THE LAST ARK

CHAPTER 34: SEEKING SOMEONE

Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem Two Days Before Temple Ceremony

“Follow my lead, and try not to overthink anything,” Derek tells Mordechai as they approach the stone doorway of the fourth century Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. Built intentionally low to force pilgrims to bend, the doorway is an ancient reminder that even kings must enter with humility. Once inside, Derek and Mordechai work their way down the long basilica with two sets of caramel marble columns on each side. Most of the worshippers gather at the end, where they pray over the exact spot legend claims the Christ child was born. “I simply refl ect back on your words, wondering if you really hear yourself,” replies Mordechai. “We both know that you have not been honest or transparent. How you react to the light of truth has more to do with your conscience than my questions, don’t you think?” “Exactly,” he snickers. “Th ere you go, overthinking.” T he monk grins. “Did you know that this church is one of the oldest places of continuous worship in Christianity?” Mordechai changes the topic, his eyes open in wonder. “Originally a grotto cave worshipped by early Christians, Roman Emperor Hadrian built a pagan shrine over the grotto in the second century. After Emperor Constantine converted, his mother Helena tore down the shrine and built an octagonal dome over the grotto.” “Uh huh.” Derek absorbs the history lesson, more focused on the bigger picture of whether the SLVIA meant to link the Concilium to the Sefer HaBahir, or whether his own desperate imagination conjures the idea. Why would SLVIA, an espionage AI, care about these dormant religious issues? Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe his inability to let go of SLVIA has led him to create this fantastical connection. Fear of an ICC stalker has him once again wearing a mask with the vestments of an Orthodox priest, but with the added authenticity of a fake beard. After getting dropped off at the local meat market, Nelson had instructions to find the Nativity Square a few blocks away. Nelson doesn’t know that Taylor wears a disguise, so he’ll need to approach him carefully. “Are you a spy?” questions Mordechai. “You’re always hiding your identity, the ICC wants to arrest you, and you talk to yourself all the time.” Derek laughs a loud chuckle. “No, not a spy, you know, per se. Spies work for governments, and I’m more of a cybersecurity freelancer who prefers to help those unable to help themselves.” “Oh, so you’re a security leak, like Snowden,” Mordechai says. Derek stops to gaze at the young man for a moment. Snowden stole a ton of classified information to reveal government surveillance secrets to the world. T he SNO network only seeks justice for those harmed by those who abuse their power but does so behind the scenes—no names, no glory. Occasionally, he gets roped into bigger issues like global internet AI viruses or lost arks. SNO works because members are invisible, even from each other, and he intends to keep it that way. “I’m nothing like Snowden,” he responds before glancing over Mordechai’s shoulder to spot Nelson. “There’s our contact.” Derek moves subtly to avoid alerting anyone who may watch on security cameras, but he soon comes alongside Nelson. Wearing the face of an old man with bristly eyebrows, hairy ears, and a long craggily beard, he wonders if Nelson will recognize the WITNESS glasses. “You look lost, my son,” Derek speaks in his normal voice, hoping to clue Nelson in on the disguise. “No, Father, thanks. I’m actually looking for someone,” Nelson replies, not bothering to look at the priest more carefully. “Yes, yes, my son, we all seek someone, but he could wear a disguise.” Derek enjoys toying with his friend. Nelson stops to peer at the cleric more carefully, perhaps finally hearing the voice. “That’s right, Doc,” Derek smiles, wrinkling his old face. “The sheep will know his voice and know better than to make a scene in front of the security cameras at your three o’clock and ten o’clock. Follow me quietly to the van waiting outside for true enlightenment.” Nelson’s eyes peer harder, then glances at Mordechai with a look of confusion or suspicion. Derek turns to meander his way through the pilgrims, trusting that Nelson follows him, encouraged by the beefy Mordechai from behind. Once outside, Derek quietly leaves the stone courtyard filled with security cameras to enter Loir’s panel van waiting at the curb and then waits for the others. Once the door is closed, and the van moves into traffic, Derek f inally turns to Nelson. “Hey, Doc, glad you made it.” He grins, making the mask grin. “Dude, the look on your face—classic, man, totally classic. Hey, WITNESS, record this view.” “Taylor, you bloody arse,” Nelson exclaims. “That had to be the worst, most miserable, terrifying, putrid, and uncomfortable thirty-two hours of my life.” “WITNESS, stop record. Yeah, I can smell the putrid part. Don’t worry; we’ll get you a hot shower. In the meantime, meet my new friend, Brother Mordechai, and our driver, Loir Sasson.” Taylor introduces, trying