27
Simon believed it was our chance. Even if was also the last one we’d ever have, “We show them what we got, nothing else matters.” Touring building, second floor, Archimedes room. Just like Yewa wrote in our instructions. We sat alone, and alone we waited. The long arm of the cheap clock on the wall had already taken a few turns. Then finally, the door opens.
First enters Yewa. Black folders against her chest, gaze fully ahead where no one could catch it. The doctor comes behind her, takes a seat and cleans his throat as if there was an entire auditorium of students catching up on weekend gossip. Finally comes a tall, very pale bald man with big lips and a high-rank army uniform. The guy from my vision! He takes the seat at the end of the table, the power seat, and I can smell the stinkiest of all cigars. I whisper to Simon that we need to get out of there, but he holds my arm, stares me back into my seat. “Let’s see what is going on first.”
A flock of bodyguards walks in next. Large, military pants, black T-shirts, boots. They have scratches on their faces, bruises on their arms. The largest one smiles when he sees me. Behind his shades, may have even winked. I know him. The photographer at the park. And The School. I mutter to Simon, “See?”
Simon lowers my hand, apprehensive. Says, “Shhh.”
Fuck that! Shhh? Shhh? “It was them!” I say, loud enough for them to hear me. “The guys from the parking lot!” They remain statuesque.
Simon grabs my hand. Let go, Simon! He doesn’t. Instead, he smiles and welcomes our standing guest with his own idea of hospitality: “Come to get beat again?”
The men frown and step in our direction. Good one, Simon. We both stand.
We’re ready, motherfuckers.
“Let’s all calm down,” the general dude interrupts. “They are with me.”
“And who are you with?” I ask.
“Me?” Says the general. “I’m with the government of the United States of America. And with humanity. And with him,” he says, pointing at Dr. Lambrechts.
What? My jaw drops, nothing comes out of it.
“Take a seat, please?” asks the general.
Simon pulls me down with him. Ok, let’s see where this is going.
“I’ll explain everything if you’ll let me, Ms. Yang.”
Ms. Yang. Orders. Small space. Big men. Military. All the shit I hate at once. I feel the walls closing down on me. Breathe, Yinyin…
The general speaks with enthusiasm. “Congratulations! This morning, the Digital Warfare Division of the Department of Defense has agreed to incorporate and fully fund this project. Which means you’ll have more resources than you have ever dreamed of.”
There is a pause.
Our sights meet in disbelief.
He continues as if we’d been cheering all along.
“As you can imagine, this comes with some obligations and responsibilities. Including a higher degree of secrecy. Ms. Yang, this means we will need to revise your situation in the country. I hope that won’t be a problem. Sergeant Naughton?”
From my back, the man who took our photos lays a thick stack of papers on the table. My citizenship documentation. A big red stamp says “reprocessing.” It was approved before. “Is he threatening me?” I murmur to Simon, who shushes me again. This time I growl.
“From now on,” the general proceeds, “all communications with outside agents and experiments beyond this complex will have to be approved directly by me.” He signals to Yewa, who dutifully hands us the paperwork as if she were his mindless secretary. The man continues, “In this folder, more details about the security protocol, the new timelines and project goals.”
Inside, a report with redacted lines and logos meant to intimidate. Attached by a paper clip, a picture calls my attention. A woman smiling with her two kids. “Do you know her?” the general asks. I say no, but I am not sure. I’ve seen her in the news. “The one who found the messages, right?” He nods. Says she’d been reaching out to people at Oak Tree and reached out to him too, but he didn’t listen. I look again. One blue and one brown eye. She called me once. Before I got contacted by Oak Tree. How’s that possible? I taste vomit in my mouth. Simon is the only one who asks if I’m all right. I pretend I am.
“As the founding members of this mission,” he continues, “I want you to analyze these documents for a few days, and I’ll be glad to hear any suggestions you may have for how to deploy it on a large scale with safety and efficiency. Dream big, because there is no limit to what we can do together.” He stands, his chest puffed like a hero, “Welcome to project Hive.”40
There’s a moment of wordlessness. Of shock. Eyes meeting in outrage. Myself, Simon, Yewa. This was supposed to be a revelation of our breakthrough. A big day for a revolutionary civilian project that could change everything. Now this.
I say I never signed up for the military. Not in this country or any other one. Men hiding behind the power of their uniforms are the reason why I do what I do. If they want to revoke my citizenship, go ahead. I will fight. Mrs. Lee knows important people in Berkley. I bet she can help. “Thank you, General.” Dr. Lambrechts says, making a head signal I can’t comprehend and standing right after. “We are proud to be at the service of our nation…and all humanity, actually. The U.S. military has been a sponsor of so many scientific breakthroughs, we are honored to be part of that list. And I am sure once Ms. Yang is aware of all the facts, she will be too. Leave her to me.”
Fuck that shit. I slap the table. BAM! “Fuck you, Doctor.” For an instant, the room rattles and the big guys recoil a bit and even hint to a backstep. But they’re well-trained, and soon reverse and close distance in my direction. My fists clench. Please come, a tiny bit closer. Simon touches my wrist. Hope he’s ready to link. My yelling continues: “I have no idea what you promised him, you gutless sellout. But I am no military bitch. I signed on for no war. No one is going to take my brain and send it to Syria to kill a bunch of civilians.” I throw my envelope to the ceiling, and all their top-secret shit rains in front of their faces. Immediately, the biggest of them takes one more step. “Just come, motherfucker,” I tell him, “Come. I’ve fucked you up before. Just give me a reason again, c’mon.” But the general raises a hand, and the man stays put.
Frozen in space. Like a dog. Screw him. Screw them.
