Apex: Nexus Arc Book 3 (10 page)

S
unday 2040.11.04

“…Our treaty obligations compel us to honor this request,” Aggarwal said.

Kade closed his eyes.

“Unless,” Aggarwal continued, “you give us your full and absolute cooperation in our plans for Nexus.”

Kade opened his eyes.

“I won’t help you spy, or coerce, or use Nexus as a weapon,” he told the man.

Aggarwal frowned and opened his mouth to speak.

The woman next to him cut in smoothly.

“Mr Lane,” she said. Her accent was crisp, British. “We haven’t been introduced. I’m Lakshmi Dabir.”

She moved forward as she spoke, lowering herself slowly into one of the chairs across the table from Kade, her dark eyes on his. She didn’t offer her hand.

“Kaden Lane,” Kade told her. “Kade to my friends.”

From the corner of his eye, Kade saw Aggarwal take the other seat.

“Kade,” Lakshmi Dabir said. “If I may?”

“Are we friends?” Kade asked, eyebrow raised.

Lakshmi Dabir smiled faintly and pressed on. “Secretary Aggarwal may have given you the wrong impression. Let me describe our interest to you.”

“Please,” Kade replied.

“India is now the most populous nation on Earth, Kade. One point six billion people. And we’re also quite young. There are three hundred and fifty million Indians under the age of fifteen – almost the same as the entire population of your country.”

“Not my country anymore,” Kade said quietly.

Dabir nodded slightly and continued. “The point, Kade, is that India has unparalleled human resources. If the human mind is the ultimate source of wealth – if it’s the most valuable resource that we know of – then India is blessed in that way beyond any other nation on Earth.

“But we’re also poor,” she went on. “We have the third largest economy on the planet. We have more than our fair share of billionaires. But, despite our efforts, almost a tenth of our population still live in real poverty. Only half of our children complete their primary education – eight years of schooling. And millions receive only a year or two at best.

“Kade, what you told Secretary Aggarwal – whether you guessed it or found it out through other means – is partially correct. We see Nexus as a potentially pivotal tool for our nation. If we can help our children learn faster, if we can augment their brain power, then we can help them climb out of poverty faster, and help them create more wealth for the nation as a whole.

“We want to uplift our people. We want to use this technology for the greatest push in human development the world has ever seen. And we want your help.”

It was almost exactly what Kade had hoped for. It was very nearly the best case scenario he’d imagined.

Yes, Kade thought. I’m in. This is exactly what I want.

But he was going to press for more.

Feng had agreed. Sam had agreed.

He had to. This was bigger than him. Bigger than them. Bigger than India.

Tit for tat. Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma. Break the cycle.

His heart thumped inside his chest. He wanted to lick his lips, forced himself not to.

He closed his eyes instead.

Sam’s voice was in his head, a study in controlled anger, in bitter strategy, moves plotted on the plane of the man she’d executed.

You’re valuable,
she’d said, growling out the last word, her hands clenched around the controls, as Indian fighters and drones guided them in.

He’d stared at her. He was so angry. She’d crossed a line, executing Shiva Prasad in cold blood, after he’d disarmed the man, after he was helpless, after the man could have been redeemed.

But he needed her. Needed her brain, her hardness, her experience with the world of spooks and spies.

You have bargaining power now,
Sam had gone on.
Not later. Not after you say yes to whatever they want. Now. Only now.

She’d unclenched one hand from the controls then, reached over and tapped the MISSILE LOCK indicator, then looked back over her shoulder at him, her eyes still full of rage.

Use that power, Kade
, Sam had said.
Make a home for these kids.

They had the same priorities in that, at least.

“Kade?” Lakshmi Dabir’s voice cut in.

He opened his eyes. They were both looking at him. He nodded agreeably to Lakshmi Dabir, his heart pounding in his chest again.

“I’m very happy to hear your plans,” he said. “Of course I’ll help. I’d be honored to.” He paused. “Under certain conditions.”

Rakesh Aggarwal frowned. Lakshmi Dabir looked at Kade quizzically.

“First,” Kade said, “India will leave the Copenhagen Protocol.”

Aggarwal laughed out loud. “Mr Lane, you’re in no position to set conditions.”

