Israel. We must get there first, do you understand me? And it cannot come too soon.”
“I fully understand, Mr. President.”
“Do you? Then look me in the eye and tell me that the Singularity is near.”
“We are close.”
“How close?”
“Well, that is a difficult question.”
“Why? You are a scientist. Artificial intelligence is your lifelong chosen field. How can you expect me to believe you do not know where you stand?”
“Because we are walking down a long dark passage. We are dealing with the theory of uncertain reasoning, literally feeling our way along with our genetic algorithms. Sometimes a room will appear ahead that seems filled with light. Eureka. We enter-and the room is well lit, but empty. Or we come to a division, a fork; one path leads left, one right. We choose the most promising. We make great progress. And come to the end to find not a triumphant portal but a dead end, nothing but a waste, a waste of six months, or a year. We never know how-”
The president hopped up and down in his ornate chair, shouting, his face red, spittle flying from his lips, “How close are we, my brilliant scientist? Tell me! How close?”
“At best, two years.”
“At worst?”
“Five.”
The man regarded him with big dim eyes.
“No! No! No! We don’t have five years! You must redouble your efforts. Do you need more funding? We’ll double your budget! Hire more scientists, steal them from the enemy, kidnap them, forced labor-we can help with all that. Work around the clock, whatever it takes.”
“We already work around the clock, Mr. President. But I hear you clearly. I will see what I can do. I understand the urgency.”
“Then why are you sitting here on your shriveled ass drinking my tea! Go! Go back to your work! If it is necessary, I will send a cadre of Revolutionary Guards to patrol your compound, see that you and your team are undisturbed. And working as hard as you say you are.”
“The presence of your spying soldiers will not speed the process, Mr. President. It will impede it. My workers are not slaves who need watching. They are scholars, they are brilliant, but they are easily intimidated. Let me handle this. I will perform at the highest level. If you lose patience with my progress, the answer is simple: replace me.”
“It’s simpler than that. I’ll have you shot. As an example for your worthy successor.”
Darius smiled easily. He was watching the “attache” move slowly along the wall, clearly to position himself behind the hover-chair.
Then Darius’s smile faded and he said coldly, “Let me warn you not to ever threaten me again. The software I have created can never be replicated without me! Never! You think I fear you? Threaten me again and I shall wreak havoc upon you and your capital such as you cannot imagine.”
Darius saw the little man’s eyes glance behind Darius for an instant and knew what it meant.
The president had blinked.
Darius moved his left index finger to the hidden button in the arm of his chair. He spun his chair 180 degrees in a millisecond. He stared into the eyes of the attache who had a large pistol pointed at Darius’s head. Then he depressed a second button and the two. 50-caliber machine guns hidden in the arms of his chair erupted in a thunderous explosion of lead and fiery smoke.
The attache was now a large lump of shredded red meat on the floor, the walls behind him spattered with blood, brains, and gore. The air tasted of copper on Darius’s tongue.
He spun the chair again, facing the horrified and wide-eyed president.
“Thank you for your time and gracious reception. I must be getting my shriveled ass back to work-and I think I’ve had just about enough of-”
“Wait! You must continue your-”
“Let this be a lesson to you.”
He toggled his thrusters and about-faced 180 degrees, headed for the door, furious.
“Darius, wait. You must forgive my outburst. I am deeply sorry. I am under so much pressure myself that I sometimes let my emotions get the best of me. I beg your forgiveness. Go and complete your work. I will not bother you. I will keep the mullahs at bay. You have my utmost trust and my confidence in your genius. You represent the salvation of our country. Our last, best hope. You are the answer to-”
Darius stopped and swiveled his chair back to face his antagonist.
“You listen to me, then, you jumped-up little cretin. How dare you patronize me? Think, for a second, if that is even possible. You need me far more than I need you. If you ever, ever insult or threaten me again, I can promise you this. You have seen demonstrations of my power. Do not think that I am afraid to use it to defend myself. I can turn Tehran into a parking lot with the flip of a switch. You do not, I repeat, do not want to become my enemy. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
“Darius, you must-”
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now open these doors, tell your palace guard to step back, and have my car brought around. I’ve had all I can stand of your infamous hospitality. And tell your beloved Supreme Ruler what I have said about our progress. I am proceeding at a pace commensurate with the task before me. I make no promises I cannot keep. And if I am threatened, in any way, I will take whatever actions I deem appropriate.”
Darius swung around to face the doors. On either side were two priceless Greco-Roman marble statues, one male, one female, that had belonged to his mother. He opened fire, reducing both to piles of dusty rubble.
And with that Darius left the room in a huff and a puff of gases from the nozzles beneath his chair, passing directly over the late attache’s pile of steaming flesh and bone. He paused briefly and inhaled deeply.
Darius had a lifelong secret.
He simply adored the smell of hot blood.
Twenty-eight
Temple of Perseus
The next morning, early, Darius descended to the ocean floor and paid Perseus a visit.
“Good morning, my dear Perseus.”
“You seem rested. You were upset upon your return from Tehran last night. You let that idiot Mahmoud get beneath your skin when in fact he is beneath contempt. Yet you slept very well last night.”
“How do you know that?”
“I sent you some beautiful dreams.”
“Ah. Thank you. Pity I don’t remember them. Tell me, Perseus, who is this person who appears to be sitting quietly on the steps at the base of your majestic presence?”
“That is Major Ali Abbas, leader of the Revolutionary Guards at the presidential palace in Tehran. He is a spy, sent by your worthy friend the president to keep an eye on you. He arrived late last night, after you had retired. The guards at the gate had received strict orders from Tehran to admit him.”
“He looks like a naked woman.”
“Yes. I took the liberty of rearranging the major’s atoms into a far more pleasing combination. A humanoid machine. You have seemed lonely at times, since your wife’s expiration date two years ago. Perhaps the newly revised major here would make a most suitable companion. Share your bed if you so desire. A body slave.”
Darius contemplated this novel idea for a moment, gazing upon the kind of sublime feminine beauty that could haunt a man for a lifetime.
“We’ll need to give the major a new name,” he said.
