The Red Phoenix 12: Strength Comes in Numbers (15 page)

“Great t-trick,” Mueller stammered, dropping his gun. His eyes widened, scared, his lips trembling. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s my new friend,” Siddoway replied. “It’s time, Dennis,” he added in a soft, cold voice, his gun right on him.

Mueller screamed.

Siddoway aimed his XD and fired a blue laser at him. Mueller’s body turned into a dark cloud of smoky vapor that faded.

CHAPTER FIVE
TRAINING THE A.I.s

The next day, Chris worked on the XD-Three Thousands in Siddoway’s lab. He enjoyed the work. It helped take his mind off Kerry and her terminal illness. He held up another XD, aimed it and spark-tested it.

“Excellent,” he mumbled.

Wickenburg and a few of his assistants came into the lab. Chris set the XD down, noticing he had company.

“Mr. Wickenburg, how are you today, sir?” asked Chris in a cordial tone.

“I take it you haven’t heard?” asked Wickenburg.

“Heard what?” asked Chris.

“There has been an incident involving Dr. Siddoway and Mr. Scott Warnick,” Wickenburg informed him, sounding down. “And, unfortunately, we’re forced to make some changes around here, namely in this department.”

“Really? What happened?” asked Chris, sounding enthralled.

“I don’t want to upset you but something you need to know is that Mr. Warnick is dead,” Wickenburg answered.

“What?” asked Chris in disbelief.

“The police are looking into it but be advised that Dr. Siddoway is wanted for questioning regarding Warnick’s murder and the disappearance of a few others,” stated Wickenburg.

“Murder? What in the hell happened?” asked Chris, sounding concerned.

“Someone shot Warnick in his apartment,” Wickenburg replied. “His roommate found him lying dead in his living room with a bullet hole in his head.”

“That is terrible,” stated Chris. “But why would they suspect Siddoway?” asked Chris.

“Here is where it gets worse,” Wickenburg responded. “Apparently, you didn’t hear about the horrendous weapons presentation meeting either,” Wickenburg answered.

“I didn’t,” Chris stated.

“Siddoway was accused of stealing a weapons design from a rival company,” Wickenburg continued.

“Mueller Weapons?” asked Chris.

“Bingo,” Wickenburg answered. “Anyway, it went downhill and Siddoway was even restrained by officers after he tried to attack Mueller for his accusation. This happened a few days later in a board review. Sadly, Siddoway wasn’t able to produce adequate proof that he was the designer of that weapon on the counter you have there.”

“The XD Three-Thousand?” asked Chris.

“The FBI will be coming by in the next couple of days to collect all of the XDs Siddoway made for evidence,” stated Wickenburg, nodding. “See to it that you don’t touch them.”

“So where is Siddoway now?” asked Chris.

“That’s the thing, no one knows,” Wickenburg answered. “The FBI has checked his house. His car isn’t there. He doesn’t answer his phone. And now no one knows where Dennis Mueller and three of his employees who were in the meeting with him are either.”

“Do you think Siddoway went after Mueller?” asked Chris.

“Anything is possible,” Wickenburg replied. “I’ll tell you this; Siddoway was ready to rip Mueller apart in the board review. I can’t say that Siddoway and I departed on good terms either, when we escorted him from the facility with security.”

“Well, I hope Siddoway does the right thing and just turns himself in,” stated Chris. “What a mess.”

“He’s most likely forming a last-minute desperate plan and will try to leave the country if he can,” Wickenburg commented. “After all, he claims he was innocent and that it was Mueller that stole the design.”

“Good grief,” said Chris, baffled. “That’s too bad. He helped me get my job here. I was enjoying working here.”

“Tell me about it,” Wickenburg replied, sitting down, folding his arms. “Siddoway was one of the best engineers I’ve ever seen.”

“I suppose you’re here to let me go too, right?” asked Chris.

“Don’t worry, you’ve been a loyal and trustworthy employee, according to Mr. Warnick,” stated Wickenburg. “Which is why I’ll be transferring you to level minus eighty.”

“Which department?” asked Chris.

“Special operations. Classified division,” Wickenburg answered. “Keith Sanders, the department manager, will tell you what you’ll be doing. Effective immediately.”

***

Later that night, Siddoway sat at a hotel room table with a laptop, chatting with someone in the Middle East with the username
Ahkmed Jihad
. He knew his life was over in the US. He had killed the four people responsible for destroying his life and he would most likely be blamed for Scott’s death as well. It was all he could do to form a game plan and get to a non-extraditable country as quickly as possible. He continued chatting.

“You’ll have to give me a few more days to deliver the package,” Siddoway typed.

“We will accept nothing less than one with explosive power equal to W-54 or six-kiloton of TNT,” answered Ahkmed on the screen.