Kade breathed slowly through his nose, inhaled stillness, inhaled tranquility, exhaled the fear and doubt.

“Second,” he went on, “anything I help you with will be given away freely to the rest of the world. You’ll be first mover. You have the largest population. You’ll benefit most. But everyone else gets the same shot.”

Lakshmi Dabir raised an eyebrow. Rakesh Aggarwal snorted.

Kade pushed on.

“Third,” he told them, “you’ll introduce legislation ruling out any use of Nexus or any other neurotechnology for coercion, interrogation, or surveillance, even on the part of your police or national intelligence.”

Aggarwal made an outraged sound. “This is absurd. You can’t demand that we start drafting laws based on your whims!”

“You’re a parliamentary system,” Kade said. Outrage was easy to deal with. Factual debate was easy. “The Prime Minister’s party can offer whatever legislation she wants.”

Lakshmi Dabir was looking at him thoughtfully. “This is true,” she said slowly. “But we’re in a coalition government. There’s no guarantee our partners will vote for it, even
if
the PM were to want such legislation.”

Kade nodded agreeably.

“All I ask is that it’s introduced,” he said, “with an honest effort made.”

Aggarwal shook his head. “This is ridiculous, Mr Lane.”

“Fourth,” Kade raised his voice slightly, let his own passion rise, his own anger, his own outrage at the things he’d seen, let it chase away any anxiety that remained. “If I ever find signs of
any
surveillance, coercion, mind-reading, or mind-control tools built off Nexus or any related technology, I will destroy those tools, and I will
publicize
them, to the entire world.” He waited a beat, as Aggarwal’s face grew more outraged, as Lakshmi Dabir looked more and more thoughtful. “And if you involve me in this project,” Kade continued. “And if you build such things, I
will
find them.”

They don’t know what you’re capable of
, Sam had said.
You’re a question mark. Use that to your advantage.

“This is pointless,” Aggarwal said. He rose.

“Sit down, Rakesh,” Dabir said softly. “Hear him out.”

Aggarwal stayed standing.

Kade took another slow breath. A calming breath now.

“Fifth,” he said, his face cold now. “Your government will introduce legislation prohibiting discrimination and penalizing hate crimes against individuals on the basis of genetic, neurobiological, computational, or other enhancements, and give these laws
teeth
in places like Bihar province.”

Bihar, the orphanage, weeping in the ashes for the dozens of his children who’d died.

No. That’s Shiva’s memory, not mine.

“Ahhh,” Aggarwal was speaking, still standing, his voice dripping with contempt now. “Bihar. Shiva Prasad, eh? You know we landed marines on Apyar Kyun not long after you left there? We’ve heard interesting stories from the staff we’ve questioned. Is it true you have Shiva Prasad’s memories? Is that why you killed him? No more use for him?”

Rakesh Aggarwal leaned forward, put his hands on the table, pushed his face forward towards Kade’s.

“Tell me, Mr Lane: Did you pull the trigger? Did you put the bullet in Shiva Prasad’s brain?”

Kade closed his eyes in pain and shock.

Sam raised the pistol, pointed it at Shiva’s head, just inches from his skull, less than two feet from Kade.

“No, Sam. Don’t do this. He tried to do the–”

Muzzle flare. Shiva’s brain collapsing in shards of chaos. Wet matter splattering on Kade’s face.

She just executed him! In cold blood!

I could have saved him. Oh god, he was good inside. I could have saved him.
We
could have saved him, the children and I…

Memories were swirling in his head: swimming in Azure seas, playing with the enhanced children, testing them through the games his team had devised, watching the software they were architecting come together, the satellites launch, dreaming of the future he’d build, the future when he’d unite a billion minds together under his direction.

“Rakesh!” Lakshmi Dabir’s voice was sharp.

Kade’s eyes flew open. His heart was pounding.

Shiva’s memories. Not mine.

I’m not Shiva.

I’m not.

Aggarwal slowly pulled himself back upright, sneering down at Kade now.

Breathe, Kade told himself. Breathe.

I’m not Shiva.

I’m not dead.

And I didn’t kill him.

Aggarwal was still staring at him, contempt written all over his face.

Kade swallowed.

There was a script. Back on the script.

