The Gods We Make Page 2

  His eyes softened. “Uh, sure!” He took a tentative step toward her.

  She took half a step back and angled her hips away. Why is he so… familiar? “Shall we, then?” she asked, an easy smile brightening her face.

  “Yes,” he said. “I can recommend the organic eggplant parmesan.”

  “That sounds wonderf…” Sara raised a hand, index finger extended. Her face tensed, and her eyes narrowed. A red symbol blinked in the lower-right corner of her field of view. Her aiDe, the ultimate securNet device, imparted the image by stimulating her optic nerve. Its diminutive, networked components were embedded in her eyes, ears, and on the surface of her brain. An artificial intelligence program connected to securNet alerted her of an urgent development. I’m letting a machine interrupt an in-person conversation. Hmpf. When the AI decided something was pressing enough to send the red symbol, it usually was.

  She glanced at Jake with an apologetic frown. “I’m sorry, would you give me a moment?” Her eyes focused on some distant point. “Damn. Damn, damn, damn!” She was almost out of the cafeteria before she turned back to Jake and said, “Mr. Hayden, we’ll discuss this later. Set up an appointment with my office?” Without awaiting a response, she rushed to VIRCOM, the virtual communications facility designed for top-secret collaboration.

  Jake said to nobody in particular, half astounded and half amused, “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

  Sara was already striding down the hall. Elena Teplova’s image popped up.

  “Did you see it?” Elena spoke curtly and with her usual sense of alarm. This time, her tone was justified.

  “Yes, Elena. I’m almost there.”

  Sara strode up to a plain steel door set in a dull-gray wall. Raised, bold-red letters on the door read VIRCOM. A warning etched under the sign stated, “Electromagnetics strictly prohibited.”

  One of her younger analysts reached the door at the same time she did. His cheeks were flush, and he struggled to slow his breathing to a level appropriate for a government office. “I wish they would let us take these calls on our aiDe, at least when we’re on the NSA campus.”

  Sara smiled. “That won’t happen anytime soon. You should see some of the info-sec meetings I sit through. They’re worried about VIRCOM being compromised despite its careful shielding and quantum encryption.” In truth, top officials like Sara could connect from the outside. But that was need to know.

  “There’s no way the fMRI mode can be hacked. People are being-”

  “Maybe. Why don’t you head in first?”

  He sighed under his breath. “Sure thing, Deputy Director.” The man turned to face the door.

  “State your name,” emanated from a speaker in the wall.

  He said his name, the door slid open, and he stepped in.

  Seconds later, Sara was prompted, “State your name.”

  “Sara Wells.”

  The door opened for her. Sara passed through, and it closed behind her. Her aiDe powered off as the outer door closed, blocking all transmissions. She stood facing another door, similar to the first but without the markings.

  A voice sounded from another speaker. “What did Bailey look like?”

  Sara visualized her first dog, an energetic cocker spaniel mix. She thought of how Baily used to lick her cheeks when they both were young. Good times. The second door slid open.

  She stepped into a dark, circular room fifteen meters across. Several colleagues were present, in person and holographically from a similar room in DC. Participants could stand or sit in matte-black chairs that hovered about. Images of the Chinese ambassador to the Philippines and the Director of China’s Ministry of Science and Technology floated in space. Each picture was surrounded by three-dimensional icons representing facts about the men. Additional images represented people, places, and things that the pair had some relationship to. Lines of different colors and thicknesses connected the shapes in a room-filling web.

  At the center of the information web floated a single, two-dimensional, old-fashioned document. An email intercepted from the hacked satellite. It read

  January 25th, 2044 23:30Z

  To: Ambassador Xe, Manila Embassy

  From: Director Wu, Ministry of Science and Technology

  Subject: Fusion Test

  Message: The Ministry’s fusion reactor test was a complete success. We powered the entire facility for 30 minutes. I told you!

  A protracted silence fell over the space.

  “This changes everything,” Sara said. She stepped closer to the email and studied it as if that might change what it meant. She spoke to her aiDe. “Please signal the president. We have a tier one national security development.”

