Power in the Hands of One (2 page)

Ray doesn’t flinch but remains steady in his studious gaze. “I’m not asking whether you believe in it. It’s only important to know there are those convinced it will someday be a reality, so convinced they look for it, hope for it.

“And there’s staunch debate on how it will happen. Many, the ones we are concerned with, believe that in our technologically advanced society, the mouth of the Beast is full of ones and zeros. The takeaway is twofold: One, technology is, or could be made into, the enemy; and two, Armageddon is a God-ordained certainty.

“On the other side, there are noted futurists who’ve injected their own variables into the equation. They pursue biotech and nanotech initiatives with the goal of immortality, predicting Transhumanism and Artificial intelligence to be the saviors of mankind. Some even go so far to say that one day a new religion will emerge, coalescing all sentient beings into one enormous supercomputer. Do you see where I’m going with all of this?”

“Sort of,” I say, shifting my legs. “I see you have two very different, opposing factions—each with their own goals.”

Ray nods. “Yes—two fanatical factions who both know the other exists, who both have resources, and who both desire to wield the more powerful technology. One wants to usher in God’s will; the other wishes to become God.”

I’m not sure whether to be excited or scared. This is the stuff of a fascinating debate or a summer blockbuster, but history reveals what happens when the overzealous act on their beliefs. “How serious are we talking here?”

“Serious enough that I could lose my job for what I’m going to show you.” Ray is dispassionate despite his words.

“And Thomas? On which side does he fall?”

Ray winces slightly, but maintains the same dour expression. “At times, I think both. Depending on one’s perspective, he was either instigating or attempting to halt a war.”

“How so?”

“As I said, Thomas was fascinated with the Singularity. He saw it for what it was predicted to be—the potential rewrite of mankind—and he feared it. Yet he was drawn to it all the same. I first suspected this after the military dropped the Enforcer Project. Thomas continued his research, despite no longer having a contract with the government.”

I perk up. “What’s the Enforcer Project?”

“The Army was interested in A.I. for tactical use on the battlefield. They reasoned if a computer could play chess, why not war? There was also a parallel interest in developing weapons which would prove intimidating on the psychological front.

“There was a meeting of the minds, so to speak, resulting in the desire for autonomous war machines, capable of deployment in various terrains. These machines were to be ostentatious enough to deliver the intended psychological blow; they were also envisioned as sentient, capable of carrying out orders without human supervision.”

“And the military lost interest?” I ask.

“Their priorities shifted with the economy. But it was too late for Thomas. He fell in with certain intellectual circles whose paranoia was contagious. Thomas formed his own opinions and drew a line between the two agendas he saw. In his mind, the only way to hold the religious extremists at bay was to acquire the superior technology first. And the only way to hedge against the futurists was to control that technology.”

“Did he…succeed?”

Ray pauses as though he’s not sure how much information to divulge. “Yes.”

I’m not sure what to say, allowing Ray’s simple reply to sink in. Of my many questions, there is still one which begs to be answered most. “You still haven’t said what happened to Worthington. Where is he?”

Ray shakes his head, looking down. “I don’t know. Monday morning, I arrived at 6:30, just like every morning. I left the driver in the car and entered through the front door to collect Thomas, but he was not here. No messages, no notes. Gone. I checked the other doors and windows, but there was no sign of a break-in or anything of that nature.”

“Did you call the police?”

“No—and this is why: Early on, Thomas became suspicious of the Illuma Corp, a rival organization. They specialize in A.I. and robotics, but they are not your typical tech outfit.” Ray leans forward as if he’s going to impart a secret to me. “Illuma Corp hires ‘agents,’ not employees.”

I’m unimpressed by what Ray seems to think significant. “Agents?”

“Yes—intellectual mercenaries—hyper-intelligent individuals without scruples. Illuma Corp is often suspected to be involved in industrial espionage and sometimes worse, though they’ve never been caught. Thomas was convinced they compromised employees at Redd Research.”

“Had they?”

“I don’t know that either. Thomas became reclusive; he would send me home early and work long hours accompanied only by a small group of outside help—Amish I think. They would arrive before sunup and leave at dusk.”

