* * *
The first day is uneventful.
Stovich, Amal, one of the PRC reps, and the Swiss GlobeFund exec—illustrious Oskar Bühl—won’t arrive for another 12 hours, so Thuma holds off on taking them underground to where the servers are housed; instead they tour the main campus at the center of the island, which he’s—completely unironically it seems—dubbed ‘The Center’.
Thuma wants everyone present before they take the main lift down to where the servers are housed, ‘The Bunker’ as he calls it. Apparently, it’s quite the sight to behold and he wishes to make a big spectacle of the reveal.
So a businessman and a showman
The campus reminds Britt a little of Sydney U, except that they are the only ones there. She feels that any moment she should turn around to students in droves, headed to class, sprawled on the lawns, studying, sunbathing, peacocking.
But the grounds are eerily empty.
Thuma explains that in years past, various public organizations had made welcome use of the island’s campus, but recently he has limited access as installation of The Bunker’s servers neared completion.
He claims that he has plans for a university of sorts here—a very exclusive one from the sounds of it—hospital & biomedical research facility as well. Dormitories, recreation centers, coffee shops. A whole community in miniature, a ‘utopia’ as he describes it.
All to further his global information processing oligopoly. He doesn’t say that last part out loud of course, but Britt can read between the lines.
Until then, he says, the island is effectively just another of his many private, and fully automated, retreats.
One of the Influencers—a skimpy, tattooed thing whose name Britt can’t remember for the life of her—asks, “Don’t you get lonely out here all alone?”
“I rather enjoy the solitude at times, the peace and the quiet.” He responds. Then, stopping midstride; turning to face them, “Besides, I’m not really alone now am I? Not with BNKR running the place.” Gesturing to the drone above them, just one of many eyes that the island—that BNKR—has on them.
“Why did you name him ‘BNKR’ anyways? Because he’s down in the Bunker?” Quickly following up, “He is a ‘him’ right?”
“Well, in truth, I don’t think ‘he’ cares one way or another. If you wish to refer to it as a ‘he’ then you are more than free to do so. In fact, it could be an interesting little experiment, this might be the first time BNKR has heard himself referred to in the 3rd person.” He chuckles. “Ahh, and there you go, now you have me calling him him as well!”
He grins at the petite NetStreamer, she blushes, stifling a small giggle.
Quite the charmer too it seems
“And in regards to choosing his name, I didn’t. In fact BNKR named it—excuse me—himself. You could ask him yourself why, but as you’ve already so astutely surmised, it is because he was born in the Bunker.”
Before the hands can go up, he adds,
“Of course, BNKR was connected to the entire island when I switched him on. When he ‘awoke’, he was aware of all things, all locations, at once. But, when I first brought him online, I was in the server center. His first interaction with me, with anyone, was there, down in the Bunker. And so—“ He waves his hand in a lazy circle, “—BNKR.”
The answer seems satisfactory and they continue onward, though now that racy little doll walks slightly ahead, glancing occasionally—not as subtly she might think—back over her shoulder.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“A million bucks they’re fucking by week’s end.” Britt whispers to Reyes, who chokes on his latte.
Thuma wants to take them past the entrance to the Bunker, atop the hill just east of campus, in order to build anticipation for tomorrow’s visit. The walk is neither steep nor strenuous, but he has arranged for a selection of Segways & SmartCarts to ferry them up.
Britt and Reyes share a cart, as do Thuma and his soon-to-be new toy. The rest form their own cliques, Saudi with Saudi, Sino with Sino, Rainey with her goons, and so on.
They travel slowly, carts plodding a leisurely pace, winding up the wide serpentine path. Thuma oscillates between answering their flurries of questions, and speaking at length about the local flora and fauna, with which he is clearly enamored, though how much of it is truly native, and how much imported, no one knows.
I am on the world’s most exclusive birdwatching tour
The Caravan arrives at the top of the hill, still some distance from the imposing face of the Bunker’s blast doors.
Thuma takes them a circuitous route among more beloved wildlife; tastefully spartan architecture relenting to an expanse of lawns and gardens.
