The Utopia Experiment

10

Jon Smith moved deliberately down the hallway, knowing he was being watched from multiple angles. It had been decorated with tasteful rugs and vases full of fresh flowers, but it would take more than the scent of gardenias to make it feel like anything other than what it was: a deadly shooting gallery designed to deal with anyone who might want to penetrate to the inner offices uninvited.

A former special forces operative appeared at the far end and Smith put a hand up — partially in greeting and partially to prove that it was empty. A brief nod was all he got before the man once again faded into the meticulously polished woodwork.

The Covert-One that had been authorized by the president after the Hades virus disaster was in many ways gone now. At first, it hadn’t been anything more than a precarious and diffuse organization based entirely on trust — the president’s in his lifelong friend Fred Klein, and Klein’s in his loose collection of gifted operators around the world.

As it had proved its effectiveness, though, it had grown. Now C1 had a place to call home and even a modest budget — one quietly siphoned from other government agencies without the knowledge of the American people or Congress.

Its very existence was incredibly dangerous for everyone involved — particularly President Sam Adams Castilla. In truth, Smith had initially suspected that cold feet would prevail and the organization would quickly disappear. Unfortunately, the world was becoming increasingly dangerous, politics increasingly bizarre, and the established intel agencies increasingly bloated. The need for a small, nimble organization that could be deployed on a moment’s notice grew with every war, rogue nuclear program, and terrorist attack.

Smith entered an outer office dominated by a modular desk topped with five massive monitors. All he could see of the inestimable Maggie Templeton was a wisp of graying blond hair over the top of the one in the center.

He was about to say something when her hand rose and a finger pointed toward an open door in the back wall. He took the hint and headed toward it, tossing his jacket on a sofa that looked like it had never been sat on. Best not to talk to her when she was concentrating.

“So what’s going on, Fred?”

Klein stood from behind his far less elaborate desk and took Smith’s hand in a firm grip before indicating toward a chair across from him. In a way, he seemed frozen in time — the receding hairline had stabilized years ago and his eyes never lost their intensity behind wire-rimmed glasses. And while Smith couldn’t prove it, he was fairly certain the man was wearing the same suit as the first time they’d met.

“How was the presentation?”

“The what?”

“Las Vegas. The unveiling of the Merge.”

So there was the answer to the compelling question of how a purposely obscure army microbiologist had gotten an invitation to a function packed with tech industry billionaires and reporters. Between his relationship with the president and his history at the NSA and CIA, Klein could get just about anything done. He rarely exercised that ability, though, tending to err on the side of not risking exposure unless it was extremely important. Sending a man to graze on imported shrimp at the Las Vegas Convention Center didn’t seem to qualify.

“I’m still trying to wrap my mind around it,” Smith said.

“So you were impressed? The president wanted the opinion of someone he trusts.”

Smith assumed that he meant in regard to the military or intel-gathering potential of the technology, but wasn’t entirely sure.

“The claims he made seemed pretty far-fetched, to be honest. But based on the reaction so far, it looks like he’s hit a home run with the hardware and LayerCake has a lot of potential — both good and bad. Right now there are only a handful of apps but once independent developers get hold of it, functionality is going to explode.”

“So you haven’t tried it yourself?”

Smith shook his head. “I haven’t been able to get within a block and a half of the DC store. I thought the lines would die down but according to the news, people are starting to camp out overnight.”

“Ah, right. Because it’s going to save the world.”

“That might be an overstatement.”

Klein reached for a pipe, turning it over in his hands before lighting it. “I have to admit that I’m skeptical. It seems like a smartphone with a more convenient interface. That is, if you define ‘convenience’ as letting someone drill into your skull.”

Smith grinned. “You’re not really the demographic he’s going for, Fred. The truth is that people have been happily using the implants with his hearing system for years. And while I’m with you that it’s not going to save the world, the Merge — and maybe even more so LayerCake — is going to change it pretty deeply.”

“I’m a little old to need a nanny, Jon. And if I did, I’m not sure I’d pick Dresner.” The smoke rolled from Klein’s mouth before being whisked away by the sophisticated ventilation system. Maggie had no tolerance for secondhand smoke.

“There’s no doubt that there are a lot of issues that need to be worked out but there’s no way to ignore LayerCake’s potential. Think about those speed limit signs that tell you how fast you’re going. That kind of immediate feedback has been incredibly successful in changing people’s behavior. Now consider a hypothetical app that uses brain wave analysis to tell you when you’ve had too much to drink and puts a little icon in your peripheral vision. That’s a powerful piece of data. And then expand that — create an environment where you know that the things you do will bear immediately on the way people see you. That’d make you think twice about your behavior, wouldn’t it?”

Klein scowled. “Dresner believes there’s a perfect angel in every one of us just dying to get out. I can tell you that isn’t my experience.”