I almost laugh. “Amish? Really? Working for Redd Research?” The thought of simple, earthy folk working for a research company is amusing.

“They were only hired to move materials and operate basic tools—levers and pulleys. Thomas felt they were neutral and could be trusted. The rest of the work was automated by equipment owned by Redd Research.”

“Ray, what did he build?”

“I’ll show you—tomorrow. There’s a Redd storage facility on the north side of Lockworth. Are you working?”

“Only from home. I haven’t been in the office much lately… Wait, why do you want me involved in this? Worthington is
missing
. You don’t know where he is, or even if he’s alive.”

“True.” Ray is matter-of-fact.

“Don’t you get it? This is a police matter. I can’t help you.” I wave my hand around the room. “This might be a crime scene!”

Ray’s eyes narrow, and his voice drops. “Troy, it is imperative that this situation be contained. Thomas wouldn’t want these machines to be made to serve a purpose other than what they were designed for.”

“Which is?”

“To not only realize the Singularity, but to realize it on his terms.”

“Thomas Worthington’s terms?! You’re going to blindly follow what is clearly an insane obsession and end up dead or in jail—which is the same thing. You’re smarter than this, Ray.”

“I see you have your opinion. That’s unfortunate. I knew it would be difficult to get you to even meet me here, let alone commit your assistance.”

“That’s what I don’t get. What do you need me for?”

Ray pauses and then says, “For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to do.” He holds up his hands. “There, I said it. Does it surprise you? It surprised me. And it scares me more than the Illuma Corp; it scares me more than what’s locked away in that storage facility.”

4

“Well, to me it sounds like you’ve made up your mind,” I say. “You’re on board with Worthington—you just said so yourself.”

Ray shoots back like his tongue is on fire. “I know what I said.” He then pauses as if to reflect. “I believe in Thomas; I believe his aim to be true. I can’t let all his work fall apart. I…I just don’t know how to keep everything from unraveling.”

I exhale an audible venting of my frustration. “Ray, you need to turn this over to the police. You’re in way over your head.”

Ray is obstinate, shaking in disagreement. “No—you haven’t seen what I’ve seen. This is very real. The Illuma Corp is just the beginning. I don’t know if they’re involved in Thomas’s disappearance, but it almost doesn’t matter. What matters is that Thomas’s vision may have cost him his life. That’s proof enough that he touched a nerve. Someone was paying attention.”

I cut in. “I don’t doubt that these groups exist or that they have crazy ideas about the way the world should be. But there’s got to be order, man! We can’t go following them off on whatever tangents they’re on.”

Ray is erratic again like he was on the phone. His voice is shrill and piercing. “You can’t stop the future. It’s happening, and it’s happening now. You’ll see. Tomorrow you’ll see.”

I try to get him to focus. “Why not today? Why can’t I see them today?”

“Because I have to stand in for Thomas at a board meeting. I have to hold them off for as long as I can…”

I relent. “Tomorrow then. But after, we need to call the police.”

“No police.” Ray shakes his head like a small child disagreeing with his parents.

I decide not to press the issue for now. “Fine, no police. But I’m not involved, not with any of it.”

For a second Ray’s eyes are defeated. “Just meet me here—early.”

I agree and leave Ray in the living room, ill at ease. Finding my way to the front door is mindless, but I’m full of anxious thoughts as I exit the house. Now that I’ve seen Ray in person and heard him out, I’m even more concerned he’s not thinking straight.

He just shifted from his rock solid, dependable self to a skittish semblance thereof without much prompting. If I’m going to look out for his well-being, which I feel is my responsibility now, I need to keep him on level ground.

Straddling the bike once more, I engage the starter button. The 645cc motor turns over with a taut eagerness. Side stand up and the transmission out of neutral, I’m whipping along the turnaround and then accelerating down the drive.

Soon I’m turning onto the back country road and wondering if anything Ray said is possible. Maybe he’s exaggerating. The military operates unmanned aircraft for surveillance and things of that nature; these machines can’t be anything other than an advanced version of that.

