that was?” He thrust his hand at the building as if he could stab it and bring a piece of it down. “Because of my dear old dad, I'm a monster. A monster who can't be trusted to care for his sister. That's what the Sorter does.”
Dale stepped back, saying, “Look around you. This isn't the place to be doing this.” He pointed at the boy sitting on the sidewalk. “Do you think your kid wants to see this?”
“He's not my kid.” Camels walked backward, keeping his eyes on Dale. He thumped his chest as he spoke. “My sister. Dr Lane wants to take my sister away from me because the Sorter told her to. It told her my dad broke me for good. But I saved Alice from him. Do I get any credit for that?”
There was an inner voice telling Dale to ignore this idiot, but he didn't listen to it.
“I believe in what the Sorter can do.” Dale said. “But it's not legal to take someone away because of what it says. There should always be humans making those decisions.”
“Yeah.” the man said, “Well the doctor tells me that after tomorrow that all might change. Some vote in Congress that will give her the power. I checked and it's true.”
“I heard about that vote.” said Dale, and that was more than true. It was a big part of Blue Water's motivation to acquire Polymath in the first place. “Did you actually read the proposed legislation, or did you believe what some blogger said about it?”
Camels shook his head. “The words are just camouflage. The government always finds a way to do what it wants. Nobody believed the law gave the federal spy apparatus the right to monitor every US citizen living on US soil, but they did it anyway and got the courts to back them. It's not about the words; it's about how the words trick us into thinking we live under rule of law while providing hidden loopholes our clandestine agencies can use to accomplish their objectives.”
“And do you see loopholes in that law?” Dale said.
The lawyers at Blue Water had poured over the document and didn't find any. This is what they wanted. Blue Water was interested in a product with high market share and solid revenues, not something the federal government could interfere with. Dale knew what Camels was referring to when he talked about spying through hidden loopholes. Many of the largest Internet companies relied on collecting massive data on their users so they could sell this to advertisers. The NSA had seen this as an opportunity to look for people more interested in blowing up buildings than buying phones. The loophole was simple: who could deny the government the right to spy on its citizens for reasons of national security when those companies were using the same data to make a profit in the private sector? Blue Water didn't want that kind of attention or meddling.
The advantage of Polymath was that it did not sell what it learned from its test subjects to other companies. Indeed, Polymath learned nothing. The Sorter encrypted that data in such a way that its keepers could not access it. The Sorter relinquished only the conclusions it drew from the data, and only when these were relevant to the initial purpose of the test.
“What do you think is going to happen when they...” The man slipped his tin box in his back pocket. He used the free thumb on the hand with the cigarette to press the fingers of his other hand in order, ticking off his list. “The police, the justice system, the psychiatric and pharmaceutical complex – what happens when they're all allowed or even encouraged to follow this computer's directions? They'll do it, of course, and then have something to blame when it all goes wrong. And doesn't it worry you that this thing is centralized? I mean, who really controls what it says and does?”
Dale knew the answer to that. All of these words sounded like things Senator Paul Varden liked to say. Varden was another big topic of discussion at Blue Water and it was not just because of his strident opposition to the legislation. He was the fiancee of Marianne Madora, Dale's partner and protege. Marianne had assured Dale that Paul's views would not affect her performance and he in turn assured his superiors. They made her sign a document that would result in her immediate termination should this not prove to be true. Dale didn't need that. He trusted Marianne to do her job. More significantly, he trusted her to put the advancement of her career above anything else, including love. Dale was more worried that she'd give up a good man than give up a high profile assignment.
Camels went on, “Not that it matters.” He thumped his head. “Not that it matters. The Sorter will get what it wants.” He thumped it again. “Because I can feel it in my head. I can feel it programming me. I can't get it out and I can't let it stay.”
