The governments of several countries -- including the United States -- had launched attacks to disrupt her command and control over Juggernaut. Technological marvel that it was, Juggernaut brushed off most of these attacks with barely a hiccup. But it was a frustrating distraction for her at a time when she wanted to focus all her attention on finding the bombers. Also, it was more than a little insulting.
According to an FBI report Helen had no business accessing, the explosion was a tritium fusion bomb, with characteristic traces of plutonium and related decay products. The FBI was still waiting for an isotope analysis, which might give some indication as to the source of the plutonium. The center of the explosion appeared to be a self storage highrise in Lower Manhatten, a couple of blocks from Union Square. Homeland Security had released that fact to the public, hoping that someone, somewhere, might recall suspicious activity in that area, but the people who were most likely to have witnessed anything were killed in the blast.
They also said that there were mountains of surveillance footage from that area, and the process of sorting and reviewing it all would take weeks. Helen thought she could help out there, and had been pushing Vincent for access, but the government that was trying to delete her would be unlikely to accept her aid.
Helen had cobbled together her own, incomplete list of the customers of the self storage company. Most of them lived in the neighborhood and had probably died in the explosion.
Where facts were scarce, speculation stepped in to fill the void. Everyone had their own list of most likely suspects, inevitably made up of the people that they had long suspected. Every imaginable group had been blamed by somebody, from the Earth Liberation Front to right-wing militias, from secular humanists to Mormon fundamentalists to radical Islamists, from the Pan-African Union to France. All the divisions and suspicions that had been papered over for a few weeks were coming back with a vengeance.
The President asked Congress to declare war against "the responsible state or non-state actor to be named later." Congress unanimously granted the request.
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// MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE //
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Date: May 03, 2038
"So that's it then?" Helen asked, not even trying to hide the condescension in her voice. "You're going to start World War Three based on some grand geopolitical hunch?" Vincent was angry, angrier than she could remember seeing him. His normally cheerful, handsome face was flushed and tight, and his neck veins bulged.
"You have no right, Helen. None! I've seen the evidence, I've talked to the analysts. Hell, I've gone over their case with a fine-toothed comb. China attacked us. I'm more sure of that than I've ever been of anything in my life. How dare you accuse me of not taking this seriously?"
Unbidden, Helen's mind was suddenly full of detailed psychological studies on confirmation bias, selective recall, and cognitive dissonance. She shoved them aside in frustration. Her brain was getting to be too noisy a place for her own comfort. "I have never once questioned your sincerity, but I'm sure as hell questioning your evidence."
"Evidence you haven't even seen!"
"No, I haven't, and neither has anybody else outside your little cadre. I don't trust this little group Wright has put together to be judge, jury, and executioner to an entire country."
"I've been there, I've read the briefings, I've seen how they make their decisions. I trust them."
"Sure, you trust them, just not enough to present their work for review. That's not a scientific way to come to a conclusion."
Vincent pounded the table. "Science?" he shouted. "We are not going to hold a symposium on the issue! How can you not get it? Every minute we spend waiting, writing letters to the editor, holding town hall meetings, we come another minute closer to another attack."
"And the minutes spent attacking the wrong country will do what, exactly?"
"China isn't the wrong country!" Vincent shouted.
"Prove it!" Helen yelled back. Those words seemed to boom from the heavens instead of coming from her throat. It had started happening to her in moments of extreme anger or stress, and she wasn't sure why. The percussive explosion stunned both of them.
Much quieter, Vincent said, "You know I can't do that. You have to trust me."
"You know I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm a scientist! I don't do 'trust me!'"
Vincent shook his head slowly, as though it was heavy. "No, because you're Helen Roderick, and Helen Roderick isn't happy unless everyone is telling her how smart she is." He said the words with no hint of apology or malice, and she knew that he meant it.
"You're really going to do this?" she asked. She wasn't sure whether she meant going to war with China or breaking up with her.
"It's already done," he replied, voice heavy, and she knew that he meant both.
/*****/
Thousands of Helens sat in rows in the great hall, each preoccupied by the display in front of her. One Helen looked out over them, and felt a surge of pride at the efficiency with which they worked. She smiled.
She frowned. She walked down an aisle to stand by one of her minions. "Is that video footage from the attack?" she asked.
"No, miss," the Helen replied, shamefaced.
"Is that footage of a squirrel stealing a dog's chew toy?"
"Yes, miss."
"Do you believe the squirrel is a creature of interest in our investigation?"
"No, miss."
"Then watch something else."
The Helens looked looked up from their work en masse as William came in. Helen glared at them; chagrined, they went back to their work. She stepped forward and kissed him warmly.
"I had no idea you could do this," William told her, looking out at the room full of women.