  He Who Has the Power

  President Tom Billmore flipped an ice chest open, plucked out a frosty Long Day Lager, and beamed proudly at the young man in the other seat of their small bass boat. “Root beer, son?”

  “Sure dad,” Ryan Billmore said, nimbly catching the bottle his father tossed over.

  “Here we go. The fish finder claims this is a good spot.” He tapped the station-keeping button on the boat’s control panel. The president rubbed his hands together. “Let’s catch us some fish.”

  The first year and a half of his term was marked by endless meetings in Washington and hectic travel to Southeast Asia. Mid-term elections would ramp up in a few months. The president’s popularity seemed insurmountable but several key allies in the Senate faced tough competition. Today, now, there was only Lake Oconee, the bass, and most of all, Ryan. The lake’s placid water reflected white, billowing clouds. A healthy stand of cypress trees lined the shore, and long reeds lining the shallows rocked in a gentle breeze. “Look at all the beauty!”

  “Gorgeous dad. It’s good to be home.” Ryan popped open the root beer and took a generous swig. “I’m glad we could get out on the water.” He glanced over his shoulder at a low-slung, dark-gray, carbon-composite security craft ten meters off their stern. “You know, just the two of us.”

  “Hmm. The price of office, I’m afraid.”

  “How long can we stay out today?” Ryan asked.

  “Until the cows come home, son. Today’s our day.” The president popped the lid off the bait bucket and plucked out a shad. The small bait fish thrashed about in a vain effort to free itself. The president threaded a hook into its lower lip and out the top one. He attached the hook’s leader to a barrel swivel and pinched a sinker to the main line. Both hands surrounding the reel and his right thumb on the line, he snapped the rod back and sharply forward. At precisely the right moment, he released the line. The cast flew in a perfect arc. “There we go!”

  Ryan opened his tackle box and pulled out a green-and-silver lure.

  “Son, are you sure you don’t want to try live bait?”

  “No thanks, dad. The lures work fine.” He concentrated on setting up his rig.

  The president sighed. “It still bothers you to poke the little fish? Their brain isn’t big enough for them to care much. All that wiggling is only reflex.”

  “I know dad.”

  “I reckon you’ll catch bigger fish with live bait.” The president took a large sip of beer. The innocence of youth. “I’m sure the lure will work out fine.”

  Ryan cast his line. “Why do you need to fly off to the Philippines tomorrow? You were there a month or two back.”

  The president scowled imperceptibly, and his eyes grew alert. “Did you ever hear about the Mischief Reef incident?”

  Ryan focused for a moment as if trying to recall a vague memory, then shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”

  “It happened when you were young,” the president said. “China was expanding their territorial claims in the South Pacific by dredging up artificial islands from coral reefs. Our allies in the region said they were worried about the Chinese having military bases close to their borders. The reality was, they didn’t want the Chinese to control the natural resources in what most of the world considered international waters.”


  “We covered that in history. My teacher said we have to question whether the United States should get involved with conflicts half-way around the world.”

  “Did he now?” the president said. “It’s easy to talk like a liberal idealist when your opinions don’t actually affect lives.”

  “I didn’t say I agree with him,” Ryan said, chuckling.

  “I’ll be sure and have a word with the principal.” The president winked. Definitely going to have a word. “Anyhow, the United States acted to reinforce the international status of those man-made islands by sending ships and aircraft right past them. One day the Navy sent two fighter jets over Mischief Reef, which China had converted to a full-on military installation.” The corners of President Billmore’s mouth turned down, and his eyes watered. “They shot them down, son. Killed one of the pilots, Jerry Stone. The other was hurt real bad, captured and held prisoner for a good while.” The president wiped the corner of his eye. “Jerry’s uncle was one of my best friends back in college.”

  “Wow,” Ryan said. “That’s horrible.”

  “After the incident, the Chinese stopped expanding. But now there are signs they’re ready to claim more territory. I’m meeting with the region’s leaders in Manila to reassure them and to plan our response.” The president took a long pull from his beer. “Enough about politics for now. Let’s catch some fish!” The president reclined in his seat and pulled his Georgia Bulldogs ball cap over his eyes.