For the last half hour the foreign reps have been content to merely observe while Rainey asks her standard boilerplate and the Anchors & Influencers field questions on behalf of their respective viewerships; all of it streaming to the Net.
Britt can see their eyes glaze over whenever she, Reyes, or one of the 4 other experts manage a word in sideways and press Thuma on more technical matters.
They hide it well though.
Anchors nodding solemnly, uncomprehending; Rainey’s boredom masked behind eyes stern and focused; the incessant ohhs, ahhs, & exaggerated selfies of the Influencers.
She knows that she and the other scientists, the Machine Intelligence experts, will have plenty of time alone with the system later. ‘Unfettered access’ they were told. Mostly unfettered anyways, lest they be tempted to try their hand at some insider trading.
Privileged system access was one of the conditions when they agreed to attend. Or at least it was one of Britt’s; the others might’ve been adequately persuaded by the prospect of an all-expenses-paid weeklong vacation, not to mention the sizable ‘personal donations’ they all received.
Of course she could access the system right now on her tablet, from any point on the island, they all can; Thuma has already given viewer permissions, but for now she is content to take in the scenery. She’ll save diagnostics, interrogation—the work—for the following days.
Today is for sightseeing.
They arrive at the entrance to the bunker. Jarring monolith punctuating otherwise idyllic vista.
Enormous composite armor doors, 20 tons each, sealing an archway that could accommodate the width of Komatsu heavy excavators 5 abreast .
“What are those rated for?” The more tolerable of the two Influencers—what was his name again? 2cool4youth?—asks. “They’re massive!”
“Well it would be irresponsible of me to give exact specifications,” Thuma smiles. “But they’ll suffice against anything anyone should ever want to throw at us.”
“Unless you piss off someone with a nuke.” Rainey jabs.
Glowing behind tech-glass the Influencer’s eyes go wide, “Could those stop a nuke?”
“Oh no, a nuke would certainly level us.” Thuma laughs. Then, in a more serious tone, “Though I doubt any actor capable of doing so would risk the public backlash of using such a device so near the Mainland. It may’ve been over a century ago, but the world hasn’t forgotten, they certainly haven’t forgotten. I think they’d be none-too-pleased if they saw another mushroom cloud blossom so close to home.”
After a pause, he adds, “Not that a nuke would ever make it within 300 kilometers of here.”
A few flash him puzzled looks, and Britt sees the cheeky grin as he locks eyes with Rainey. “The railguns would take them out long before they made it anywhere close. Wouldn’t set them off either, just flick them out of the sky.”
“Railguns?” Rainey interjects. Betraying only the briefest hint of alarm before resuming her practiced unflappability.
Even the normally impassive Saudi-Heg reps have taken keen note.
Ha! So she had considered the assassination angle too!
“Of course! Just because there is no military presence on this island, doesn’t mean we are defenseless. We live in peaceful times, unprecedentedly so, but I’d be a fool not to hedge every bet.”
Then, as if he could read their minds,
“Senator—“
Turning to the PRC rep,
“—Zūnjià[7]—“
To the Saudi-Heg,
“—Your highnesses—“
To scientists and media-organs,
“—doctors, friends, I can assure each and every one of you that I do not believe in persuasion through intimidation or coercion.
Yes, it is true that this island possesses considerable armament, as you saw when your craft no-doubt flagged the CIWS Batteries on approach. Though, apparently, the railgun emplacements went unnoticed. Due, I suspect, to their proprietary—“
Glancing pointedly at the PRC and Saudi-Heg reps, “—and for sale metamaterial coating—“
Hands parting in a soothing gesture,
“—but this is not because I have hidden agendas or intend to harass and terrorize. This ordnance is for defense—and defense only—in the exceedingly unlikely scenario that it becomes necessary. They pose no threat to you and yours. None of you ever have, or will, be in danger by my hand. I seek to persuade you all in good faith.”
The brief moment of tension seems diffused, replaced by the awkward silence of those unaccustomed to such frank exchange, and politicians weighing the most level-headed responses; media types eating it all up with gusto.
I bet his popularity just skyrocketed from that little spiel. Can’t wait to see the memes
* * *
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[7] Chinese honorific for guest or person of higher social status. Literally, “You, the respected one”.