Captain Spencer appeared irked by her tone. He said, “I know, and I agree.”
Brodie asked, “Do you think those manacles can actually restrain it?”
Dixon shrugged. “Probably not. They’d slow it down, though.” She added, “If I had to guess, that whole show of keeping it in the brig, the chains and all that, was a bit of theater for your benefit ordered by General Morgan.”
“Why?”
She smiled slightly. “Best I don’t prejudice you. Enjoy your dinner with the general. He’s a character.”
Brodie said, “I have never gotten along with anyone described as a character.”
“How about eccentric?”
“I can work with that.”
“Good evening.” She turned and headed in the direction of the lab.
Brodie watched her go, then looked again at the brig and the little barred window behind which Number 20—a.k.a. Bucky—had by now had its key removed and was as lifeless as a pile of scrap metal.
We have won every engagement.
That didn’t sound like training. That sounded like torture. And that winning streak was against elite Army Rangers, for God’s sake.
Maybe the whizzes at DARPA and DEVCOM had done their job too well, and now, in classic Frankenstein fashion, they were tormented and hunted by their own creation. But at least Dr. Frankenstein tried to kill the monster he made. Caroline Dixon was spending her night looking for errant code, for glitches. The monster didn’t need to be slain. It just needed a firmware update.
Well, maybe she was right. Maybe the monstercan’tbe unmade. Maybe Pandora’s box does not close, and the future is here to stay.
CHAPTER 11
CAPTAIN SPENCER WALKED WITH BRODIEand Taylor toward the western end of the camp, where Brodie had spotted the two cul-de-sacs of detached houses during their approach in the chopper.
The air was growing cooler as the sun slipped lower in the sky, now sitting half behind distant mountains, and casting a golden light and long shadows over the base.
Taylor asked the captain, “Did you work with Major Ames before your assignment here?”
Spencer nodded. “We worked together for a couple of years at our headquarters in Maryland. I knew him well. He was my superior officer, but also a friend.”
“What was he like?”
Spencer thought a moment. “Brilliant. Driven. Also idealistic. He really believed in what we were doing here, and that technological advances could make war more humane.”
“There’s nothing humane about war,” said Brodie. “That’s why it’s called war.”
“You sound like Caroline. They didn’t really get along.”
Interesting. Brodie asked, “Why?”
“Well, they both thought they were the smartest person in whatever room they were in. There was also a cultural clash, civilian versus military. But really, it came down to the major’s idealism and Caroline’s more… clinical nature. Roger didn’t like the size of the gulf between the D-17s’ physical capabilities and cognitive limitations. It made him uncomfortable. He thought that given theimmense physical power we were granting these machines, they needed greater intelligence to at least mimic human morality. Of course, the operating theory is that a simpler algorithm with very clear behavioral parameters will lead to a more predictable—and therefore safer—automaton.”
“It didn’t really work out that way,” said Brodie.
Spencer did not respond.
Taylor asked him, “Did you share the major’s concerns?”
“No. I was busy focusing on what we were doing here day to day. Roger was the one always looking ahead.”
Brodie wanted to see if the captain brought up the major’s mushroom munching without being asked directly. “You said you knew him well. Did you socialize outside the lab?”