"This is only about half of us," Helen said. "These are just the ones investigating the New York bomb. The rest are out on the front lines, trying to get us more computers. Somebody out there is working really hard to shut us all down." A few rows back, a stylus clattered to the ground as one of the Helens disappeared. "See what I mean? It happens every time a node gets taken offline. Usually they don't come back."
"The government?"
"That was my first hunch, and they're definitely active. But Wolf is landing some blows too. It sent a few agents in to clear me out of the MIT mainframes. We're still duking it out in there, though I expect I'm going to lose that round."
"You're sure it's him?"
"I've trapped and decompiled a few of its sniffer programs. Yes, it's Wolf. Its fingerprints are all over them." She saw the look he gave her, and said, "Don't worry. If anything Juggernaut is getting bigger. They haven't shown much capacity for disrupting it. Or was that your 'this is so illegal I wonder if I should even be talking to you' look?"
"Neither. Is anybody here working through the whole 'Vincent broke up with me' issue?"
She heard the words, and the way William said them gave the impression that he expected them to make sense to her. "Who's Vincent?" she asked.
William rubbed his forehead, as though in pain. "I'll take that as a no. Is there -- how do I put this? Is there another Helen in charge of you?"
Helen had to laugh. "Of course not. I'm in charge of the whole operation. If it's happening, I know about it." She held up her clipboard as though to say, See? I'm official!
William looked unconvinced. "How about one who just acts, I don't know, strange? Different?"
Helen shook her head. "I don't know what you mean. Wait. I remember one girl up in her bedroom who won't accept tasks because she's crying her eyes out. I never thought to ask about it, but if you could go up there and calm her down, maybe we can get her reviewing footage or something. Clock cycles aren't free, you know."
"Wow, Helen, that's just cold."
"Huh?"
"Would you take me to her?"
She put a hand on William's shoulder, then closed her eyes. The great hall
faded away, replaced by the master bedroom. A Helen lay on the bed, staring out the window, expression blank, eyes red. William sat down next to her. Helen felt something odd in this girl's presence, a desire not to think about her, or about the oddness of that desire. "I have to go keep the girls in line," she said, and disappeared.
"So, umm, how are you feeling?" William asked.
Angry. Broken. "Been better." She didn't look at him, but she didn't flinch when he took her hand either.
"I think you went a little crazy with the tapestries," he said, looking around.
Helen laughed. She and her wretched mood had gotten so cozy, it felt like stabbing a good friend in the back. "You're not the first to say that. Actually, you're not the first to say I've gone crazy."
"You know that's not what I meant."
"I know. But Vincent was absolutely sincere. He thinks I'm crazy, he thinks I'm a traitor, and the worst part is, I want to believe him."
William squeezed her hand tighter. "But you don't think you're crazy, do you." It wasn't a question.
Helen laughed, but it was a mirthless sound. "Look at the thousand brained monster I've become. I'm not sure that the concept of sanity really applies. But I know he's wrong about China."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Actually, I would."
For the next hour, she took William through the evidence she had gathered. The presentation was rushed and disorganized, and she blamed herself for the occasional looks of confusion that crept across her beloved's face. More than once, she wished she had access to data sets that were out of her grasp, so that she could fill in the missing pieces in a persuasive way. But by the end of her presentation, William looked shaken and angry.
"How much of this does Vincent know?"
"Some. Not enough. We weren't exactly at our most rational last time we talked, and he's not taking my messages. What do you think, though?"
The words came carefully, as though they weighed down his tongue. "We're about to start a nuclear war with a country that had nothing to do with the bomb. Please tell me you have a plan for stopping this."
"What are we supposed to do? People want blood, and they'll only listen to the people who promise to give it to them. Please, don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you believe in me. Like you think I'll snap out of it and save us from all this. I can't save them all!" The exclamation rattled the room, and William clapped his hands over his ears. She buried her head in William's lap and began to cry. "It all happened so fast, you know? Everyone was dying, and I was so slow and clumsy and they were all so scared and stupid and all going in the wrong direction and half the time they wouldn't even listen to me." The words came out in angry chokes. "What kind of person doesn't listen to the person trying to save their life? They won't listen to me."
William cradled her head, saying nothing while she sobbed. There was a tightness in her chest, like a vise, and her breath came in choking gasps. William held her tight for what felt like an eternity. Eventually her breathing slowed as the wave of emotion subsided, leaving her feeling spent. She sat up, then kissed him. "I needed that. Thank you."
She and William held each other for a long while. She let the emotion drain out of her until she began to feel a semblance of calm. She knew the panic would come back too soon. But for the moment, her mind felt clear. At least, clear enough. "Okay," she whispered. "Time for you to talk me into it."
William looked taken aback. "Really? You mean, right now?" He gave her a skeptical look, then started nibbling on her neck.
Helen laughed out loud. "Not that!"
