Prodigal Son (Orphan X #6) - Gregg Andrew Hurwitz Page 0,95

women on passive display before the male partygoers.

“The potential is spectacular,” Evan said. “But the military applications present some moral challenges.”

“Of course they do.” Molleken’s gaze was steady, penetrating. “But you can’t stop progress.”

“That’s what Oppenheimer thought.”

“And he was right.”

“A swarm of your microdrones could overwhelm enemy air defenses.”

Molleken smiled. Up close his skin looked impossibly smooth, devoid of wrinkles. “They could do more than that. Sensor systems like AWACS, they’re oriented toward larger airborne assets. If they were sensitive enough to detect one of my microdrones, they’d also alert at every mosquito or dandelion puffball caught on a breeze. My dragonflies benefit from inherent cloaking by dint of their size. And they have a negligible heat signature, which renders thermal imaging useless. So they are essentially invisible. They are everywhere and nowhere. They are divisible and additive. They are collaborative and think for themselves.”

Molleken leaned forward, his nose no more than a few inches from Evan’s, seemingly unaware that he was crowding him. “Imagine waging war without home-team casualties,” Molleken said. “No more Americans coming back in caskets. And imagine outsourcing the negative emotion associated with killing so our soldiers don’t have to feel it.”

Evan recalled Rafael rubbing his shaved scalp with agitation. You make the choices, you hear me? We at least bear that. What happens when you don’t anymore? What happens then?

Evan leaned back, gathered his thoughts. “In the past decade or so, the number of skiers who wear helmets has tripled,” he said. “Do you know the effect that’s had on the number of head injuries?”

Molleken’s features broadened with pleasure, a smile without the smile, this style of banter seemingly to his liking. “I do not.”

“They’ve stayed exactly the same. Do you know why that is?”

“The added protection gives skiers incentive to take more risks.”

Again Evan pictured Rafael, trapped inside his own conscience and the four walls of his room. I’ll tell you something that’s not programmable. Jake Hargreave’s soul. You try rendering that outta ones and zeros.

“There’s a moral hazard to avoiding cost,” Evan said. “Making war less painful for one side makes it a lot easier to sell. Which means we’ll see more of it.”

“There’s no halting progress,” Molleken said. “There’s no halting this technology. It’s being developed around the world. The safest thing we can do is make sure everyone has it.”

“Mutually assured destruction.”

“How many thermonuclear bombs have been used in war?”

“None,” Evan said. “Yet.”

Soo-jin’s voice floated across to them. “Go to your party, Brendan. Circulate.”

“Fuck you, Soo-jin.” There it was, a peek at the child-tyrant behind the curtain. Molleken rose abruptly, staring down at Evan. “Enough talk. Want to go play?”

45

The Waiting Darkness

Evan exited the study with Molleken. Soo-jin didn’t even look up from her magazine as they passed by. They moved through the bodyguards and headed up a private hall. The electronic dance music rumbled through the bones of the house, vibrating the royal-blue Anatolian silk runner beneath Evan’s feet. They reached the elevator and stepped inside. The house was only three stories, but Molleken thumbed a fourth button at the bottom.

The elevator car’s mirrored interior threw endless fun-house reflections of Molleken and Evan as they rode down, down, down. When the elevator peeled itself open, they were in an underground garage that smelled of gasoline and cleaning products. A dozen or so cars slumbered beneath covers, enough to require a staff for maintenance. But there was no one here now.

Molleken led the way to a thick steel door, where he placed his palm on a sensor that hummed, reading his vein patterns. The door clicked open.

Beyond was a passage bored through the earth like a subway tunnel. Evan barely had time to register his surprise before Molleken ushered him across the threshold. A single open-topped shuttle car rested on a monorail. The space was claustrophobic, tight enough that Evan had to stoop to get aboard after Molleken.

Molleken threw the lever, and they whipped off, shot up the horizontal shaft. A few lights flew by overhead at wide intervals, intensifying the coal-mine effect. Evan pressed a palm atop his Giants hat to avoid losing it. He had kept his bearings, noting their northwest heading, which was launching them into a commercial zone of Redwood City. Molleken looked over at Evan, hair riffling, and said, “I traded for one of Elon’s tunneling machines.”

“What did you give him?”

Molleken smiled and did not answer.

Almost as soon as the ride started, it began to slow, halting at an abbreviated platform facing a similar door. The