  For the next two, three minutes nothing more was said. Now this is the life. Nobody waiting for me. No Asian diplomat to reassure. “Almost like a vaca-”

  The line pulled taught. “Got one!” The president smiled. He started reeling in the catch when a familiar red icon flashed in the lower-right corner of his eye. He frowned. “I could swear they know when I’m busy.” He thought of reeling in the fish himself but handed off the rod to Ryan. “Sorry son, work’s pinging me. It’s the red flashy alert. Gotta take that one.”

  "That's all right dad. Duty calls. We knew when you were elected family time would be rare as a wild albino gator."

  The president sunk deeper into his seat, rested his feet on the cooler, and spent a moment absorbing the placid lake and lush green vegetation rippling in the breeze. With a resigned sigh, he took the call. National Security Advisor Nancy Kido, a stern, middle-aged woman of Japanese descent, was already in VIRCOM when the president linked in. “Nancy, what’s going on?”

  Ms. Kido’s virtual avatar said, “I joined a moment ago Mr. President. Sara Wells and her team sent the flash alert.”

  “Sara, what do you have for me?” There was an edge of irritation in his voice.

  “Mr. President, the mission to hack Chinese satellite communications was successful. We intercepted a message from the Ministry of Science and Technology. Sir, as you may recall from recent briefings, last Tuesday and the Thursday before, the Chinese made a renewed effort at sustainable nuclear fusion.”

  The president interrupted with a mildly dismissive tone. “Yeah, we poured billions into the National Ignition Facility. It failed. Are you saying the Chinese made progress?”

  “Not only progress, sir. They succeeded. According to this intelligence, they ignited a reactor capable of powering the whole facility.” Sara’s shoulders dropped. “That building accommodates over two thousand scientists and staff.”

  The president froze in disbelief, then let out a prolonged whistle. Frickin’ great. The Chinese have unlimited cheap energy? In an election year, no less.

  “Has this been confirmed?” the president asked with doubt and apprehension.

  “Not yet sir, but we have every reason to believe the intercept is legitimate.” Sara leaned forward, her features set rigid. She sounded defensive.

  “Never trust a single source, Ms. Wells. Get me independent confirmation,” the president said.

  “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

  “Ms. Wells? Fine work, you and your team.” The president flashed his politician’s smile. “And figure out how long it will take them to commercialize the damn thing.”

  Sara’s tense shoulders and tight jaw relaxed, and she managed a thin smile. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  The president disconnected and dialed his National Security Adviser. “Nancy, can we trust this intel on China? The fusion reactor?”

  “The source is solid. NASA hacked a Chinese satellite twenty minutes ago. The information comes from that intercept. I doubt the Chinese had time to detect the hack and start feeding false intelligence.”

  “Damn.” The president’s jaw stiffened and the lines in his forehead grew deep. “Keep me informed. And tell Ms. Wells to stay on this, day and night.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. President,” the National Security Adviser said.

  The security craft drifted up to the president’s bass boat. A sharply-dressed Secret Service agent stood at the bow. “Home, Mr. President?”

  “No, Bob.” The president leaned back and crossed his arms. “There’s a lake full of fish that need catching, and the cooler’s still full.”

  “Are you sure, Dad?” Ryan took another swig of root beer. “If they red flashy you on your day off, I’m sure it’s important.”

  “Yes, son. It’s important.” The president sipped his beer. “You know what else is important? Family.” He smiled warmly at his son. “No matter what happens, don’t ever forget that.”

