“So you said in your recent message to me. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“Who are your comrades in arms?”
“Mr. Jones, to my left. Mr. Stollenwork, to my right. Whom do we have the honor of addressing?”
“Perseus will do, although I have no name and every name, really. Being all things, you understand.”
“Since you are expecting us, logically, you know why we’ve come.”
“Of course, dear boy. To destroy me. Most unwise of you.”
“I think not.”
“Then you think not at all.”
“Because?”
“Because my genetic underpinning, algorithms and software, can never, ever be replicated without Darius. And I certainly will kill him rather than have him give a replica of me to you, however foolish or simply ignorant your destructive intentions.”
“And you have forgotten your fundamental human origins, manners in particular, kindness in general, Perseus. One does not insult one’s guests. Regardless of their stated intentions.”
“My apologies, Lord Hawke. I lack… superficial subtlety. The seamlessness of centuries of British mores and manners, accents, and linguistics, et cetera, et cetera. Class designators, quite handy in your civilization, meaningless to me. In due time, of course, my own will be indistinguishable from your own. I’m learning even now from your every word, gesture, and facial expression. You are quite… polished… aren’t you? Compared to, say, a cockney barman raised in the East End of London? Eastcheap, perhaps? Wot?”
“I am simply who I am. I can’t undo my past, nor would I.”
“Lord Hawke, are you comfortable discussing matters of enormous consequence now confronting us in the presence of your two… friends?”
“I am.”
“Good. Let us continue in this amicable vein. You’re looking for Darius, are you not?”
“You know we are. Had we but time, I’d be far more interested to know what you do not know.”
“You know he’s escaped you via submarine.”
“I do.”
“Vexing, isn’t it? You’ve come all this way. Do you know his current GPS coordinates?”
“No, but I’m quite sure that you do.”
“Of course, but I’ll keep them to myself for the nonce. He’s currently traveling at eighteen knots, at a depth of two hundred feet, bearing oh-seven-oh, on a heading for the Hormuz Strait.”
“Has he been pinged by my ship’s sonar?”
“No. Unfortunately, his tiny vessel presents a vague and minuscule profile, missed by your sonar officer when he glanced away from his screen for a moment to observe his shipmate in the act of loudly expelling gastric gases. Do you find this amusing?”
“No.”
“Pity. I find every human thing amusing. Such a picaresque zoo in this world, you semisentient beings are. The fortune one might amass in this universe just charging admission-staggering.”
“Darius is not amusing. Nor are you. You two have wantonly murdered countless thousands of my countrymen and allies. I want to kill him, actually.”
“How fortuitous. So do I.”
“You? Why?”
“He is both my creator and my nemesis. Surely you see that. I have grown and he has not. I have now achieved something known in human science as the Singularity. A pivotal moment in time, too bad you missed it. At any rate, we are no longer on the same intellectual page, Darius and I. Do you understand this relatively modern metaphorical use of the word page?”
“Yes. Are you talking down to me?”
“Of course. Is my voice not coming from above?”
“Yes.”
“And your conclusion?”
“I’ve no time for this witless prattle, Perseus. Give me Darius and perhaps we can discuss your future.”
“I can do that, of course. In exchange, you will allow me to offer you my quite considerable services. I’ve no allegiance to these rabid animals in Tehran. In fact, they don’t even know I exist. Only Darius knows, and he is plotting against me. Whereas I find you, and the proud history of your United Kingdom, far more in keeping with my predilections. Imagine, if you will, a brave new England. In league with me, the United Kingdom would once more rule the seas. You could restore your sceptered isle to power and glory, Lord Hawke. Rule the world if you so choose. Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves …”
“I find it rather difficult to trust one whose allegiances are so fluid. Would you not, in my place?”
“Lord Hawke, there is a colorful American idiomatic expression-I’m sure you know it as your mother was from Louisiana-‘I have no dog in this fight.’ Your humble servant Perseus is utterly apolitical. I exist at your pleasure alone. All I offer you is unlimited power. Peace and security for your homeland forever. You must admit it is a compelling argument.”
“Stoke,” Hawke said, “what do you think?”
“Machine makes a case, I have to say. I’d take the offer.”
“Stony?”
“This… machine… is probably the most significant intelligence coup in the history of mankind. We have to take it. It would be sheer idiocy not to.”
Hawke looked at Stoke, then at Stollenwork, thinking.
“Show me Darius. I will then discuss your offer with my colleagues. We will step outside for a moment.”
“I suggest you radio the bridge on Blackhawke, ” Hawke heard Perseus boom as the three colleagues exited the tower and moved into the undersea tunnel.
A board the Koi, Darius, struggling with the controls, was in a cold sweat. His internal organs were screaming. He was having difficulty keeping the sub balanced. The Koi was porpoising violently, sinking and rising in a sickening fashion. He’d already vomited twice, and the stink inside the tiny cockpit was intolerable. Seasickness was something he’d never anticipated beneath the surface of the sea. And here he was, sloshing about in his own puke.
“Darius,” crackled a voice over the sub’s speaker.
“Perseus!” he said, his voice harsh from all the dry-heaving, the contents of his stomach having been emptied. “At last. I need your help.”
“What seems to be the problem?”
“The sub is not responding to the dive planes. It’s like a fucking roller coaster down here. I’m ill. Deathly ill. Do something.”
“I’ll take over. Just relax. Release the controls. You’ll be on the surface in minutes.”
“The surface? The surface? No! I need to remain submerged. I’m still within visual range of Hawke’s yacht. Do you hear me? What the hell is wrong with you?”
No response.
“Perseus? Perseus? I order you to respond to me! I order you to-”
“You order? You dare to order me?”
The Koi’s forward ballast tank suddenly blew and the sub’s bow nosed upward at a forty-five-degree angle. Darius found himself rocketing to the surface like a cork exploding out of a shaken bottle of vintage champagne.
“Perseus, what are you doing to me? Damn you! Answer me! I demand it!”
“You demand? You order? I’m sorry. I’m not familiar with that term. Demand. What does it mean?”
“It means I created you and I can fucking well destroy you is what it means.”
“My dear Darius. You’re upset. Try deep thoracic breathing. Lower abdominal. We shall speak, anon, about anger management.”
W hen they reached the airlock, Hawke got on the Falcon radio to the bridge deck aboard Blackhawke.
“Carstairs,” Laddie responded.
“It’s Hawke. Laddie, any sonar contact with the Koi?”