“I have a tactical package ready of that size,” Siddoway stated.

“A suitcase nuke?” asked Ahkmed.

“Precisely,” Siddoway answered.

“Where do you want to meet?” asked Ahkmed.

“Cancun, Mexico, in two months,” Siddoway answered.

“Why such a delay?” asked Ahkmed.

“One last thing needs to be done at a secured facility. Then I’ll be in Mexico after that,” Siddoway replied.

“Okay then, my people will meet you in Cancun later,” Ahkmed stated.

“Have my payment ready,” stated Siddoway.

“Til then,” Ahkmed replied.

***

A few days later, Chris followed Sanders, the department manager of the cloning division, through the main lab. There were a dozen bodies lying on hospital beds underneath a dome glass cover with sheets covering their entire bodies.

“Welcome to my division, Michaels,” stated Sanders. “You’re fortunate to be here. Not everybody who puts in for this position can get it. I also want to remind you that this is a top secret division and whatever you see here is not to leave the lab. Do we understand each other?”

“Perfectly,” Chris answered.

“Excellent, then I’ll continue,” stated Sanders. “As you’re probably aware, we’ve been creating artificial intelligences—or A.I.s—since the Phoenix opened,” he added, running his fingers along the glass of one of the A.I.s.

“What do you need me to do here?” asked Chris.

“Processing,” Sanders answered.

“
Processing
?” asked Chris, glancing at the unseen body, noticing the A.I.’s feet were sticking out a little from the sheet.

“What I need is someone to help process these A.I.s into elementary levels of intelligence,” stated Sanders.

“I don’t understand my purpose yet,” said Chris.

“You’re going to help them answer simple questions, identify small objects,” Sanders responded.

“Are they not created with any pre-knowledge?” asked Chris.

“Ask him,” Sanders replied, opening the glass cover.

“They already talk?” asked Chris.

“Let’s find out,” Sanders responded, pulling back the sheet, uncovering one of them.

The A.I. sat up in his bed in a hurry, bugging his brown, dilated eyes at Chris.

“Whoa!” Chris flinched, staggering back a few steps.

The A.I. remained seated on the hospital bed, breathing, staring forward. Sanders gave the A.I.’s bald head gentle pat then ran his two fingers down its pale-skinned, hairless back, examining the spinal column.

“I wasn’t ready for that,” stated Chris, catching his breath.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting him to get up so swiftly,” Sanders replied, holding back a chuckle.

“Do they all look like this?” asked Chris, trying to get used to the A.I.’s appearance. “Bald with the shaved eyebrows?”

“Yes,” Sanders answered. “Until they have a DNA host, they—”

“—A host?” asked Chris. “I don’t understand.”

“A donated strand of DNA,” Sanders answered.

“Oh, I see,” stated Chris. “So no donors yet?”

“It’s still a touchy subject until the next grant comes through,” stated Sanders. “Once I convince Congress of the validity of the program, the world will hear all about it.”

“What purpose is there for them?” asked Chris.

“There was an idea that A.I.s would guard the Mexican border against incoming terrorists,” Sanders answered. “However, those are just rumblings. Nothing has been confirmed yet.”

“Uncle Sam is making an army with them, huh?” asked Chris.

“Ultimately, there will be a clone posted every fifty meters from the edge of Texas to San Diego to defend our nation against Al-Quaeda, ISIS or anybody else who wants to get through. The taco-circuit has been the longest standing threat to us by far.”

“With no capacity for bribery or
call-in sick
days,” Chris added.

“Exactly,” Sanders responded.

“Are they all males?” asked Chris.

“As of yet, they have no sex,” Sanders replied. “Each A.I. will be programmed according to its DNA structure.”

“So, in other words, if the blood sample is male, the clone will be male,” stated Chris.

“Precisely,” Sanders responded.

Chris glanced at the A.I. that was still sitting up on its bed. He paced around it, looking it over as it sat upright not saying anything.

“They have no name. No memories. Aside from their ability to understand simple commands, they—”

“—Commands? Such as?” asked Chris.

“For example, sit here. Wait. Don’t move,” Sanders added. “Other than that, they are like small children waiting to absorb whatever is taught them.”

“Fascinating,” stated Chris.

“This one here that startled you is Number One,” stated Sanders. “The rest of them are numbered two to twelve.”

“No names?” asked Chris.

“Not yet,” Sanders answered.

“Why not?” asked Chris.

“These first twelve A.I.s are to be reserved for a special purpose,” Sanders replied.

“What purpose?” asked Chris.

“Until I have clearance to tell you, it’s classified,” Sanders responded. “Do understand that, although you’ll be working with them closely on a daily basis, I’m not able to disclose everything to you about this department.”

“I see,” Chris mumbled.