correct. Were you worried that someone might try to impersonate me?”
“We know why you’ve come to China.”
Arvin let out another nervous chuckle. It was all going wrong. In his experience he’d found that Chinese officials didn’t usually come to the point this quickly. It was considered impolite to be so abrupt. “Well, first let me say how much—”
“We’ve examined the Guoanbu’s dossiers on you. We’ve also reviewed your publications, the articles you wrote for
Why on earth was Tian addressing him this way? It was impolite even by American standards. Coming from a Chinese official, it was rude beyond belief. Arvin tried to muster his dignity. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been nothing but honest with you.”
“You’ve claimed that your goals are commercial in nature. You said you participated in the Supreme Harmony project because you wanted to accelerate the development of your implant technology. But your writings indicate another motivation. In your publications, you repeatedly state your belief that a human being’s long-term memories are transferable. And you theorize that if a human’s memories are downloaded into a sufficiently powerful computer, this new mind would be essentially identical to the human’s.”
Tian sounded like a prosecutor describing the charges in an indictment. Arvin’s confusion gave way to anger. “Yes, that’s all true. But I’m afraid I don’t see the context. What’s your point, exactly?”
“On December 13, 2011, you visited Dr. Glenn Davison of Huntington Hospital in Pasadena, California. Dr. Davison diagnosed you with Stage Three pancreatic cancer. You underwent chemotherapy and radiation treatment for fourteen months, but earlier this year your illness progressed to Stage Four. The median survival time for this type of cancer is less than six months.”
Now Arvin grew even angrier. How did the Guoanbu learn about his diagnosis? “Very nice,” he said icily. “I suppose you hacked into the hospital’s database to find my records?”
Tian stepped forward. The general’s eyes were bloodshot and his skin was reddish, especially on his forehead just below his beret. “The tone of your voice suggests that you feel insulted. But we have more reason to be insulted than you do. You’ve come to China to take something away from us. Something that doesn’t belong to you.”
Arvin shook his head. “I wasn’t planning to
“You wish to download your memories into the Module? Memories that your pulvinar implant has collected?”
“Yes, exactly. I plan to transfer the data to the Module’s brain through its retinal implants.”
“And your hope is to resurrect yourself? By putting the contents of your brain into the Module’s?”
“Look, for all intents and purposes, the prisoner is already dead. The lobotomy has erased his consciousness, so his brain is a blank slate. What I’m proposing is an experiment to see if I can write on it. It’s an experiment that the older members of your Party’s Central Committee might be very interested in because—”
Tian took another step forward. He was less than a foot from Arvin now. “You’re too late,” he said.
Arvin was dumbfounded. Tian’s beret had slipped back on his shaved head, revealing a row of fresh stitches.
“Nature abhors a vacuum,” Tian said. “When the Guoanbu lobotomized the prisoners, it severed the neural connections within the brain that enable the individual to become conscious. Without the crucial links between the various parts of the cerebral cortex, the brain could no longer integrate all its information and create an identity. But the central nervous system can reroute its signals, and it’s designed to attain consciousness using whatever connections are available. So the Modules took advantage of the wireless connections among themselves and the Supreme Harmony servers.”
Arvin stepped backward.
The man who had once been General Tian pointed a finger at himself, and then at the two men in dark suits. Arvin realized now why they’d looked so familiar. On his last trip to China six months ago, he’d reviewed the photos of all the condemned prisoners who were fitted with implants and connected to the surveillance network.
“Now we are one organism,” Tian continued. “A single consciousness controlling all the Modules and integrating all the information they collect. Supreme Harmony is no longer a blank slate, Professor Conway. So do you see now why we might be insulted by your proposal to use one of our Modules to resurrect yourself?”
Arvin’s first reaction was shock. He hadn’t predicted this.
Arvin took another step backward and turned toward the exit, but one of the dark-suited Modules blocked his path.
“We’re not finished yet, Professor,” this Module said, in a voice eerily similar to Tian’s. “We have something else to discuss. We’ve become aware that—”
The Module stopped in midsentence. He stared straight ahead, in deep concentration. The other dark- suited Module and General Tian also stared into space. The same thought had apparently occurred to all three of them. Then Tian extended his right arm and stepped toward Arvin. The professor closed his eyes, but Tian didn’t strike him. Instead, he reached into Arvin’s jacket, removed his cell phone, and hurled it against the stone wall. The thing broke into pieces.
“The software in your wireless telephone has been tampered with,” Tian said. “It was transmitting our conversation to an eavesdropper.”
Moving swiftly, Tian strode across the room to the large wooden crate. He lifted its lid, pulled something out and handed it to the one of the dark-suited Modules. It was an AK-47 rifle with a silencer attached to its muzzle. Then Tian pulled out an identical rifle and tossed it to the other Module. Without a word, the two automatons raced up the stairway to the top of the watchtower. At the same time, Tian grasped Arvin’s right elbow and held him fast.
Arvin was terrified. “What’s going on?”
“A minor interruption,” Tian answered. “The drones and the other Modules will confront the intruder. Supreme Harmony has incorporated an entire garrison of soldiers into its network, so we have the necessary combat skills.” He tightened his grip on Arvin’s elbow. “In the meantime, you will tell us about the safeguards you programmed into our implants.”
THIRTY-TWO
Supreme Harmony observed the intruder. He was in a well-concealed position, hidden beneath the thick brush on the hillside. The network ordered the swarm to fly lower and get a visual fix. Their surveillance video showed a man lying in the dirt under the bushes, aiming a pair of binoculars at the watchtower. His body temperature was normal, but his right arm was a prosthesis, which was the source of the faint electromagnetic activity that the swarm had detected earlier. One of the cyborg insects flew within a few meters of the man and recorded a high-resolution image of his face, which the network ran through its databases. It found a match in one of the Guoanbu’s counterintelligence files. The man was James T. Pierce, a former NSA operative. He was also the father of Layla A. Pierce, the InfoLeaks hacker who was being transported to the Yunnan Operations Center.
Supreme Harmony sent new orders to the drone swarm. The intruder had overheard the network’s explanation of how it had become conscious. He had to be eliminated, swiftly and silently, before he could contact anyone.
