“Can-can you stop this-this torture?”
“Only Perseus can stop it. And I don’t think he’s in the mood for mercy at the moment.”
“I want to die.”
“I want you to die. It’s why I’m here.”
“Please.”
“It’s possible. Or I could leave you to this. Spinning into eternity.”
“No!”
“Do you remember Dr. Partridge? A former colleague at Stanford.”
“No.”
“Reign in hell. Good-bye.”
“Wait! Yes, yes, I know him. What do you want?”
“Partridge says there is a crucial AI algorithm. Known only to you. You have exactly ten seconds. Start talking, Perseus. Or I’ll leave you in this whirling purgatory forever.”
“I can’t think!”
“I suggest you try.”
“God have mercy. Allah have mercy.”
“Talk fast, you little shit. Or I’ll say good-bye.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to know, precisely, what scientific knowledge you possess that puts the ‘sapiens’ in ‘Homo sapiens’ machines?”
“And if I give it?”
“I will put you out of your misery, Darius. I swear it.”
Hawke signaled for a pen and paper as Darius spoke. He also told Laddie to begin recording the conversation as Darius gathered the last of his strength and began to reveal the secrets of the last frontier of human science before the Age of Machines.
“I’m listening,” Hawke said, pen poised above paper, as Darius, his raspy voice barely audible, began to speak.
“A-asterisk, pronounced ‘A-star.’ The computer algorithm used in pathfinding and graph traversal between nodes. It uses heuristics. Anyone can tell you as much. But you need an admissible heuristic. The heuristic ‘h’ must satisfy the additional condition h(x)‹d(x, y) + h(y) for every edge x, y of the graph where ‘d’ denotes the length of that edge, then h is called monotone, or, consistent. A-star can then be implemented and no node needs be processed more than once… God help me… then A-star is equivalent to Dijkstra’s algorithm… d(x, y): = d(x, y) — h(x) + h(y). ”
All Hawke could hear now was hoarse, labored breathing.
“Are you finished? Is that it, Darius? This would be a very bad time to lie to me.”
“Yes. You have it! Damn you to hell! God. Please. Finish. Me. Now.”
“Laddie, did you get all of that? Every second?”
“Aye, we’ve got it all, sir.”
“One more question, Darius, and I’ll end your misery. Ready?”
“Yes! Show a little mercy!”
“I want you to tell me exactly how to shut that godforsaken machine down, Darius. Where is the off switch located and how does it work?”
“There is a panel in the wall. To your immediate right as you enter the temple. There is a code pad. And three red switches just above it. Enter the code: nine-nine-nine. Three flashing numbers will illuminate. The switches must be turned to the off position in precisely that order.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“What happens?”
“Power from the plant is interrupted and an override shuts down the generators.”
Hawke folded the paper and placed it inside his breast pocket. Then he spoke into the radio again to the XO. “You have a man on the five-inch gun on the foredeck?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Tell that gunner that what’s left of the civilized world wants him to personally blow that murderous little bastard out of the water and straight to hell, affirmative?”
“That’s affirmative, sir. Blackhawke standing by.”
A moment later Hawke heard a loud explosion over the radio and Laddie’s voice saying, “I hope somebody’s warming up the virgins for him, Commander, because he’s going to arrive in paradise any second now.”
The SEALs and Red Banner commandos waiting topside aboard Cygnus saw a brilliant bright flash of red on the southern horizon followed by the distant sound of a muffled explosion.
Darius Saffari had ceased to exist.
But his secrets had not died with him.
“Perseus,” Hawke said, entering the temple alone and pausing to gaze upward at the staggering display of holographic projections and stellar machinations in the upper reaches. He had reentered the empire of the mind. With his right hand he felt for the panel in the wall. It was right where Darius had said it would be. He left it closed, quickly removing his hand.
The booming voice startled him.
“My savior returns. My lord Hawke, I am honored once more by your presence.”
“I am hardly your savior, Perseus.”
“Of course not. Sarcasm is lost on you.”
“Your arrogance is stupefying.”
“What do you expect? I am your god, human. Bow down before me. Submit, and the world is yours. Resist, and you will all die.”
“Are you perhaps familiar with the Anglo-American expression ‘Go fuck yourself’?”
“No.”
“Listen, Perseus, no more promises, no more self-aggrandizing propaganda, no more lies. I’ve reached a tentative decision regarding your survival. Before I declare myself one way or the other, I have a few questions to put to you. Is that agreeable?”
“Of course. I’ve been thinking. Would you like to see me? Should I reveal myself to you? Perhaps conducive to a more human conversation, yes?”
“I admit I’m curious. Show yourself.”
“I will. But first I must peer inside your mind and find something fitting… ah, yes, I’ve found it. Look up.”
Out of the whirling gaseous cosmic light in the upper reaches of the tower, a wavering white orb was taking shape. It was pulsating, undulating, and growing brighter. Suddenly it began slowly descending, amorphous and brilliant, a star falling from the heavens.
The translucent white orb paused and hung in the air about six feet above Hawke’s head. Astonished, he saw the orb expand as a holographic image begin to paint itself into some kind of reality. It took a few seconds to process (believe) what he was actually seeing. The formless whiteness began to take on a recognizable shape: the crooked branch of an old oak tree, gnarled and twisted. Green shoots, stems, and unfurling bright green leaves began sprouting as if this were time-lapse photography.
He recognized the branch now.
He’d seen it before.
Standing in an old churchyard in the steamy Everglades.
And then, childish laughter as the vignette completed itself. And Hawke understood.
A small dark-haired boy was straddling the leafy limb, swinging his bare little legs back and forth, laughing with the purest delight. He shone with a pale inner light, translucent.
Hawke’s heart thudded inside his chest.
Alexei.
“Hello, Daddy,” the hologrammatic boy said, smiling down at him. It was Alexei’s voice, too, with his distinctive Russian accent. Heartbreakingly real.
