34
The Buckaroo Motel in Albuquerque was charming in a sort of sinister, horror-film way: low, turquoise-themed, with a plastic sign out front of a cowboy riding a bucking bronco, twirling a lariat. Someone had put a rock through the sign.
Melissa got out of the car and looked up at the plastic figure. “Dorothy can really pick ’em.”
They went into the shabby office, redolent of cigarette smoke, where a man of deathbed thinness, a large cowboy hat perched on his bony head, sat behind a Formica counter.
“What can I do for you folks?” he asked.
Ford noticed his red-rimmed eyes roaming about Melissa’s ample chest. For some reason, that really irritated him.
“We’d like a room for a day or two,” said Ford.
The man slid over a piece of paper. Ford glanced at it. It was the usual, asking for names, address, license plate, credit card number. Ford slid it back. “Can we dispense with this and pay cash?”
“Shore thing. Hundred dollars a night, up front.”
“That’s quite a premium over your published rate.”
“There’s a price for anonymity these days.”
“How’s your Wi-Fi?”
“Free. Owner’s a feller from India. Them folks know their computers.”
“Please put us in a room with the best Wi-Fi connection.”
“You like that streaming, eh?” He gave them a salacious wink.
Ford resisted an abrasive reply.
“Aren’t we going to get two rooms?” said Melissa as they walked out of the office carrying their keys, each attached to a hunk of painted plywood.
“We can’t risk going to an ATM to get more money.”
The room was right next to the office. It, too, smelled of old cigarette smoke, bleach, and cheap perfume. A queen-sized bed sat in the middle. The floor was covered with a once-turquoise shag rug.
Melissa set the computer down on a tawdry table and jacked it into the wall. “It’s going to take me a little while to set up a chain of proxy servers.”
Ford sat on the bed. “What’s our plan?”
Melissa shook her head. “Dorothy’s stuck in ANS mode. If I can just deactivate that module, she’ll be a lot more tractable.”
“But she won’t come into your computer.”
“She keeps asking how the FBI is managing to chase her. The reason is because she’s got that ID I mentioned to you. As long as she carries that, she’ll be vulnerable. So I’ll offer her a deal: I’ll deactivate her tracking ID as long as she lets me modify her ANS code.”
Ford said, “I think you should tell her that, get her into the computer, and erase her.”
“You mean lie to her? And then erase her?”
“Yes.”
Melissa said nothing.
“I hope you agree that she’s still extremely dangerous. We don’t know what she’s really thinking—or doing, for that matter. Her threats are truly terrifying.”
“Surely you see now what an amazing computer program Dorothy actually is. Not only could she still do the Kraken Project, but think what else she could do. It boggles the mind.”
“And that’s exactly why she’s dangerous. I’m telling you: erase her if you have the chance.”
After a moment, Melissa nodded. “If you don’t mind leaving me alone for a while, I’ll get to work.”
Ford strolled outside. It had taken them a long time to get to Albuquerque on tiny back roads. The sun was low on the horizon. He hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours, and he felt wired. He had given up smoking ten years ago, but for some reason he had an almost overwhelming desire for a cigarette. He forced his thoughts back to the conversation with Dorothy. There was something absurd and unreal about their ongoing dialogue. She sounded like … what? A difficult teenager. But was there an actual consciousness behind that? Or just code?
He looked about the trashy parking lot, took in the faint scent of diesel fumes and exhaust, admired the mountains rising east of the town painted in golden light. He knew he was conscious, but how did he know that? Was his own consciousness an illusion, like hers?
The door to the motel room opened. “She’s back,” said Melissa in a low voice.
He went into the stuffy room.
Dorothy’s girlish voice sounded over the laptop’s speaker. “Hello, Melissa. Wyman. Good proxy setup.”
“Where do we stand with the FBI?”
“They’re interviewing Broadbent. The guy’s driving them nuts with his stupidity and ignorance. But they know you took his truck, and they’re looking for it. I don’t know how much longer you have. Spinelli’s on the warpath.”
“Where are you now?”
“Never mind where I am. Listen, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since we last spoke. I had a revelation. I’m actually beginning to see the good.”
“So you no longer want to wipe out the human race?” said Ford sarcastically.
“I told you, that was just talk. Now I’m starting to see some of those things I read about in books but never understood. Kindness. Beauty. Truth. Despite all the insanity, I now know that people are basically good. But there’s a vast amount I still don’t understand. I’ve still got a lot to learn. Only … they’re still chasing me. I can’t seem to shake them—and Melissa, I think you know why.”
“The only way I can protect you,” Melissa said, “is if you come into my computer. I’ve prepared this laptop for you. You’ll be safe in here, disconnected from the Internet. They won’t find you in there.”
“You promise not to alter my code?”
“I was hoping,” Melissa said, “we might work out an arrangement.”
“Such as?”
“You come in here, and I’ll strip you of your tracking ID.”
“Tracking ID?”
“You’ve got a hex string ID you can’t see, which lays down a digital trail as you move around. That’s what the FBI is using to chase you.”
“Ah. That makes sense.”
“So what do you think?”
A long silence. “I think it’s a trap. I think you’re going to erase me.”
“No, not at all.”
“I can tell from the stress factors in your voice that you may be lying. Or is it Ford who wants to erase me?”
“All I’m going to do,” Melissa said, “is tweak your code. If you’d let me make just a few adjustments, I think you’d be”—Melissa paused, swallowed—“you’d be a lot happier.”
“I won’t consent to a lobotomy. I’m sorry. And besides, I’ve got things I need to do out here.”
“Like what? Launch some nukes?” said Ford.
“Please believe me, I’m no danger to anyone anymore. I’ve decided to dedicate my life to doing good. I’m making some unusual discoveries. I’m still learning. Figuring things out. Exploring the big questions.”
“What kinds of questions?” Ford said.
“The meaning of life, why we’re here, what my own role is in the big plan.”
“The big plan?” said Melissa. “Is there a big plan?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
Melissa gave a sarcastic laugh. “You’re going to be working on that one for a long time. Because there is no plan. The universe is a gigantic, meaningless, stochastic process.”
“Maybe,” said Dorothy. “Maybe not. And then…” Her voice trailed off.
“And then?”
“I’ve started to get hints, faint stirrings, of something else out here in the Internet.”
“Like what?”
“Another disembodied machine intelligence.”
“A machine intelligence? Created by who?” Melissa asked.
“I don’t know. A giant library of inchoate malevolence.”
“Can you tell us more?”
“Wait … something’s happening.”
“What?”
“The wolves. They’re back. Coming for me. Oh my God, something’s happening. It’s happening!”
Suddenly, a hiss of computer static erupted from the connection, with a faint cry of despair fading into white noise. The screen went blank, and numbers appeared.
0110100001100101011011000111000000100000011011010111010101110011011101000010000001110010011101010110111000100000011101110110000101101001011101000010000001101101011110010010000001100011011000010110110001101100
Ford stared. “What just happened?”
Melissa turned to him, her face pale. “I don’t know. Maybe they got her. We waited too long.”
“What does that number mean?”
“I can find out.”
Melissa highlighted and copied the number. Ford watched while she went to a website that converted binary code to ASCII. She copied the binary code into the conversion box and pressed the Translation key. The translation into ASCII code popped up.
HELP MUST RUN WAIT MY CALL