I dismiss the mental tug of war so I can concentrate on the road ahead. Leaning, the bike swings me through every turn, and I retrace my path from an hour ago.

Ahead, the toy planes still buzz across the open field. They look like bugs swarming across each other’s path. One climbs high, almost straight up, before beginning a descent and initiating a barrel roll.

In two seconds I realize the plane has veered out over the road and changed direction; it now races down toward me. At first this seems like a joke, a mistake. Surely the plane will correct its course, guided by its operator’s controls on the ground.

Another fifty feet and this is not yet true. My instinct is to outrun the plane before it can get low enough, so I give the throttle a sharp twist, surging ahead.

The plane drops in response, drawing nearer to a collision with my helmet. There’s no doubt now; the toy is being flown into my path intentionally. The operators in the field all face the road, statues intent on their controls.

My attention reverts back to the diving plane. A split second…I duck…buzzing at the back of my neck…then the plane is past me. I turn just in time to see the toy attempt to pull up, only to clip the road and lose control. It careens into a ditch and explodes.

My eyes bulge at the thud of the blast. It’s too violent for such a small amount of fuel. I have the crazy thought that it was armed with explosives, but that can’t be possible. Can it?

Now a second plane is in my side mirror. It’s lower than the first, too low from which to duck, and impossibly fast. If it connects, it will tag the rear wheel.

The throttle gives way as I manhandle it back to the stop. The bike screams ahead. My only hope is that I can get the plane out of range of radio control, with enough distance between us so it doesn’t take me out when it drops into the road.

Bent over the handlebars, I will every revolution of the motor to push me that much farther ahead. Seconds will make the difference here. Gripping, leaning, low profile—I’m one with the bike. Where it goes, I go.

In the mirror there’s a swerve and a gradual drop in altitude, and then fire. The plane meets the ground and I’m well enough beyond that it’s only a flash. Another quick glance reveals there aren’t any more attackers from the sky.

I maintain a steady grip on the throttle until I reach the main route which will take me back to the interstate. There I slow and downshift before turning. Manic, I pour on the speed again.

The insanity replays in my head. Planes! I was attacked by toy planes! If one of them had caught me… I shake loose the thought of my near demise.
Just get back to the apartment
, I tell myself.

Ray—I’ve got to tell Ray. No, this might set him further off balance. Killer attack planes might be too much for his emotional state. I’ll keep it to myself—for now.

The interstate is ahead. I signal and turn left, racing down the onramp to keep in front of traffic. I sail past a semi and merge, careful to maintain a wide berth. Killer attack planes or not, death by semi is no more appealing.

5

I dream I’m being chased by the men from the field. They peek around corners and whisper to themselves, getting closer and closer as they hunt me across Arbor City. Meanwhile, toy planes buzz overhead.

Then explosions and smoke broil the sky, and I hear whirring, mechanical sounds from behind buildings. There’s the sense that death and destruction come with whatever produces these sounds, but I never see what’s responsible for them.

Wrestling with the sheets, I wake to the harsh sound of my bedside phone. I answer in half-syllables.

“Troy—are you awake?!” Ray is agitated and breathing heavy.

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m…I’m awake.” I prop myself up on one elbow.

“It’s happening!” His voice rings hollow like his throat fell into his stomach.

I rub my eyes, stumbling over Ray’s words. “What? What’s happening?”

“One of the machines is gone—stolen! I don’t know how, but it’s been stolen.”

“What? Wait, how do you know?”

“Because I’m here. Come see for yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” I glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. “It’s three A.M.”

“This can’t wait. Remember the storage facility I mentioned before? Just take Bennett Road north out of Lockworth.”

“Ray, I’m not coming out there, man.”

Ray cuts me off. “Listen to me.”

“No, you listen to me,” I say, the murkiness of sleep now faded. “You need to hang up and call the police. This is ridiculous! Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how crazy you sound?”

“Stop it! Stop it!” Ray shouts. “This is for real! And they’ll come back; they’ll come back for the others. I’ll stop them, with or without you.”