“Nobody here is going to Syria, Ms. Yang,” the bald man says, “And we don’t attack civilians.” The doctor hands me a paper from his own folder. His wrinkled finger pointing at my signature. The general says, “Although, Ms. Yang, you did sign a document that stated we had all the rights to associate with whomever we decided to,” he continues, as if all this was not only predicted but rehearsed. “And, at your own request, you even decided to extend your participation in the project for one more year, didn’t you?”
“Simon? Did you know about that?”
He protests. “Of course not! I mean, I knew of the possibility, a remote possibility, but thought we would discuss first and decide as a group.” Why did I have to surround myself with the weakest men in the universe?
“There are moments when hierarchy speaks, Simon.” Dr. Lambrechts says. “This is one of them.”
I scan the room. All those men sitting there, and I’m really the only one who’s outraged? This is embarrassing. Simon?
“Oh, yes. That’s fucked-up, you know?” He stands up too, banging the table like I did, his eyes now fixed on his old boss, fuming all of a sudden. This time the bodyguards wait. Simon’s no threat. He grabs my arm and walks me toward the door, taking only a little pause to stretch his neck into Dr. Lambrechts’s face. “I quit.”
The sellout waves in denial. “Listen,” Dr. Lambrechts says. “The company wasn’t going to fund us anymore and you know it, Simon.”
“Enough!” thunders the general. We all go quiet. “I’ve been watching your progress for a while and was ready to let you continue a bit longer. But activities beyond our control anticipated our move.”
“What activities?” Simon asks. But a blank glaze is all he can get.
“There is a saying in the Army, gentlemen, that says when the terrain and the map disagree, go with the terrain. That’s what we are doing here. The world, this messy, confusing, complicated world of ours, just got more complicated with these cyber attacks all around the country.”
“Around the world,” I say.
He ignores me. “My mission is to stop them, and you guys have the weapon America needs.” The bald man pours some water in a plastic cup and hands it to me. “Drink some, Ms. Yang.” I do take a sip. How did he do that? My teeth grind in anger.
Unfazed, the general continues. “Besides, we have been tracking the enemy and they have been accumulating massive funds through untraceable Bitcoin accounts. Underground transactions, hacked IDs—we suspect they are planning a hostile takeover of Oak Tree Technologies, and since we don’t know if these bastards are associated with an unfriendly government, we cannot let that happen. Therefore, I don’t care what you guys agreed to. This is now a matter of national security and that’s the end of it. Feel free to resign if you want, but you will be damaging the very mission you have established, because no one is more interested on your success than myself and my superiors. Because we are the guys whose only commitment is to the safety of the planet. We Americans don’t want to connect our brains and these creatures send a virus to wipe us out, do we? What if they use the technology to hack our brains and get us to kill each other or blow off our own heads?”41
“General,” Simon says, “Appreciate your concerns. They are all legitimate. But I am a scientist. I serve all humanity. As far as I can tell, this country right now is only concerned about its own people.Therefore, giving my ideas over to your power play is out of the question.”
“The company’s ideas, Simon,” Dr. Lambrechts interjects.
“The company’s?” he gasps. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You know quite well this is my work.”
“Excuse me? Your work? I thought things were clear when I hired you.”
They both turn away, take a breath, stare each other down again.
The old doctor tries once more. Says there is no need to fight, the government is going to fund our research. Meaning we can’t get shut down by Nancy and the suits upstairs, or by a hostile buyer that doesn’t want us to succeed. “You know this was a real problem,” he says.
“Then what?” Simon yells, unafraid of the veiled threat. “We develop a weapon to protect us from AI overlords, then Army Mr. Clean uses it to control the minds of countries we don’t like? And we get a stupid Nobel Prize for invading the minds of people in China and making them stop kicking our ass in commerce and tech?”42
“This has always been a race, Simon. You said it yourself. We need funds to win.”
The pile of strategy books is still sitting on the table, and Simon throws half of them against the wall. “Bullshit! The race is against the machines, not other countries!” A few more books fly. “You don’t,” he says, irritated that he still hasn’t thrown them all, “You don’t need funds,” he continues, now happy all the books are gone. “You need me! And her! And we are gone. Right? Do whatever you want with your part. You, your God, and your government deserve each other.”
Elbows on the table, Dr. Lambrechts covers his face and from there runs his hands over his thinning gray hair. “I think you know your contract says…”
“Fuck you, Perry. Fuck you and your contracts and your fetish for power figures. I respected you more when you liked to suck the priest’s dick.” He storms out of the room, hitting the bodyguard as hard as he can, but the dude doesn’t move. “Let’s go, Claudia.”
Wow. That was good.
All my being wants to spit in the doctor’s face. But I give him my most repulsed expression instead. “Yes, fuck you, traitor.”
Outside, Yewa seems about to pass out. “So? You coming? Or joining the Devil?” She keeps her gaze down. Coward. I don’t have time for this.
40. It’s not a big stretch to imagine the military application of this kind of tech. In fact, a more rudimentary version of it seems to already be in the testing stages, with microchips being implanted on the brains of soldiers, as reported in an article by John Horgan called “Are Cyborg Warriors a Good Idea?” (Scientific American website—February 9, 2019)]
41. In Scientific American Magazine, Dr. Marcello Ienca, post-Doctoral fellow at the chair of bioethics at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, published an interesting article suggesting a revision of Human Rights for the artificial intelligence age. (See Preserving the Right to Cognitive Liberty, August 1, 2017)
42. Regarding this issue, historian Yuval Noah Harari and Feifei Lee, from the Stanford Institute for Human-Centered Artificial Intelligence, had a very interesting debate, moderated by Nicholas Thompson, editor-in-chief of Wired Magazine, at the Stanford Humanities Center on April 2019. The full debate was transcribed by Wired on April 28, 2019 under the title “Will Artificial Intelligence Enhance or Hack Humanity?”