Ramez Naam - Apex

Somewhere out there, protesters were gathering. Maybe a million of them. Because they thought he’d lied. Because they thought he was a monster.

I never lied to you, America, Stockton thought at those people. If I’m hard, it’s because you’re soft. It’s because you don’t see the danger.

“Mr President,” he heard from behind him.

He turned. Jerry Aiken, his Chief of Staff, had the door open.

“President Jameson is here, sir.”

Stockton nodded.

They wheeled Jameson in. He was impeccably dressed in a grey suit and red tie, a prominent flag pin on his lapel. A man choosing to sit, not a cripple. Not an invalid. Not a man who’d been through three strokes.

His chair was obviously self-drive, but he still had some aide push it in for him. His own Secret Service detail came in with him.

“John,” Miles Jameson said with a smile. “About to start your second term!” He sounded proud. “And you still made time to chat with me?”

John Stockton met the eyes of the man who’d chosen him as VP eight years ago, who’d all but handed him the White House when health precluded a second run.

He didn’t smile back.

“I need a few minutes with President Jameson,” he said, his eyes still on Jameson’s. “Please leave us.”

Jameson cocked his head quizzically, kept smiling as people filed out.

When they were gone, and the soundproof door was closed, Jameson spoke again.

“John–” he started.

“Tell me it’s not true,” Stockton cut him off.

Jameson frowned. “What’s not true?”

“Don’t play this game with me, Miles,” Stockton said. “The PLF. That we created it. That you created it.”

Jameson’s face grew grave. “Oh no. Don’t tell me she’s got you convinced. Carolyn needs help, John. The job’s gotten to her. The woman’s paranoid. She’s clinical.”

“So you deny it?” Stockton asked.

“Every bit of it!” Jameson said. “Did you know she fabricated a story about an attempt to kill her? About some sort of covert escape with stealth gear and a helicopter?”

“Fabricated?” Stockton asked.

Jameson nodded. “She crashed her rental car, barely made it out with her life, made up some alternate story, has been telling people about it, some sort of James Bond story.”

“But it’s not true?” Stockton asked.

Jameson shook his head. “No. She might actually believe it, mind you, in some sort of paranoid delusion. But we interviewed the officers on the scene of the car crash. We talked to the flight crew she says flew her. She was in the car. She was driving. There was no helicopter.”

“And these witnesses will swear to this?” Stockton asked.

Jameson shrugged. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t.”

“Because you’re a damn liar!” Stockton yelled, exploding with rage, thrusting an accusing finger at Jameson. “Aiken interviewed those people. Two of them say they were offered bribes , in the millions to lie!”

Shock registered on Jameson’s face. Disbelief.

“CALVINIST,” Stockton said. “HARBINGER. SENTINEL.”

He threw the names at Jameson like slaps, every one an insult.

Jameson’s face grew enraged.

“You don’t get to lecture me, John !” Jameson growled. “You opted out of the hard calls.”

“Bullshit!” Stockton said. “I was there! I was ready!”

“No,” Jameson spat. “You weren’t. You’re still not.”

“We don’t fucking lie!” Stockton shot back. “Not like that! Not on that scale!”

“We lie all the time! ” Jameson leaned forward, staring at Stockton, punctuating each word with a sharp small movement of his head, with an extended finger jabbing down at the floor, like a school master teaching a thick-headed student. “We do whatever it takes to keep this country strong. You better fucking learn that, before it’s too late!”

“You can’t build a country on lies,” Stockton said. He strode for the door.

“John!” Jameson reached out, grabbed Stockton’s forearm with one outstretched hand.

Stockton pried it off.

“You’re going down, Miles.”

Bo Jintao looked up as General Ouyang re-entered the room.

“We were repelled,” Ouyang said. His voice was grave.

Bo Jintao’s eyes grew wide. “At Jiao Tong?”

Ouyang nodded. “They had anti-tank weapons. Cyber weapons.” He paused. “And the clone soldiers were there. I fear the Indians are correct.”

Bo Jintao felt fear crawl up his spine. He was suddenly aware of the other six members of the Politburo Standing Committee staring at him.

He’d warned them of this! He’d come to power on this basis! He’d told them that the progressives would lead them to a catastrophe, a loss of control, even a world where posthumans overturned the rule of humans.

But he hadn’t thought it would happen so soon!

“Hit them harder!” he told Ouyang .

The general nodded. “Already in progress. We’re moving military assets from the assault on People’s Square. Pulling up other resources.” He paused. “If conventional assault should fail…”

“It cannot fail!” Bo Jintao said. “Spare nothing!”

Ouyang bowed his head briefly. Then he looked up again.

“There is another issue. The deadline we gave to the American fleet expires soon. This is now a distraction. We should postpone it, give them another twenty-four hours while we deal with this more pressing domestic issue.”

Across the table he saw Bao Zhuang nod, open his mouth to agree.

Wang Wei spoke faster. “No!” the elder Standing Committee member said. “We don’t know that the Americans aren’t involved! They may be working with her! And we’ve told them to vacate our territory. We must follow through on our threats or they lose all power!”

Around the table, Bo Jintao saw other Standing Committee members agreeing with Wang Wei. He swiveled his head, and there were near universal nods of enthusiasm. All except Bao Zhuang and Fu Ping. One of whom he’d stripped of all power. The other had been humiliated by failure.

Fine.

Ouyang shook his head. “I strongly urge the Standing Committee to–”

Bo Jintao cut him off. There were only so many fights that could be fought at once. “We’re done. The Standing Committee has decided, General.”

Ouyang scowled.

Bo Jintao pressed on. “The warning shot goes forward,” he said. “But first and foremost, get to that cluster, and destroy it!”

At Dachang People’s Liberation Army Air Force Base, just west of Shanghai, the Avatar’s thoughts touched her servants, and klaxons sounded.

Unmanned Wuzhen-40s ignited their engines, propelled themselves down their runways, and lifted off into the night sky, loaded with ammunitions. Their operators, brains infused with nanites, instructions strongly imprinted on their minds, steered them towards Jiao Tong.

Protect the university campus.

Protect it against the Army.

On the ground, humans and robots fueled more aircraft, prepped them for takeoff.

General Ouyang sat in the helicopter he was using as a mobile command center, grounded on the pad at Zhongnanhai, thinking.

He’d given the order for the attack on Jiao Tong.

Beyond that?

“Patch me through to General Quan Huyan,” he told his radio operator. “Strategic Missile Command.”

The radio operator in the co-pilot seat nodded.

An analog radio signal was bounced from the helicopter to an aircraft flying lazy circles above Beijing, from there to a high-altitude aerostat filled with helium, then down a string of similar aircraft, until it reached his destination.

An old friend, now a subordinate.