He forced himself to speak, to push for what he knew was right.

“Finally,” he said. His voice croaked.

“…You’ll introduce a…” he had to swallow again, “… a similar anti-discrimination motion to the United Nations General Assembly, acknowledging that the enhanced and augmented have the same rights as any normal human.”

Aggarwal shook his head in disdain. “In direct contravention of Copenhagen. It will never pass. The Americans or Chinese would veto it anyway.”

Aggarwal’s contempt was like a splash of cold water. It brought Kade back to the present.

He raised his head, looked the man in the eye. What did it take to get through, here?

“It doesn’t have to pass,” he said. “But I’m asking India to introduce it and bring it to a vote. If you want me to help you uplift millions of Indian children, I need
you
to commit to treating them like human beings. That’s what all of my conditions come down to.”

Kade spread his arms wide, near-crippled right hand and still functional left, a gesture of openness. “Show me that you’re going to treat those uplifted children well, and I’m with you. But if you’re not committed to treating people like people…” He brought his arms back together in front of him on the table. “Then
fuck
off
.”

Kade saw Lakshmi Dabir shake her head at that, a frown on her face. He’d crossed a line. Well, so be it. This was serious. Deadly serious.

Aggarwal sneered at Kade. “You’re in no position to make any of these demands. My government simply will not agree to them.”

Kade laughed bitterly then. The room was probably threaded through with stress monitors – lasers taking his pulse and cameras measuring his skin temperature and perspiration level and pupillary dilation and the rate and depth of his respiration. He didn’t care. He forced himself to speak, to mean it.

Whoever cares less in a negotiation has the upper hand
, Sam had said.
Show confidence. Convince them they want what
you
have more than you want anything of theirs.

“Listen to me, Mr Aggarwal,” Kade said. “This is my life’s work. And I’ve done enough. A million people have Nexus in their minds, and more
every
day
. I’ve
succeeded
.” He clenched his still-functional left hand into a raised fist of triumph. “You can kill me. You can sell me to the ERD. I’ll die happy. If you want me to work with you? I’ll be even happier. But
you
have to demonstrate
your
principles.”

And you’re going to help me stop this war, Kade thought, his chest pounding again. You’re going to help me show the world that humans and posthumans can be good to one another.

Damn it, you are.

Aggarwal just turned and walked away. As he pulled open the door, Kade spoke to the Special Secretary’s back.

“Give her my conditions
exactly
, Mr Aggarwal. And my reasons. Don’t edit them.”

“Her?” Aggarwal said, his back still to Kade, the door open to the ante-room with the guards.

“The Prime Minister,” Kade said. “We both know she’s the one who’s going to make this decision.”

L
akshmi Dabir waited
in the room after Rakesh Aggarwal stormed out.

She didn’t look happy.

“Why the last condition, really? The UN motion is doomed to fail. You hinge your freedom, your life, on something that will go nowhere?”

Kade closed his eyes, exhaled through his nose.

He was so tired. So very damn tired.

“Do you know game theory, Ms Dabir? Prisoner’s Dilemma and games like that?”

“It’s Dr Dabir,” she replied. “And yes, of course.”

Kade opened his eyes. “Sorry.”

She held his gaze. “Continue.”

“Posthumans are coming,” he said. “Copenhagen hasn’t stopped the research, it’s just hidden it. Too many people want the benefits – armies, governments, individuals, sick people. What you’re doing here with Nexus is part of that. It’s just a matter of time until posthumans are among us, if they’re not already. You agree?”

She looked into his eyes, impassive. “Let’s say I do.”

Kade nodded. “Back to game theory. In ordinary Prisoner’s Dilemma, if the other player trusts you, and you betray them – you defect – you can win big. The best strategy for a single round of Prisoner’s Dilemma is to defect.”

“A fact real-world police have taken advantage of with real-world prisoners for some time,” Dabir commented.

Kade swallowed. That cut a bit too close to home. He pushed on. “In
Iterated
Prisoner’s Dilemma, it’s different.”

Dabir raised an eyebrow. “Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma,” she mused. “Multiple rounds. More than two players.”

Kade nodded. “Potentially
thousands
of players. Or millions. Players who can meet each other again and again. And who can remember how the other player has behaved before.”