Dale had become certain of one thing. This guy's shrink was right to take his sister away. Camels was sounding more psychotic by the minute. Of course, he knew what the man's response to that was going to be. Camels wasn't crazy, the Sorter was making him crazy. Those chicken and egg questions had made the rounds at Blue Water too. It didn't matter to Dale; the Sorter was just a computer. What he wondered about now was the safety of the child sitting on the ground. He wondered if he should call someone about it.
Camels said, “Someone needs to stop them.”
Dale was saved by an employee of the sandwich shop, who opened it. He went in and Camels stayed by his van, watching Dale through the window.
“What was that all about?” she said.
Dale shrugged and she smiled at him. She was probably about college age. She was short and slender, with spandex pulled over an athletic frame. She wore her hair in a blond pony tail pulled through the back of a Red Sox cap. Dale watched her walk across the seating area.
She said, “I haven't seen you here before. Usually I recognize all the die hard fans; you know the sorts who wait outside for us to open.”
Dale tried to modulate his voice when he answered. He didn't want to sound like a creep who couldn't speak because he'd spent the last minute admiring her body, even if that's what he'd been doing. He did try not to be a dirty old man, but even as he neared sixty he didn't find his eyesight dwindling quite that much.
“I haven't been here before.” he said. “I just got off a plane a Logan. I'm meeting someone here. She's your die hard fan.”
The woman stepped behind the counter. As Dale went up, he checked his watch. He had only an hour. Lorie must know that this time it matters, he thought. Please do not be late. Then he looked up and found the woman beaming at him, waiting for him to find his way out of his thoughts.
She said. “If you know what you want, let me know, but I should warn you that the kitchen is still setting up and it may be a few minutes.”
“I'm told the egg sandwich will let me die happy.”
“Okay, give us about twenty minutes. Have a seat.”
He did. He looked out the window and there was Camels and his rocking kid. The man was watching the building more than he was watching Dale, but knowing this hardly calmed Dale's nerves. He decided it was time to call the police. He told them about a man shouting at strangers while neglecting the child that was with him. He repeated the last words the man had said. The officer who took the call didn't seem concerned. This was the city and it was full of lunatics. Had the man been physically violent? Had he proposed any specific violent action? No, he had not, but the meaning of their exchange was clear to Dale. He'd been there. He'd heard the tone of voice which spoke spoke of specific intent under that vague language.
I can't get it out and I can't let it stay. Someone needs to stop them.
Dale considered his watch again. He'd wanted to fly in with Marianne, but he had other obligations. His relationship with her was simple. Dale had sold his mortal coil to Blue Water soon after graduating college, but the prospect of making partner seemed more distant to him now than it had then. Marianne was something different. She was a bitch with steel toed pumps and a clockwork soul. That woman could own the company and turn it into something you'd never cross twice. Dale saw a drive in her that he wished he'd had. Marianne recognized that Dale could protect her from people who were
afraid of that drive, at least until she was strong enough to stand on her own. Unlike with his hostess at this sandwich shop, Dale didn't hold a single dirty thought in his head for Marianne. She was like a daughter to him, plain and simple. However, Dale had a real daughter to worry about and that is what he was here to do.
Lorie Benedict studied piano at Berkeley College of Music, here in Boston's South End. Last year she moved into an off campus apartment and began living in Boston full time. Dale hadn't seen her in eight months. Despite their rocky history through the duration of Lorie's adolescence, she'd seemed eager to meet up with her father. He only hoped she could get it through her teenage brain that eight o'clock really meant eight o'clock – or that she wouldn't take advantage of the small window of time and make an excuse to be late. Whatever happened, Dale would be on his way in an hour. Even if he couldn't be with Marianne on the plane, there was no way he was going to let her walk into Polymath alone.
I'll give you that hour. Then I'll go on to help the daughter I can rely on.
Lorie wasn't on time. Dale's food came and he finished it. As he stood up to toss wrapper and napkins in the garbage, he considered leaving. If kids could blow off their parents, could parents not do the same? Maybe,