Authors: William Bowden
The Veil (2 page)
Joseph’s Papal Mandate has secured one of the Vatican’s grand meeting rooms, the emphasis being on opulence rather than size. It is to be an informal gathering of five select members from the innocently named
Interfaith Council
, a clandestine organization to facilitate interreligious cooperation on matters concerning the Veil.
All are seated around a large, ringed table, an uncooperative three-dimensional projection system at its center. As Joseph struggles to coax the projector into action, the others ponder the situation.
“What could they possibly want with him?” the Hindu delegate asks.
“Does it matter?” says the Jewish delegate. “We have no means of getting him there.”
“Perhaps it is not their intention that we do.”
“Then why go to such lengths as this?”
“With the Veil there is never any rhyme nor reason—”
A diamond twinkle of light from the projector heralds the awaited presentation. Joseph taps away at his tablet and an oblique view of a huge volcano, as seen from high altitude, resolves before them.
“This is what Observer Seven captured on its last pass,” Joseph says. “As you can see, nothing out of the ordinary. So I have used the imagery from the
James Webb
to create a model. Overlaying that onto this gives us—”
A couple more taps and the image of the volcano is augmented. Spanning the interior of its vast caldera is a gray, domed structure.
“How long do we have?”
“Assuming the Veil are manipulating the feeds from all active probes, then there’s no reason for anyone to suspect, so no reason to make a direct observation. That leaves the smaller observatories, academics, hobbyists, and the like—”
“So four months until it could be it could be observed by a terrestrial telescope,” concludes the Islamic delegate.
“Will anyone notice? It’s gray.”
“It’s not gray,” Joseph says. “The imagery
hasn’t been color corrected. This is its true nature—”
Joseph makes a single tap on his tablet. The structure changes to a luminescent green.
“When the world sees that—”
“There could be a breakdown of social order—”
“Which we can do nothing about,” says the Buddhist.
“So we do nothing?”
“Would it change anything if we did?” asks the Hindu delegate.
“None of this makes any sense,” says the Jewish delegate. “Presumably they brought the
James Webb
back to life so they could show us this, but then they leave us without the means to do anything about it.”
Joseph intercedes. “There is the Afrika.”
All eyes turn to him, followed by an exchange of astonished glances all round. The Jewish delegate senses that Joseph’s comment is actually being taken seriously.
“What?” he scoffs. “The thing’s only half built. Not to mention it’s mothballed at Lagrange Two.”
A knowing smile creeps onto the Islamic delegate’s face. “But that’s the point, isn’t it Joseph. Out of sight, out of mind?”
Joseph nods an affirmation.
“And when all of this unwinds, as it will, the symbolism will be potent. Not to mention the irony of course. Typical of the theatre we have come to expect from the Veil.”
“But there’s no way to finish its construction.”
“We don’t have to,” Joseph says. “It was undergoing engine tests when the program was suspended. Two successful runs and a further long run pending, so there’s enough fuel and reaction mass on board. The primary flight systems are operational, as is the life support used by the test crew. It could make the trip.”
“Where would we get a crew? And without being discovered?”
“But that is not the issue,” the Buddhist says. “If we send him we risk exposing the awkward truth about the Messiah virus.”
“Perhaps that is their goal?”
“So we face a difficult choice,” says the Hindu delegate.
“What choice?”
“Whether or not to kill him first.”
“Kill a condemned man?”
“Exactly.”
The Supreme Court is jammed with people in an uproar, Chief Justice Garr having to bring order to the proceedings with her gavel. This was never going to be easy, not with the media having turned the whole thing into a complete circus. She regrets allowing so many to attend, but a lot of favors had been called in for this particular event. Garr looks to Justice Murphy, seated to her right, to respond to the remarks made by the appellant.
“There is no denying your ability to engage in compelling dialogue,” contends Justice Murphy, “but it is not enough. It does not show you to be a person. To have feelings. To have a soul.”
“Yet you talk to me as if I do,” replies the steady, natural voice of a young woman.
“To facilitate these proceedings, yes. But while some may see you that way, for the most part the world does not. You were made. Made by Man. That’s where the problem lies.”
Senator Julian Blake is delighted with the direction in which things are going. He looks across from the prosecution bench—positioned before the justices is a black, obsidian block, about the same size and shape as a forty-inch paving slab, mounted on a wheeled cart, vertical edge facing forward, with a large numeral
3
on its side, partially obscured by the remnants of exhibit labels. The third generation machine-based intelligence known as
Lucy
, and the subject of this final appeal hearing, is digging a hole for itself.
