Ramez Naam - Apex

They surprised her. They did well. Sometimes, when they were in groups, scarily well.

Sunday night, Sarai asked if she could stay up later than the others, for just a little bit. She was the oldest. Sam gave her permission. Just one hour. They took a walk, through the campus, between the trees, under the stars. Sam took Sarai’s hand in hers. The air smelled of jasmine. It was pleasantly cool, a benefit of Bangalore’s elevation.

“What am I thinking?” Sarai asked.

Sam laughed and looked at the girl.

“You’re thinking that turnabout is fair play.”

“I miss Jake,” Sarai said.

“Oh, sweetie.” Sam pulled her closer.

“What do you do when you’re sad that he’s gone?” Sarai asked.

Sam’s heart ached.

“Sometimes…” she said. “I cry. Sometimes I meditate. Or I run.” She paused. “It takes time. The heart heals, like anything else.”

She turned Sarai towards her, looked her in the eyes. “And other times, when I miss Jake, I remember that I only have you in my life because of him.” She looked up at the stars. “And that he’d be so happy about the things that have happened. That you’re safe. That the world is a better place for kids who are special.”

They walked again.

As they returned home, to the former base commander’s home converted to their use, Sarai spoke. “I think it’ll be easier when you’re back.”

That night, as Sam drifted off to bed, she wondered if she was selfish for not taking the Nexus again yet.

Maybe I’m ready. Maybe I’d help the kids more than I’d hurt them.

She woke hours later in a panic attack, Jake dying in her arms again.

Her heart was pounding. Her chest was heaving. Her skin was lathered in sweat. Her sheets were soaked.

“You’d be happy,” she told his ghost. “You’d be so happy. Thank you.”

Then she forced herself up, to the floor, forced herself into a cross-legged seated position, forced herself to her other therapy.

Anapana : observe the breath. Observe the thoughts rising. Still the mind.

Then vipassana : observe the body, go deeper, watch without judgment as the mind works, as it stills. Tranquility grows as insight arrives.

Then metta : the meditation of loving-kindness.

Let the compassion rise. Let the loving-kindness rise. Recognize that the source is infinite. Direct the flow outward. Outward towards Jake, who’d given her so much love, who’d mentored and cared for these children, who’d shared those precious months with her. Towards Kevin, who’d saved her, who’d mentored her. Towards her parents, who deserved so much better than what they got. Towards a long list of people who’d been there for her, or whom she’d harmed, or simply known.

Towards Kade and Rangan and Ilya and Su-Yong Shu who’d made this thing, Nexus, that would let her connect with these children again. Someday.

And finally towards herself, flawed, but healing, and growing, and doing the best she could.

At the end of it all, she felt washed clean, rinsed out by the loving-kindness.

I’m not ready yet, she told herself. Not yet. But I’ll get there.

She walked into her new office later that morning, past the security checkpoints and the palm scanner and the retinal scanner and all the rest.

Her office-mate was there, waiting for her, one arm in a sling.

“Morning, Feng,” Sam said.

Feng swiveled his chair and grinned at her. “Good morning, co-worker Samantha!”

In his good hand was a steaming mug of tea emblazoned with the words “ASK ME ABOUT HUMAN CLONING”.

Sam laughed.

Feng laughed in response, bouncing up and down in his chair like a little boy, utterly delighted, green tea sloshing out of his mug and all over him.

Sam shook her head and kept laughing.

Feng saw the tea spilling everywhere, and that just made him laugh harder, uncontrollably hard, bouncing even more, the mug shaking up and down vociferously.

Steaming hot green tea splashed everywhere.

Sam laughed harder, hands rising to her face, seriously worried she couldn’t breathe she was laughing so hard.

Feng threw back his head, howling uproariously with delight, utterly unphased by the scalding hot liquid.

Sam collapsed into her own chair, hands clenched around her belly, aching with laughter.

Oh, Feng.

Eventually, there was no more tea in the mug. Feng went to get towels, and Sam surveyed the office.

They were officially external advisors. Consultants on Division Six’s refactoring. She wasn’t actually sure to what extent the Indians expected them to add value, and to what extent this was simply a way to keep them close, and under observation. But it sure was a nice office.

And she really couldn’t beat the company.

Sam looked over, at where Feng had returned and was trying to mop up the mess he’d made. She suppressed a chortle. She crossed to the window instead.

“Never allowed to laugh when I was being trained,” Feng said. “Very serious childhood! Guess I’m not so coordinated that way.”

“Mhmmm,” Sam said, grinning. “Or you did that on purpose.”

“Me?” Feng sounded hurt. “Never!”

They were up on the third floor. From here, the view took in one of the many green open spaces of the research campus. And in fact, if she slid as far as she could to one edge of the window…

Sam smiled to herself.

Yes. From one side, she had a partial view of the building she was most interested in.

The building she knew the least about.

The building where that fellow she’d noticed the night of the reception worked. That fellow who’d acted nervous. That fellow who’d left early.

From here, she could just barely see the building where Varun Verma worked.

And she’d be keeping an eye on it.

Yes she would.

46

Escalating Tensions

Monday 2040.11.26

Carolyn Pryce watched and listened as Admiral Stanley McWilliams, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, stood to give his portion of the briefing on the situation with China.

Alan Keyes, the Director of the CIA, had already given his part. And it was maddening, full of conjecture, gaps in the data, internal inconsistencies. The President had grilled Keyes on them.

Pryce had read all the reports already. Who was Bo Jintao? Was the State Security Minister really the man in charge of the country now? No, some reports said, Bao Zhuang was still Party General Secretary, still President of the state. That’s exactly what the Chinese Ambassador had told SecState last week.

Ignore that, other reports said, Bo Jintao was now Chairman of the Party Security Committee and suddenly Premier of the State Council. He was suddenly the number two man in the country, politically, but also retained his control of the police and now had control of the military, something almost unprecedented. And his rivals, like Sun Liu, were on the outs. Bao Zhuang had been the moderate, the neutral in those disputes between the pro-democracy, pro-advanced technology progressives on the one side, and the pro-Copenhagen, pro-control reactionaries on the other.

Now the progressives were suddenly off to ‘spend more time with their families.’ Under house arrest was closer to the truth, from what CIA was able to discern.

She stared at the pictures of the various Politburo members arranged across one side of the Situation Room. Which of these factions, which of these men, had ordered the attack on Barnes? And why? Just to distract the US? It still didn’t make any sense. Could it have been someone else inside China? A rogue unit inside their military or intelligence establishment? Could NSA be mistaken entirely? It wasn’t unknown.

Whoever was behind it, it had caused a very quiet, but very significant reaction. NSA had upped its monitoring of Chinese traffic going through NAES, the North American Electronic Shield firewall that protected the US and Canada. They’d installed passive traps for the hack used against Barnes’s home, and other known Chinese hacks, on thousands of pieces of hardware, so it could be detected in real-time if it were ever used again. NSA was upping its efforts to crack communications of Politburo members, and especially Bo Jintao.