done to me, or my students.”
His monologue over, he tensed his jaw and waited for the others’ response.
Ben looked over and shrugged. “I feel you, Doc. I wouldn’t make you sit on the sidelines.”
Julie smiled.
“Let’s get to Yellowstone.”
They sat down at the table in the small hotel room, ready to plan their trip back to Yellowstone, when Julie’s phone rang again. She grabbed it before it rang a second time.
“Hold on a sec,” she said, holding up a finger. “It’s Randy again.” She held the phone up to her ear. “Randy — what’s up?”
As she listened, the muscles in her face tightened and her back became rigid. She swallowed a few times, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. She nodded, unaware that Randy couldn’t see her, and she hung up the phone.
Ben and Malcolm were perched in their chairs, watching the one-way conversation.
“Julie, what was that about?” Ben asked.
She blinked a few times, suddenly embarrassed that she might cry.
“Liv — Livingston,” she choked out. “He’s dead.”
Chapter Forty-One
“Monsieur Valère, the conference is now available,” the voice said. It sounded metallic, hollow, and distant, and yet it was the most lifelike computerized voice system Francis Valère had ever heard.
“Merci beaucoup,” Valère responded. He waited for the computer system to check the ethernet connection, test internet speed, and finally ping the waiting room of the online web conferencing service. Within seconds, the voice emanated from the walls of Valère’s office again.
“Connection speeds are exceptional, Monsieur.” The voice had an eerily attractive component to it, Valère realized, as he waited for the two other participants’ faces to appear in front of him. She had also been upgraded to a human-like level of what they were calling “AI hyperbole,” which was, as far as Valère could tell, just a library of phrases that replaced the usual metric and clinically precise statements that plagued most artificial voice systems.
SARA — Simulated Artificial Response Array — was the Company’s latest alpha release they were testing in their offices. At this point, it was nothing more than a computerized artificial intelligence, more advanced than anything on the market, but far from deployment-ready.
The plan was, Valère had been told, to get SARA to beta and then release the code and sound sample library, alone more than ten terabytes of information, to a few universities for further development and testing. Eventually, they would either use the application for internal purposes or sell the final design schematics to the highest black market bidder. As SARA’s development was about as removed from Valère’s professional expertise as possible, he wasn’t entirely sure what she would finally become. But if the previous applications their affiliates had released were any measure, SARA would be nothing short of miraculous.
Valère was involved in a number of startup tech and pharmaceutical businesses. He was independently wealthy, thanks to the benefit of a long line of rich relatives who’d left a startlingly large inheritance, as well as his own knack for choosing investment opportunities. A few had bombed, but he had invested far and wide, amassing a fortune of interests in just about every sector related to computer intelligence and medical advancement.
“Francis, are you with us?” a man’s voice spoke from inside his computer screen.
Valère cleared his throat. “Yes, oui, I am here. I apologize for my tardiness — I have been following the latest developments in the United States.”
“As have I,” the second voice answered. The man’s face in front of Valère was enlarged on the gigantic screen. The sound emanated from the walls themselves. Audio-Enhanced Surfacing, if Valère remembered correctly. The walls of his Quebec office space were essentially made of thousands of speakers, each implanted with a computer chip that made them “intelligent” — allowing them to emulate a natural sound environment. He could play music that followed him throughout the room, providing a sonically perfect artificial surround-sound in an acoustically exceptional environment.
For now, the man’s voice, in crisp and clear stereo, was all Valère cared about. The man inside the window continued. “It appears as though our initial plan has been delayed. After your dismissal of Mr. Jefferson —”
“Nonsense,” Valère said. “Our placements were sound. Each of the departments is operating smoothly, according to their protocols, and taking no unnecessary risks or making any rash decisions.”
“Francis,” the first man, Emilio Vasquez, said, “while I admit our infiltrated agencies are doing exactly as we’ve hoped, you cannot deny the existence of a few rogue operatives. The CDC’s department head has been removed, but it still seems as though a few members of its lower ranks are curious.”
Valère thought about this a moment. “Do you honestly believe they have become a threat?”
“Hardly,” Emilio responded. “It is merely in our best interests to ensure these possible threats stay just that.”
“And how exactly do we ensure that?” Valère asked.
The other man paused for a moment. “Well, I believe it’s time for the contingency plan.”
“I — we — don’t need a contingency plan,” Valère responded. “This plan is sound — it always has been.”
“I’m not saying it hasn’t been, Valère. But there’s always room for improvement.”
“But these rogue operatives have been working outside of our target organizations. They are no more a threat to us than the local police.”
“But you’re wrong, Valère. They are far more of a threat to us, especially now. They are mobile, and we are still unsure of their capabilities. Borders mean nothing to them, nor do their organization’s standards. We’ve worked far too long on this project to lose the investment entirely.”
Emilio’s face was growing slightly red, though his voice betrayed no raise of emotions. Valère knew the man was moments away from growing indignant, but the man stopped himself just short.
Valère sighed. “These deaths are unnecessary,” he said. “They are inevitable, but must they come from our hands?”
“Valère,” Emilio said. “As you know, these deaths are nothing when measured against what we will accomplish.”
“I agree, but—”
“And their deaths will not be ‘by our hand,’ as you say. Far from it.”