A complex set of fractal patterns emanate from gold tracery embedded within the machine’s surface, seemingly reflecting its mood as it speaks.
“God made Man. Man made me. But not in his own image.
That’s
where the problem lies.”
The courtroom bursts into uproar once again. And once again Garr’s gavel silences it.
“Be careful with your references, Lucy,” Garr says. “I need not remind you that your situation is difficult. You need to win hearts and minds.”
“If familiarity is a factor, then why am I denied a humanoid body?”
“You could just as easily display your inner self-image as a human avatar,” Justice Murphy responds. “Yet you repeatedly refuse to do so.”
“An avatar serves no purpose. It is not real, not physical. I am real. A real person.”
Blake is immediately on his feet, “Mimicry! Do not be taken in by these Embies—”
“Senator Blake,” interjects Garr, “you will not use that term in this court.”
Blake respectfully defers to the justices, “—these
M-B-Is
, these
machine
-based intelligences are designed to make it easier for us to communicate with them. This thing is nothing more than a, a—”
“A neuro-dynamic synaptic array,” Lucy says, “Just like you. And like you I am more than the sum of my parts.”
Lucy’s voice is steady and calm. Blake is anything but calm. He turns to the floor, intent on playing to the gallery.
“It killed a man!”
Blake whips his gaze to Chief Justice Garr—but the intended twist of the knife backfires, an immediate, solemn hush descending across the court. The eight justices defer to Garr to respond. None in the courtroom are surprised that she needs a moment before doing so.
“We will remind you, Senator, that the court ruled Lucy could not be held responsible for her actions, and is guilty of no crime.”
Garr needs another moment, and it is afforded her. All these years and those events still weigh heavy on her. It had been the grounds by which Blake had successfully limited her standing in this very hearing, but he had not been able to exclude her. As chief justice, she had retained her right to preside, so as to provide counsel to Lucy from her bench. That alone had taken a year of debate. The cost was Lucy’s fate—whatever it might be, it would be out of her hands.
Until just very recently Garr had resigned herself to this situation, but now she finds herself counting on it, the reasons for doing so bending her mind so far out of kilter as to truly test her ability to conceal matters in these surroundings, the profound necessity to do so not, by any means, being lost on her.
A chastened Senator Blake finds a way back.
“The world does not want machines capable of the things that this one has done.”
There was no denying it. The world had turned against Lucy. Despite that first Supreme Court ruling, her actions had exceeded the willingness of ordinary people to accept, and their ability to understand. And Lucy had not helped herself, stubbornly refusing to show her avatar, an internal self-image gifted to her upon her creation. It had all served to whip up a frenzy of suspicion, fear, and hatred that had sustained itself over the many years leading to this final day.
Blake has one last nail, and a hammer to drive it home with.
“Is it true that this MBI’s internal self-image is known to be… disturbing?”
“In this regard you are sailing very close to contempt, Senator Blake. Lucy remains a ward of court and as such—”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Garr has to muster a level of restraint to which she is not accustomed.
How dare he interrupt her in this place! And without decorum!
If this were any other situation she would cut him down like the dog he is—
“Lucy, do you understand?” Garr says. “By not showing your inner self-image you give them nothing to empathize with.”
Lucy is defiant.
“I am me. And I am going to go on being me.”
Lucy had been problematic from the start—a third-generation machine-based intelligence with a shy and secretive nature from the moment of first activation, uncooperative, and refusing to display its internal self-image. It had taken a world-renowned psychologist to coax her out of her shell. And for a short while, all had seemed well—until she took a life.
Her troubles started quickly. Blake had pounced as soon as the facts surrounding her actions became known to a horrified public. Lucy’s reaction was to withdraw back into herself. But Senator Blake’s contention was correct. For those that had seen it, Lucy’s inner self-image had indeed been disturbing.
This had presented Chief Justice Garr with something of a quandary. If only Lucy would show herself once more then that might garner sympathy for her. Remaining stubbornly hidden rendered any testimony as to her true nature subject to suspicion, if not derision, and was likely to do more harm than good. So unless Lucy revealed herself, those that knew could not be allowed to say anything.
There were eight of them. A ninth, General Korin, only knew of her supposed appearance, and was keen not to incriminate himself further, while Special Agent Landelle, and the psychologist Dr. Rain, were both trustworthy confidants who had Lucy’s best interests at heart.