  #

  The aroma of espresso permeated Sara’s office. Tchaikovsky's Battle of 1812 raged on, the notes sounding from every direction, the deeper ones rattling an earthy mug perched on her desk. So-do-re-mi-re-do-re-mi-do! So-do-re-mi-re-do-re-mi-do! It’s been a week… a week! The president tasked me with running the whole show. That sure pissed off the CIA. A cunning smile spread across Sara’s lips. I can use every tool at the nation’s disposal. He expects me to find out something, anything, about the Chinese fusion program. What did I turn up so far? Nada, zilch, nothing. With a gesture, Sara sent her well-worn, mahogany synthwood desktop to the side and reclined her dark brown, faux leather executive chair. She took a long swig of warm goodness from her mug. Think, Sara. Think. She closed her eyes and sunk deep into her chair, gingerly touching her eyelids to stop the twitching. Tchaikovsky, clear my head. She dialed the music a touch louder. Thank God for soundproof offices. So-do-re-mi-re-do-re-mi-do-BOOM! So-do-re-mi-re-do-re-mi-do-BOOM! Think, Sara! They must have a chink in their armor, some way to extract information. They are good, really, really good, but nobody’s perfect. Information leaks out of any system. It always does. Think! Where do we need to look? What new angle can we take?

  Every morning her team gathered to report on the previous day’s progress and to plan the day ahead. Each meeting was a clone of the one before. Digital penetration efforts, no progress. The compromised Chinese satellite transmitted only routine messages for the past five days. Either Beijing had nothing sensitive to share with their overseas posts, or more likely, they discovered the hack. Orbital reconnaissance also turned up nothing new.

  Human intelligence gone dark. Gone dark. Does that mean the inside woman is scared? Is she dead? Did I get someone killed? Like in Iran? The missions she ran during the Saudi-Iranian war five years ago, intercepting and subtly reshaping information available to each side, directly prevented the conflict from turning nuclear. Fake news in the age of artificial intelligence, for the good of mankind. The missions also set her career on the meteoric trajectory that landed her the Deputy Director position at the unheard-of age of thirty-six. She devoted enormous resources to ensure her human sources made it out in time. Most of them did. Sara sipped her coffee again. Focus. Dr. Li’s personality simulation suggests she’s objective driven and unlikely to buckle under pressure. She’s either been arrested, or she’s dead. Shit. Either way, shit. There aren’t any other HUMINT assets close to the fusion program. I need other options.

  Tchaikovsky’s overture faded with a drum roll and the fanfare of horns. Play it again. She rewound to her
favorite part, the one with the cannons, and cranked the sound as loud as it would go. So-do-re-mi-re-do-re-mi-do-BOOM!

  Her door sprung open, and the blaring music escaped the confines of her office. A dozen heads outside turned to locate the source of classical music rocking the halls of the National Security Agency. No, no, no. “Mute,” she said. Nothing happened. Her voice was drowned out by the thunderous booming of nineteenth-century artillery. She grasped for the mute button. Silence fell over her office. The only sound was her pulsing heart and the throbbing in her ears accompanied by a faint ringing. Did I really just blast the whole floor with Tchaikovsky? The door opened further, and Jake stepped into the room.

  “Jake?” Sara asked. She forced a smile.

  “Did I come at a bad time?” Jake gave her a concerned glance. “Sorry, your receptionist must have stepped away. I just figured… I’ll come back later.”

  “No, just…” She brought her chair upright. “Why didn’t you make an appointment?” Probably because I pushed the last three he made. Jake’s hips were turned toward the door. Now look what I’ve done. He’s nervous. His fight-or-flight instinct is about to send him back down the hall, running from me. She stood. “I’m glad you’re here, Jake. I’m sorry for being so elusive.” She tried to form her trademark smile. The corners of her mouth struggled against the weariness of the past week.

  “I understand. Look, I know things are crazy for you guys lately.” He hesitated, looking her over. “You’re famished. I can tell. Come on, let’s get you a bite to eat.”

  “Jake, I can’t now.”

  “Sure you can. Everyone has to eat. Even NSA deputy directors.” Jake perched his hands on the back of her visitor’s chair.

  “I can’t. I need to catch a flight in half an hour.” In the age of digital networks and virtual reality, work-related travel was uncommon. Sometimes, though, spending time in person was the only way get a handle on a tricky problem. “I’m flying to NASA for some brainstorming.” And to visit a dear friend.