to ignore Nelson’s anger. “Loir, Mordechai, you’re in the presence of Dr. Nelson Garrett, one of the world’s leading minds on artificial intelligence whom I owe a bazillion favors, most of them racked up in the past thirty-two hours.” T he young man’s eyes widen, but Derek can’t tell if he’s in awe or fear. When Derek looks back, he realizes Mordechai may react to the rage painted over Nelson’s sunburned face. “Look, Doc, I’m truly sorry you had such a horrible trip.” He excuses more than he explains or apologizes. “But the Ethiopian National Guard tagged you after you left the airport. They told Eritrea that you were smuggling guns. Sending Zoey back would have landed both of you in jail, or worse. The freighter was my only last-minute option.” Nelson huffs and frowns. “Where are we going now?” “Bar-Ilan University outside Tel Aviv,” Loir says from the driver’s seat. “A professor there has a persistent program segment of the Scavenger Nut Origami code, perhaps a hibernating segment of the SLVIA,” Derek explains. “You risked my life for a nonfunctional code snippet,” Nelson retorts, still clearly upset. SLVIA survived for twenty years without Nelson ever knowing, never believing it was possible. Then the poor guy learned only days before the SLVIA disappeared again, never really getting to know the amazing intelligence that had matured to singularity. For a consolation prize, Nelson inherited WITNESS, the quantum AI, with a learning disability. “Like I said before, we need SLVIA to optimize WITNESS.” Derek has absolutely zero evidence to back up that theory, and both he and Nelson know it. “Taylor, I know you formed an inexplicable bond with my experimental AI, for which you truly should seek professional therapy. That said, the chances enough of the code survived to be fully operational are close to zero,” Nelson argues. “Near zero is still a chance, and we can find out today,” Derek insists. “We both know the world would be better off.” “Would it? Would the world truly be better off, or would we merely complicate the already disastrous AI escalation? Yes, I must accept accountability and bear the shame for what I unleashed,” Nelson says. “So, forgive me for the boldness to suggest that we would do well to leave the SLVIA alone.” Surprised to hear Nelson argue against reviving his own AI, Derek continues to make his case. “Explosive growth of unmonitored AI is exactly why we need the SLVIA back. The proliferation has become unmanageable.” Mordechai glares at both of them with scrunched eyebrows. “You’re both spies.” “I told you,” Loir calls from the front. Derek winces, and Nelson glowers. “What have you told this lad?” Derek sighs deeply. “Not enough to satisfy him. Believe me. Mordechai, I swear, we don’t work for governments, or for money, or for power, or for criminals. We’re more like a nonprofit cyber-NGO. We help people when governments are too slow or too compromised. Instead of a spy, think of the Doc as a benevolent mad scientist.” Mordechai purses his lips. “Authentic men of good intent rarely need to hide their identity as you do. You speak of seeking truth, and yet you’ve lied to me since the day we met,” Mordechai points out. “I’m not judging; I forgive you. It’s just that I’m not sure you’re aware of how far from the truth you’ve strayed, Mr. Taylor. You make artificial intelligence programs, which themselves are a deception of humanity.” “I like this young lad. Where did you find him?” Nelson quips. Derek grimaces at Mordechai, who seems much wiser than his age, taking in far more than he lets on. He doesn’t simply observe, but he studies and asks questions. A critical thinker. No wonder SLVIA befriended him. “Come on, Morty, be real. We both know the world overflows with secrets, most of them kept by bad people trying to do bad things. Those secrets are choking truth, democracy, and compassion to death. I only keep secrets to keep people safe.” Derek defends himself, wondering instantly if he is delusional. He recalls a secret regarding the death of two people, one of them named Derek Taylor. That secret only keeps one person safe—the new Derek Taylor. “The apostles never hid their identity or activities,” Mordechai points out. “You will never fight lies with more lies.” Nelson’s glare burns through Derek with a silent rebuke of betrayal. A lie of omission is still a lie. Derek risked the life of a friend because of an obsession to find the SLVIA. Only a narcissist believes his own goal justifies any means. Is that what he’s become after all these years? Or could that be the same obsession that once cost him a fiancé and a best friend whose name he still wears in tribute and shame? Is obsession a stage of insanity or a final destination? “I’m not a spy, and I’m sure not an apostle,” Derek says with a sigh. “I’m just a guy trying to find a friend and go home.” He wobbles his head. “OK, my friend is an AI, and maybe I should see a therapist about my relationship phobia, but this friend saved the world once and I believe it can do it again.” Mordechai stares a moment before turning to Nelson. “Is he for real?” Nelson winces. “I’m afraid so, lad. Welcome to my world.”