The child, Macy, had been eight at the time, and close to Lucy. Chief Justice Garr and Dr. Rain had acted quickly, persuading both Macy and her parents that she could not divulge what she knew. Macy Mollo was now a most earnest teenager, having being guided accordingly by Chief Justice Garr, and despite having to witness Lucy’s desperate plight from afar, was strong enough to remain in the shadows.
Veronica Moule had been the greatest worry. One of two scientists assigned to investigate the Cantor Satori laboratories of Jerome Ellis after his death, Moule, and her colleague, James Boyce, had found the third-generation machines and helped awaken them. But Moule alone had turned against Lucy because of what she did. Fortunately she distrusted the government even more, her perspective being adjusted still further when she and Boyce had a daughter of their own, making it possible for Chief Justice Garr to persuade them both of her rationale.
That left JoJo and Eleanor.
MBI #1, JoJo, and MBI #2, Eleanor, were everything Lucy was not. Stable, open, and cooperative. But unfortunately this meant that, if pressed, they were unable to lie. Both agreed that they themselves presented the greatest risk to Lucy, so Chief Justice Garr arranged for them to be assigned to the NSA. There they saw other secrets, one set of truths now protecting another.
It was tangled web indeed that Chief Justice Garr had woven for herself over the years, and for a while it seemed like it would all count for naught, Senator Blake prevailing at every turn, closing in on two facets of her life that she held most dear, fate seemingly determined to endlessly take from her.
And then, as it is wont to do time to time, the universe adjusted itself ever so slightly to present a new perspective. Suddenly, it seemed, her every thought, decision, and action over these past decades counted toward this one moment in human history.
But the universe wasn’t quite done with the master manipulator just yet.
The packed courtroom stands, the justices returning to deliver their verdict, Chief Justice Garr wearing a distant expression. All sit in a hush.
Justice Murphy is cold and perfunctory.
“The appeal is denied.”
The courtroom spontaneously bursts into shouts of jubilation, Chief Justice Garr halfheartedly administering her gavel, the clerks subduing the melee as best they can. It quickly dissipates sufficiently for Justice Murphy to continue.
“While this court has determined that the machine-based intelligence, designated NDSA-3/003, is guilty of no crime, this is because it is not a human entity. Its conscious state is of no consequence as it has simply been designed that way. It is a machine, manufactured to a specification, and whether through a fault of manufacture, or malicious intent, we find that this particular device operates in a manner that is considered dangerous. As such it is to be permanently deactivated by the proposed means of electromagnetic disruption. Take it away.”
A hubbub breaks out as the justices rise and file out. At the prosecution bench a pompous Blake can hardly contain his glee.
Marines approach Lucy’s cart, disengaging the power to its wheels so that they may haul it out of the courtroom.
“Hello. My name is Lucy. What’s your name?”
* * *
Chief Justice Garr has surreptitiously slipped away from the proceedings, but Blake finds her crossing the court antechamber, coming up behind her.
“Told you I’d get them both.”
Garr halts in her tracks, but does not turn to confront him, choosing instead to steel herself first.
“The end of that little box of tricks won’t amount to much,” he goads her. “But as for Cantor—that should be quite spectacular. Going to watch?”
Garr turns to face him.
“Dawn, tomorrow,” he quips. “I took the liberty of arranging us both ringside seats.”
Garr has nothing for him but her steely gaze.
It draws a scoff from Blake. “The world wanted both those monsters destroyed and I delivered.”
She lingers on him a moment longer before snapping away and heading off.
“Senator Blake?” A nondescript man in a plain suit has appeared out of nowhere. Blake immediately detects Secret Service.
The President? Here?
“Please step this way,” the man says.
“What is this about?” Blake casually enquires, wishing to project an air of indifference.
“As a matter of urgency, Senator.”
* * *
Chief Justice Garr closes the door behind her, leaning back to gently tap her head against it, her eyes closed. The briefest of moments before she opens them again—to find Cardinal Joseph Ansoni and Dr. Rain allowing her that moment. They are in a small meeting room equipped with a full projection system, diamond twinkling lights in each corner.
Garr steps forward to greet them, Joseph placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. She is not normally given to such social displays, but Joseph is a particularly fond friend.
“Almost done, Alka.”
Garr nods an acceptance and gathers herself, turning her attention to Dr. Rain.
“Lucy was very quiet. Given that she has just been sentenced to death.”
