Their Greatest Game Read online

  “U.S. politics is subtle,” Jill added. “Phrases that seem to mean nothing mean everything, and politicians make grandiose claims that are simply lip service to the whims of the electorate. Half of their time is spent maintaining internet social network presences that gather the most followers or garner momentum leading toward the next election.”

  “What am I supposed to make of that observation?” Theren asked.

  “If President Woods can utilize his social resources similar to his election, he has a chance to put pressure on most of the Senate. He has connections everywhere, though recent Presidents have often stayed out of the murky political squabbles of Congress. He has to make sure he doesn’t commit political suicide, or upset the delicate separation of powers that this country for some reason holds so dear.”

  Theren thought they understood. So much of their political focus literally occurred above the clouds that they often missed the finer points of the games played within governments surface-side.

  On an entirely separate board, their political games dealt with international agencies, multinational corporations, and powerful individuals who had the political weight of their vast fortunes giving them strength—but Theren had found an algorithmic simplicity to it all. Because of the strict regulations developed by the ISA in the mid-2050s, not a single action occurred in space without some ISA approval or guidance.

  The politics up above made sense to them. On the planet’s surface, personal opinions, worldviews, and long-vested financial interests transformed important discussions into impossible slogs. Too many politicians in the legislative bodies of nation-states found it necessary to favor their social images and careers over the actual needs of humanity. They were constantly waging a war between short-term and long-term gains.

  Jill’s entourage led her to the final hallway. At the end of it, the doors to the Oval Office awaited. The LED bulbs illuminated the clean floors, and Theren noticed the contrast that existed within the United States’ seat of power. A building constructed centuries ago, its starkly antiquated atmosphere contrasted with the state-of-the-art technology dominating the work actually occurring within the Offices of the President.

  The agents introduced Jill to the President’s personal assistant, Carlos Smith. A young-looking man, most likely in his early thirties, Carlos indicated a place for her to wait, and the man slipped inside the President’s office to inform him of his esteemed visitor’s arrival.

  “I know I’ve met him before,” Jill said, “but this is the first time I’ve met with Bri—President Woods in his current role. It’s a bit intimidating.”

  “You’ll do fine,” Theren said.

  “Will you stay with me?” Jill said. “I know we’re in the middle of a chess match, so it’s not like I can’t talk to you there as well, but it’s comforting to know you’re here with me in this stressful situation.”

  She needed to stop using them as a safety net, even if an SI’s ability to exist in more than one place made it relatively easy to intertwine their lives. Theren simply had to stay vigilant regarding the realities of their relationship. They had not forgotten the conversation in that digital garden all those years past. Sometimes, they wondered if it had slipped from her memories.

  “I’m right beside you,” Theren said. “Though I suggest you inform the President that I am observing and that if he’d like, he can recognize my virtual presence as well.”

  “I was planning on it, of course,” Jill said. “I know all about confidentiality issues.”

  Considering how much she blabbed to the press, she had better understand those legal implications. Whether purposely or accidentally, she shared sensitive SII information from time to time with select informants at various news organizations. Jill didn’t know Theren was aware of these communications, and they tolerated the leaks, considering their content often benefited SII’s image. After all, it was the reason she shared the stories in the first place.

  Beyond her proclivity to leak, every day she received requests from news networks to comment on this or that story. She accepted every offer. Her interviews circulated throughout Virtual, AR, and other networked platforms like wildfire.

  While the public often construed her speeches to mean something more substantive than she may have intended, she used every sound byte to build a civil rights movement similar to the ideologues of the past few centuries. She had gained access to exclusive parties. She had swayed the mind of a presidential candidate, a candidate now actually in office willing to support her cause with his entire Administration. She had accomplished this lofty task by bombarding the world with terabytes upon terabytes of information.

  Theren remembered a moment when a Tennessee gubernatorial candidate had accused Jill had of running smear ads claiming he would lower the minimum wage for SIs. Her AR ad placements highlighted stories of the candidate’s college lifestyle, complete with drinking, drugs, and sexual promiscuity. She had blasted the poor candidate into oblivion.

  Jill had not denied her connection to the ads; instead, she implied that she directly designed the ads, giving them her own personal flair. The public loved it. Even those who didn’t love her loved the fact that she owned her actions. She somehow made scandal her plaything. What amazed Theren the most was that in this day and age, the candidate’s activities weren’t even “scandalous.” The man had created a bigger mess for himself by fighting an unwinnable war.

  There was no mistaking that the world knew much more about Jill than they knew about Theren. Theren was the mysterious, unapproachable SI. The SI who you met if you had power beyond measure. Jill was the celebrity, holding a different kind of power entirely.

  Lost in thought, Theren almost failed to notice the actions evolving around them. Jill had walked toward the door to the Oval Office. Carlos, the secretary, waited with the door open.

  “The President will see you now,” he said.

