Daniel Suarez - Kill Decision

“And ravens.”

She frowned. “I didn’t know that about ravens.”

He glanced back. “Like I said, I wanted to learn everything I could about them. For instance, why do they need to be smart-why smarter than, say, an eagle?” He slid down a rock face and kept talking as they moved.

McKinney contemplated the question. “It’s true-brain tissue is metabolically expensive. So unless it’s needed, excess brains don’t appear in a species.”

“Right. So why does a raven need a large brain?”

It was intriguing. McKinney realized she had no ready answer. “Okay, why?”

“To manage relationships with dangerous creatures.”

McKinney considered this.

“Ravens thrive around human communities. That’s been going on for tens of thousands of years. In fact, there’s evidence they had a similar relationship with Neanderthal before we arrived on the scene.”

“So what are you saying-they actively seek us out?”

“They seek out top-of-the-food-chain predators-and put us to work for them.”

McKinney laughed. “I’d be interested in seeing the research.”

“Assuming we survive, I’ll be happy to show you.” He scrambled up an escarpment.

“How do ravens get us to work for them exactly?”

“They lead predators to prey. Wolf packs will follow a raven and let it eat from their kill. Ravens helped ancient people find game too, and still do for modern Inuit people. So what I experienced as a boy has been going on since ancient times. They’ve gone to war alongside man as well-to feast on the dead. The Vikings revered them and put them on their banners. In every human culture throughout history ravens held a special place. They’re mystical, mischievous, good or evil, but never just a bird. Ravens have observed us for so long they understand us. But one misjudgment interpreting our behavior, and they’ll likely not live to make another. Working with predators is a dangerous game.”

She nodded. “That’s why they need to be smart. And the cooperation helps both species survive.”

“Exactly.”

McKinney looked up to see silhouettes sailing against the moonlight, watching over them. “And do you think they’re really aware of this relationship?”

“I’m convinced of it. They can solve complex puzzles to reach food without direct experimentation. They use their large brain for conceptualizing reality; imagining scenarios and calculating likely outcomes. No other creature except man can do that.”

“I must say you surprise me, Sergeant.” McKinney caught his gaze reflected in moonlight. “So how does a man like you wind up as an elite commando?”

He considered the question. “I know your opinion of the military, Professor, but barring some unforeseen advance in human affairs, the implied threat of violence is the only thing holding civilization together.”

“That’s a pessimistic view.”

“Where do you think political power originates?”

“Legitimate political power is derived from the consent of the governed.”

“Ah, you’re splitting hairs. Power is power.” He glanced back to her. “If we’re honest, power is derived from only one thing: physical force.”

“I couldn’t disagree more.”

He came briefly to a stop, studying the terrain and sky with the thermal binoculars. “How’s it go again? ‘Governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.’”

“Yes. Exactly. As a soldier I’m glad you know that.”

“And what if a government doesn’t listen to the will of its people? Or a citizen doesn’t follow the laws of their government? What then?”

“It doesn’t necessarily result in violence.”

He nodded. “Which is why human society mostly works; people avoid trouble. But behind every law is the implicit threat of force, and behind every vote is the implicit threat of rebellion. That’s the bargain that holds a free society together. And no society with a wide power imbalance remains free for very long.”

He motioned for them to keep moving, and in a moment they were bounding down a rocky slope.

McKinney was still troubled by his premise. “I’m not convinced that violence is the glue that binds us, Sergeant.”

“I didn’t say violence-I said the implicit threat of force. Think about it: Democracy only arose when the ability to employ force was decentralized. If you go back to the Middle Ages, the state-of-the-art weapon system was the armored knight. He cost a fortune to train, feed, and equip. But a mounted armored knight could overpower almost any number of peasants on a battlefield. And the distribution of political power in medieval society reflected that; authority was vested in a tiny minority, and the people had no choice but to obey.

“Then, with the advent of gunpowder, that all changed. Suddenly you didn’t need a highly trained specialist warrior to win on the battlefield. All you needed was a warm body who could fire a gun. Anything they could aim at, they could kill. And at that point the edge in warfare went not to highly trained warriors, but to the side that could field the most people. At which point we saw the rise of nation-states-and nationalism as a concept-as the logistical requirement for fielding an ever-larger conscripted army. But this changed the political dynamic. The nobles could no longer ignore the demands of their subjects. Those subjects now had the power to kill them or refuse to fight in their wars, and so kings began to cede more political authority to representative bodies of the people-parliaments, and so on.”

McKinney shook her head. “It’s so like a soldier to come to the conclusion that the gun created democracy. You do remember how many African nations are awash with guns without even a hint at democracy, right?”

“My point is that with autonomous drones, you don’t need the consent of citizens to use force-you just need money. And there might be no knowing who’s behind that money either. Drones tell no tales.”

McKinney examined the sky. “Ritter said, ‘Everyone wants this.’ Who’s everyone?”

Odin grimaced. “There are dozens of nations joining in the drone arms race-and companies too. There are just too many advantages over manned systems. Armed conflict is about to change.”

“We have to stop it.”

“I don’t think we can stop it, Professor.”

McKinney was surprised by his admission. “Then you agree with Ritter.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t say that. We might not be able to stop it, but we can sure as hell alter its trajectory.” He motioned for them to keep moving.

O din stared downslope through binoculars in the predawn light, watching a bustling truck stop that served the nearby Interstate. He and McKinney were concealed in a drainage ditch. They had peeled off their free-fall and flight suits and stashed them under rocks near an old barbed wire fence post. The Ancile Services shirts and jeans they wore underneath were wet with sweat from their nightlong trek, making the cold wind that much colder. McKinney was now shivering, exhausted, hungry, and terribly thirsty. It had indeed been a tough hump.

Odin lowered the binoculars. “Interesting. Over by the gas pumps.” He passed them to McKinney. She raised them to her eyes and noticed they had a built-in laser range finder. It showed their distance to the truck stop gas pumps as five hundred eighty-three meters. But what she saw at the pumps was unusual-several media satellite trucks idling or refueling, with camera crews and reporters sipping coffee and chatting. One was speaking into a camera under lights.

“Probably covering the plane crash.”

One of the satellite trucks rolled out of the parking lot, headed back toward the Interstate.