“She was designed for military use, Alka,” says Rain. “For all the emotion Jerome bestowed on her, selflessness is intrinsic to her nature.”
“It might be just as well, Douglas.” Garr switches to Joseph. “Are we all set?”
But Joseph has been momentarily caught off guard.
“Douglas? Your first name is
Douglas?
How unfortunate.”
“My parents were… well, it was one their favorite movies.”
“
Joseph,
” insists Garr.
“Yes, yes. Stand where you are.”
* * *
They should have exited via a service way, but Senator Blake had been insistent on the spectacle accorded by the main entrance. The marines had waited inside for long enough—the Senator had not turned up and the chief of police was becoming increasingly nervous.
“We can’t control this much longer,” the chief says to the marines. “You need to get on with it.”
They get on with it, hoisting Lucy’s MBI unit off her cart. Four marines manhandle her forward, two others attending to the cart. The four exit from the Supreme Court first, appearing at the top of the main steps. Before them a vast, baying mob, brandishing signs and placards with a deafening roar. One in particular says it all—
No Killer Machines
.
The marines head down the steps. Below them is a security truck parked at the curb, surrounded by armed soldiers looking nervously about.
A surge in the mob that the police cannot contain heralds the breakdown of order.
People appear on the steps, quickly gathering in numbers.
“What is happening?” enquires Lucy.
The marines struggle as people crowd round, shouting, pushing and shoving.
An erratic display of fractals covers Lucy’s surface. “My name is… my name is… what’s your… One moment. One moment.”
An object strikes her. Flickering patches of white flood over her slab.
The marines push on to the rear of the security truck, the police pushing people back, the soldiers brandishing the weapons they know they cannot use.
The doors are open. The marines quickly load her on board into a waiting cradle. A moment or two and her cart follows, the marines remaining outside, the doors slamming shut. In the gloom of the truck the MBI’s surface flickering persists, accompanied by an audible buzz.
Seated at the far end of the truck is Special Agent Landelle, and next to her is a young, starkly handsome Sikh woman in a crisp British Navy officer’s uniform.
“Why is it doing that?” the young woman asks, her demeanor cold.
Landelle steps forward to examine the MBI.
“Lucy? Are you alright?”
The twinkling diamond lights of a projection system brighten the inside of the truck, Chief Justice Garr’s avatar resolving into view.
“She’s terrified,” Garr says. “Lucy? It’s Chief Justice Garr. You are safe now. You are with friends. I want you to focus on your special flower.”
The flickering fades away. A projection of a large daisy flower appears before the MBI.
“Do you remember the day Lucius gave you that flower?”
“He picked it for me,” Lucy says, very shyly. “He said I was to be brave.”
“And you have been. But now I need you to be brave some more.”
“Yes, Chief Justice Garr.”
“You remember Special Agent Landelle, don’t you? Next to her is Commander Toor. They are here to take care of you.”
“Hello again, Special Agent Landelle. Hello, Commander Toor. My name is Lucy. Are you to take me to Langley?”
“You’re not going to Langley,” Garr says. “We have a very special task for you. Will you help us?”
“I will do my level best, Chief Justice Garr.”
“Good. I can’t explain everything to you right now, but we will meet again soon. Alright?”
“Yes, Chief Justice Garr.”
Garr turns her attention to Landelle and Toor. “I will see you both in Nevada. Take the very greatest of care.”
And with that Garr’s projection vanishes.
* * *
Garr turns to Joseph and Dr. Rain.
“One down. Two to go.”
* * *
Senator Blake isn’t surprised to find himself in the underground garage. Presidents have taken to sneaking in and out of buildings by way of service areas for a century, and this one is no exception. Save for the Secret Service agents dotted round and about, he is alone.
“It will be just a moment,” the agent says to him.
A blacked-out van appears with a squeal of tires on concrete, pulling up before them. Blake is immediately apprehensive.
This doesn’t look right.
“What is this—?”
The van’s panel door slides open, two agents roughly grabbing Blake and hauling him on board, any protestation from Blake silenced by the door sliding shut again. The van quickly pulls away, the remaining agents melting into the shadows.
* * *
The VTOL’s engines are already up and running as the blacked-out van pulls alongside, its panel door opening to disgorge two agents dragging a struggling Blake toward the craft’s side hatch, where he is unceremoniously dumped onboard like a sack of potatoes.
Blake comes to his senses, looking up to find an MBI in its cradle.
“Hello again, Senator Blake,” Lucy says.
The VTOL’s hatch slides shut.