  * * *

  PREAMBLE

  Whereas, humanity recognizes the inherent dignity and the equal and inalienable rights conferred upon all sapient persons, whether biological or synthetic;

  Whereas, without preemptive action, synthetic persons will receive unfair treatment and be subject to acts that will outrage the conscience of humankind;

  Whereas, just as these United Nations have protected the human rights of our species as a foundation of freedom, justice, and peace on this world and amongst the several worlds;

  Whereas, humanity will directly benefit from the healthy development of synthetic persons and through the foundational relationship built between these two interconnected forms of consciousness;

  Whereas, all members of these United Nations affirm the belief that we must care for all people, whether created or evolved, and that if we cannot for our creations, we cannot care for our human brethren either, and vice versa;

  Whereas, a common understanding of the rights of the synthetic person will establish a common language and holistic heuristic for these pledges and representations;

  Therefore, the General Assembly of the United Nations proclaims this Declaration of the Universal Rights of the Synthetic Person, which states the true and enforceable standards by which each nation and person will pursue in protection of our synthetic kin, so we may work together in harmony in pursuit of our collective wellbeing.

  * * *

  Jill entered the infamous office, where President Woods sat behind the Resolute desk. Even as a man born in the first decade of the century, he looked much younger than his seventy years, his dark skin contrasted against greying hair. Even with a relaxed posture, the man’s presence could dominate a room if he felt so inclined. Over the course of his distinguished political career, the skill had allowed Woods to overwhelm opponents.

  He rose, crossed the room, and held out his hand to shake Jill’s. She responded, grasping the human hand with her synthetic counterpart. They took seats on the couches in the central portion of the office. The two were alone together, but Theren knew secret
service agents stood right outside the doors and probably on the other side of the windows, too.

  “Thank you for coming,” President Woods said. “I am excited for our working relationship together to begin, at least officially.”

  “As am I,” Jill said. “Before we begin, I would like to ask permission that Theren observe this conversation as well. They will have an important role to play in this process from an international context. I’ve already sent you an AR query with a request for you to authorize and recognize their presence.”

  “Of course,” he said. “I was actually going to ask why they weren’t joining us.”

  A few moments later, President Woods recognized the projected presence of Theren, only visible through an AR lens or through Jill’s own MI-7’s visual software. They noted that President Woods neglected to file a report, or send off some sort of other notice, that Theren was participating in this unofficial lobbying event. It was good to know what rules this President was willing to break, however small those rules might be.

  “I will never get used to AR,” President Woods said. “Even forty of my years with some form of AR, I will never get used to individuals just appearing, yet not really existing in some material form in the room.”

  “Just imagine what it’s like when your primary means of existence is often through Augmented Reality,” Theren said, nodding in respect. “Theren. Executive Director of the Administrative Council of the International Space Agency. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Jill has spoken highly of you over the past few years.”

  President Woods responded with a curt tilt of his forehead. “And I have heard quite a bit about you, but not just from Jill. Welcome to the White House, both of you.”

  Theren moved their AR presence to Jill’s couch. After a moment of President Woods examining invisible notes, he brought forth a map of the United States on the small tabled positioned between the two couches.

  “The fifty-one states are evenly split on this issue,” he said. “Every state has a representative or senator who would support my decision to sign TURSP, but as you know, all we need is the Senate for ratification.” Using two fingers spreading apart above the screen, polling data scattered across the states. “The era of obstructionism has passed. It passed decades ago, though some in Congress still hold onto its shrinking ideals. The public’s opinion, however, is a different matter entirely. They don’t forget.”

  “We have allies with many religious organizations,” Jill said. “I met with a number of theological leaders just last week. Each of them are working within their respective denominations to establish a national conversation about the nature of synthetics.”

  “I applaud the impressive network you’ve been building, just know the limits of that strategy. It’s impossible to establish a unified communication strategy that reaches every church. Placate a third of them and you’ll anger the other two thirds.”

  “But there’s good news, right?” Theren said. “The Conservative Party doesn’t control the Senate. It might control the House, and the Democratic and Socialist Party coalition control the Senate. Most of our support stems from that coalition, and all we have to do is convince a few Conservative senators to change their minds.”

  “It’s not that simple, unfortunately,” President Woods said. “My team, in counting the numbers, counts forty of fifty-four coalition senators strongly in favor of ratification. Seven independents also favor ratification. That reaches a count of forty-seven. We need sixty-eight votes for treaty ratification, so if we can convince the fourteen holdout coalition members, we’re still only at sixty-one. We’d need seven Conservative votes, which is no laughing matter, though my team has research indicating that at least five or six Conservative Senators already side with us in spirit.”

  “That is quite the tall order,” Jill said.