“I admit it’s a little naive. But you could dedicate your life to worse things than trying to make the world a better place. I mean, it’s hard to overestimate his contributions, Fred. His work on the way the brain controls the immune system is on its way to wiping out autoimmune diseases. And his new class of antibiotics is making resistance an unpleasant piece of history instead of the looming disaster I guarantee you it was. Then there’s his impact on the hearing-impaired, the hundreds of millions of dollars he’s pumped into education, the—”

Klein put up a hand, silencing him. “Fine. I’ll concede he’s on the short list for the Nobel Prize for Medicine and if his apps can actually get our political and financial systems working again, I’ll give him the Peace Prize too. But in the meantime, I’m going to stay cynical and ask just what it is we really know about the man.”

“Personally? Not much,” Smith admitted. “From what I’ve read, his parents survived a concentration camp and ended up in East Germany. He grew up there and escaped when he was in his twenties.”

“That’s the public story.”

“There’s a private story?”

Klein nodded and took a drag on his pipe. “His father was a physicist and his mother was a medical doctor. Both were extremely talented and were put to good use by the Soviets, but then fell out of favor for some reason and ended up in prison. It appears that they were captured trying to escape to the West. Christian, who was six at the time, got sent to an orphanage. Then, a few years later, his own talents were recognized and he was given the opportunity to earn PhDs in biology and neuroscience, which he did by the time he was eighteen. When he got out he went to work for the communists, but we’ve never been able to determine in what capacity — bioweapons would be a good guess. After a few years, he and a young psychologist named Gerhard Eichmann managed to jump the wall and Dresner went to work for a Munich company that did pharmaceutical research. He proved too unstable, though, and was fired after less than a year. That was 1973. A year later, he’d put together enough private capital to finance a start-up and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Okay,” Smith said. “But I still don’t understand your interest in all this and how I fit in. You didn’t call me to air Steve Jobs’s dirty laundry when the iPad came out.”

“The iPad doesn’t link directly to people’s brains and it doesn’t constantly gather information to create its own universe of good and evil. If this thing is as indispensable as everyone says, half the industrialized world is going to be hooked up to it within a few years. That gives a man we don’t know much about a hell of a lot of power.”

“Dresner isn’t twenty-four anymore, Fred. Was he unstable at the time? Why wouldn’t he be? It sounds like his parents were probably executed and by all reports, those East German orphanages weren’t all sunshine and candy canes.”

Klein just sat there and pulled on his pipe.

“Come on, Fred. You didn’t call me in here to tell me about Christian Dresner’s spotty work history. There’s more, isn’t there?”

“A bit.”

“You have me on the edge of my seat. How did the Merge get on Covert-One’s radar?”

“In fact, it’s not. You’re here today as a soldier.”

Smith’s brow furrowed. “Okay. You’ve got my attention.”

“Dresner’s created a military version of the Merge and he’s cooked up some scheme to give the U.S. exclusive rights to it.”

Smith couldn’t hide his surprise. “A military version? Dresner’s never gotten within a mile of creating something that could be used as a weapon. And what does ‘exclusive’ mean?”

“All I know is that his people contacted the Pentagon and want a meeting. It’s really not all that surprising. If Dresner believes that politics and the financial industry are destroying the world and need his supervision, he sure as hell thinks the military does.”

“So you figure there are going to be strings attached.”

“My guess is that he’s somehow angling to try and fix us,” Klein responded. “To give us something that will eventually lead us not to fight.”

“I’ll buy that. And, frankly, if he can pull it off I’ll buy him a beer.”

“The president doesn’t disagree, but he wants to make sure that we understand what we’re getting into and that the Merge is used in a way that suits our purposes. Not just Dresner’s.”

“So I still don’t understand my role in all this.”

“General Montel Pedersen is meeting with the CEO of Dresner Industries this afternoon and you’re going to tag along. You have the combination of scientific and operational backgrounds to understand the technology and Sam trusts your judgment.”

Smith winced. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Fred. Emerging technologies are Pedersen’s sphere of influence and he and I aren’t fans of one another.”

“Really?” Klein said, though it was unlikely this was something he was unaware of. “Why not?”

“Speaking just between us, he’s a megalomaniacal half-wit who has a huge say in what cutting-edge technologies get adopted by the military but can barely turn on a computer. On the other hand, he thinks I’m an arrogant jackass who doesn’t know his place.”

“I won’t take sides,” Klein said with a barely perceptible smile. “You’ll be going as his aide.”

“Seriously Fred, I could name three or four really talented people who’d do a great job on this. I don’t think the president understands how much this guy despises me.”

When Klein spoke again, there was an obvious dismissal in his tone. “Oh, he understands perfectly. He just doesn’t care.”