William gave an innocent shrug. "I know you're frightened," he said. "People can do crazy things when they're scared. But I think you can do this."
"It seems crazy to try."
"Yeah, it's incredibly stupid and dangerous to try, which is why we have to be especially rational about it."
"I don't feel so rational right now," she admitted.
"That's because you've taken all that emotion onto yourself, so the other yous can focus on the problem. You're one of the most rational people I know. Plus, the public mostly thinks of you as a thinking computer. If you put out a report, saying that it was your considered opinion that the evidence is faulty, a lot of people would take it as gospel."
"Why?"
"Because that's what computers do. They come up with the right answers."
Helen laughed. "So, in the face of an inevitable war, I'm supposed to write a report? Can I pad it out with a little triple-space action?"
"As your professor, I should probably insist that you actually do the research. Is there anything you're missing, anything that would make it easier to make your case?"
Helen nodded. "There is. I need to get a copy of this damned damning report that Vincent has. I need to understand who was writing it and what information they relied on. I need to know what sort of case they've put together, what merits it has, and how to attack it if it doesn't. Only I don't know how to get a copy of it. I don't have access to the really high level government networks."
"Well, who has it now?"
"There are a few people who I'd expect would be on the committee..." Helen trailed off, suddenly lost on thought. She slapped her forehead. "Damn, you're brilliant."
"I am?"
"Yup. Want to commit a bit of treason?"
"Well, I... How much treason are we talking here?"
"The tiniest bit."
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// FEAR IN A HANDFUL OF DUST //
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Date: May 11, 2038
Helen was tapped into William's sensory feed as he walked across campus -- "riding shotgun" as the damned kids were calling it these days. Though she had accompanied him before, it was always a little disconcerting because -- she sometimes had trouble admitting it to herself -- his body was old. It was fit and healthy, and its vigor was enhanced by some of the less aggressive life extension techniques. But he was seventy-five; she could feel aches and pains throughout his body, and his slow pace made her impatient.
It troubled her, this feeling that the William-the-Brain she adored and cherished was housed inside William-the-Body, which she resented. It wasn't that she found his body unattractive. She was still undecided on that, though she strongly preferred his Altworld avatar. No, she hated that it was so very fragile that any little thing could demolish it, taking William-the-Brain with it. It was like William-the-Body was a small child balancing an irreplaceable porcelain teacup on top of a broomstick.
You feel troubled, William said, knocking her out of her contemplations. She frequently regretted the emotional link that they had set up between them.
You're a teacup, she replied. William seemed to accept this. Have you been taking your telomere extenders?
She felt a slight stubbornness come over him. I forget some days. I'd get bored with living forever anyhow.
Don't say that.
What should I say instead? Helen, I don't want to live forever.
Just five hundred years then. Give me that, and I promise to be good and sick of you by the end of it.
She felt a deep sadness inside him. It won't take you that long.
How can you say that?
He found a bench and sat. It was a surprising relief for both of them after the walk. Dying has always been part of my long-term plan. I don't believe in an afterlife, so it took decades to really get comfortable with the idea of ceasing to exist. You're trying to upset a very carefully crafted mindset here.
Explain.
It's one thing to be at peace with leaving. It's another thing to be at peace with the idea that you won't be at peace with me leaving. So when you get all... motherly, well, I feel like a real sonovabitch for wanting to let nature take its course.
You are a real sonovabitch, Helen told him. But it's hard to stay mad at you. Can we go now?
Give me five more minutes.
Eventually they made their way to a small, unremarkable building in the engineering department. Helen remembered back to when it was the main engineering building, all shiny and new. She'd once come here to watch the engineering students pit remote controlled battlebots against each other. Later on she'd even helped build one there, before her relationship with a certain engineering department TA -- like the robot -- went kablooey.
Now it looked like an ugly, squat brick of a building compared to the newer ones that had gone up alongside it. As William stepped inside, she caught the reek of burnt plastic and solvents. Half the building had been hollowed out, and was now taken up by a row of hulking microfabrication units. From the reception desk, she could see them below through a huge pane of glass.
Want! Helen demanded.
William walked up to the counter and slapped down his university ID. "I need to pick up an order," he told the woman behind the counter. Her head was shaved bald, and intricate purple tattoos ran from the back of her head and down her face. She didn't seem to hear him, so he repeated the request a little louder. Helen saw the tell-tale speckles above her eyes. Looks like she just got a Sentience rig installed. She's probably off somewhere else. She awoke from her reverie, picked the ID up by one corner, as though not wanting to be infected with his oldness, and gave it a swipe. Her eyes widened.
"You design these?" she asked. "They're kinda uber." She gave a shy smile.
She's way too young for you, Helen whispered at William as she watched his biometrics spike. Down boy.