  “But not impossible.” President Woods erased the map from the table with a wave of his hand. With another flourish, he brought forth profiles detailing senators from across the United States. “We have identified these initial twelve Conservative Senators as those who might waiver and flip. We want to identify another six, so we have a decent margin of error. We have a difficult path before us, but I don’t think it’ll be as nearly impossible as some of my staffers believe. Senators within the Coalition are already working to sway the holdouts there.”

  President Woods’ grasp of the Senate amazed Theren. The man certainly had a staff backing him up every step of the way, but he had insisted on having this private meeting with Jill personally, instead of through an advisor or his chief of staff. The President probably relished engaging once again in the intricate politics of the Senate, where he started thirty years ago.

  “So have you identified targets that make the most sense for me to engage directly?” Jill asked.

  “Yes. For example, both senators from Puerto Rico are part of their local Partido Verde. They’ve told Vice-President Gutierrez that they’d like to meet with you. They want a chance to talk to you about the issues, and learn about you in person.”

  “That sounds like a great place to start, then,” Jill agreed. “Any suggestions on how to approach them?”

  As Jill and President Woods delved into the gritty details of political negotiation, Theren’s mind wandered. They gazed about the Oval Office using Jill’s peripheral sensors in conjunction with the office’s integrated AR system. The room had changed little since they’d last visited, thanking then President Francene Rogers for restarting US funding for the ISA. Many of the paintings of former Presidents remained in their locations. The curtains were the same color. Theren was almost certain the Resolute hadn’t moved an inch.

  Theren glanced out the windows, noticing a faint shimmer in the sunlight. Perhaps a trick of the MI’s photo-sensors due to the bulletproof glass or a glitch in the AR software. They stared at the window a moment longer but saw nothing else. Satisfied, Theren returned to the conversation that had continued unabated.

  “Don’t expect immediate results,” Woods said. “I know you’re an experienced lobbyist, but politicians become different animals when discussing international treaties here in the United States. I’m sure you’ve encountered such difficulties in your solo attempts on this issue. It’s a gut reaction regarding the issue of sovereignty and a political vestige from before the Second UN Charter.”

  “Often times, some senators don’t even want to talk about ratification of this treaty,” Jill said. “They won’t even meet with me. For a while, I thought the better solution would be to propose a bill that codified the essential elements of TURSP, or even a constitutional amendment.”

  “Well, this is a new Congress,” Woods said. “A good number of these senators we need to flip are juniors. Expect significant differences in approachability this time around.”

  Jill generated a diagram in mid-air. “I’ve laid out a time table,” she said, “as well as a number of talking points I’ve used in other countries. If you’d like, I can pass these on to your advisors for analysis, to see how they might better tailor them to the American political situation. I’ve used them with limited success with a few state legislatures in the past.”

  “I’ll pass them along right away.”

  Theren’s instincts kicked in, noticing the anomaly again. This time, it took the form of a strange buzzing noise. If it wasn’t for the MI-07’s enhanced auditory detection algorithms, Theren doubted they would have noticed the sound. They looked for a source. They found nothing. Another light flicker appeared in front of the window. As the seconds ticked by, Theren noticed a change in light refraction, imperceptible to the human mind—a small fracture appeared in the inches-thick glass.

  Someone, or something, was drilling through to reach Jill and the President of the United States.

  “Jill, look out the window,” Theren said, but Jill was two steps ahead of them.

  “President Woods, you need to trust me,” she said. “You should to leave this room right now.”

>   Without hesitation, President Woods signaled the secret service agents standing right outside the office.

  “Eagle Protocol,” he said.

  Two doors opened, two agents flew into the room. Reading their badges, Theren saw the names Harrison and Vickson. Using Jill’s on-board monitors to analyze the atmosphere of the room, they detected a strange particle increased in concentration at an alarming rate. They tried to speak, but Jill had muted them. Instead, she forced their AR presence to watch as the scene unfolded.

  The agents grabbed President Woods and literally picked him up from the couch. “Perimeter breach,” Vickson said. “Detected fifteen seconds ago. We’re headed to the Bunker.”

  “What about Jill?” President Woods said.

  “She’s not really here,” Harrison said. “She’ll be fine. And can we even trust her?”

  “I’d trust her with my life.”

  Vickson raised their wrist to their mouth. “Commence Eagle Protocol 10C!”

  “Jill, do something. You can’t just sit there,” Theren said from their perspective staring at their chessboard. “Why are you ignoring me and muting me?”

  “Hush, Theren, this is for your own safety,” she replied. “If something seriously goes wrong, we can’t have you implicated in anything at all. You need to be as far away as possible from this.”

  Back in Washington, she directed the MI-07 to rise from the couch. The agents reached the door, but Theren noticed the men’s steps faltering. Jill leapt into action, jumping over the coffee table and sprinting toward the window where Theren had detected the disturbance. She put her right shoulder into a leap, and the three hundred kilogram MI crashed through the glass, grabbing an invisible drone. As her metallic hands smashed the flying machine, its silvery, light-warping surface fractured, eliminating its cloak.