Who is Jack Kerouac

173.

Pleased with the results of round one, the long game test, I change direction and step into the unknown topography of the 'meandering.' I decide to be coy in my attempt to 'prove' that a computer based artificial intelligence algorithm is incapable of delivering qualitative, subjective opinion that satisfies a 'popular culture' inquiry. Such issues often arise during the investigative stages of operations, and as my current mission is to familiarize myself with the apparatus, its use and its potential - its strengths and weakness' - I consider this perhaps an even better criteria than the first. I envision this round as something in a Jeopardy style game, where the contestant, in this case The Helmet, must correctly answer my question with one of its own.

"This writer effectively bridged the cultural gap between the beatniks of the 50's and the hippies of the 60's. His celebrated works documented the cross-country travels of a handful of intrepid adventurers determined to eschew material-based consumerism, traditional capitalistic ideologies and middle class values, to celebrate with Zen-like mindfulness the ever present here and now."

In quick recall of specific fact, I see cowboy Neal at the wheel of a bus to never-never land. I also recognize that by intentional mimicking or subliminal transmission, many of my most honored personal characteristics are those more historically attributed to the main character of this authors most popular work. Risking the show of age, this work was first published was I was seven years old. Risking the show of inexperience, it took me another fifteen-years to add this tome to my list of books read.

How this fits into the current assignment, Operation Firecracker, is a matter of detail. We are testing a new technology, several, that could have direct implication on the success of the mission, and, one could argue, establish new procedural protocols in the never ending battle for truth, justice and the democratic way. Inside this grossly exaggerated synopsis is my work today in testing the brain-child of our woman-child plant inside a terrorist cell.

I carefully record the question in my best Art Flemming voice and place the tennis-ball sized speaker inside the Helmet. Remotely I press the play icon. I listen as the digital recording plays, satisfied with my impersonation. It takes exactly two seconds after the tape ends for the Verometer to answer, amazingly and with the requisite precise formatting, the question to the question:

"Who is Jack Kerouac?"

Music to My Pointy Ears

172.

“If by being liberal they mean someone who looks ahead and not behind, someone who welcomes new ideas without rigid reactions, someone who cares about the welfare of the people — their health, their housing, their schools, their jobs, their civil rights and their civil liberties — someone who believes we can break through the stalemate and suspicions that grip us in our polices abroad, if that is what they mean by being a “Liberal”, then I am proud to say I am a “Liberal.”

It has always been my contention that any new technology requires relentless testing. The Helmet is the technology and my latest test is regarding its uncanny and brilliant feature that The Queen has programmed to act as its ‘soul.’

The artificial intelligence most common to modern computer applications contains the DNA bias of the programmer. It can be rigidly binary in strict observance of objectivity, or subliminally ‘suggest’ certain modalities as ‘better than others.’ Depending on the desired outcome of the program, this allows for a virtually unlimited opportunity to steer the vehicle towards the desired destination. You might call it a digital map. The Queen has taken it a step further through the tried and true methodology of starting from the conclusion and working backwards, a device frequently employed by writers, especially those in the science fiction genre.

It works on the premise that the desired result has several roads leading to it; The long game, the meandering, and the path of least resistance. Frodo Baggins played the long game, Jack Kerouac the meandering and Siddhartha Gautama walked the path of instant enlightenment. The AI code embedded into the utility of the Helmet works as a real-time navigational function that provides continual prompts alerting the 'pilot’ to the best choices in any given circumstance. If, as an example, the Helmet, using its weather forecasting capability, notices a turn by the Pilot into the path of a pending hail storm, a tone is delivered to advise another tact. The Queen also claims that a similar function works with verbal interactions as well. If, as she has painstakingly outlined in the users manual, one was engaged in a debate that has direct consequence to the mission's success, a ‘good, better, best” series of tones would ensure that the Pilot stays on tack and on topic. This feature she calls the ‘Verometer’: vero meaning truth and meter its volume, with the pronunciation emphasis on the second syllable.

This is the feature I am interested in testing today.

The ways and means of my test consists of recording three short quotes from three diverse authors. I then place a small speaker inside the Helmet and play the tape, all the while monitoring the programs response by listening to the subsequent tones, each a perfectly suited pitch and frequency; Good is a pleasant Chopin-ish note implying harmony, not-so-good is indicated by a discordant and abrupt atonal clang and bad is a solid thud. After a period of time in adjustment and adaption, this rather Pavlovian process actually alters one’s methodology and reasoning. It is, she argues, as close to installing a heart and soul into a computer program as technology has achieved in the seventy years of its fledgling existence. She goes as far as to add that even Mr Spock would appreciate its emotional relevancy.

I am genuinely encouraged and more than a touch surprised to hear a series of pleasant sounding harmonic tones during the test recording of JFK’s brilliant observation on liberalism.

It is music to my pointy ears.

Somewhere in the Vicinity of Emotion

171.

Per TOM’s scribbled memo, I call Warden Daniels. 

“Good afternoon Warden, hope you are enjoying a pleasant Colorado afternoon.” 

“Colonel Mason, good day to you sir. What can I do for you?” He says without a trace of good humor. 

“I was just in a meeting, chaired by the Senator, where we received updates on the program. In his brief the Senator mentioned that the two of you had a productive conversation, so I am following up to ensure all systems are a solid go for next week.” 

“Yes, well, the Senator called a few days ago to address a concern or two I had regarding the logistics of the test. I suppose you could say that it was productive in as much as we agreed to terms. That’s about all.” 

“I trust that you have reviewed the timeline we sent. Are there any logistical issues I can help with?”

“Yes, I have thoroughly reviewed the schedule of operations. There are a couple of minor security issues, house rules, that we need to implement, but nothing we can’t clarify before your arrival,” he states still feeling his way around the rare situation of his being ordered into action instead the other way around, “but we will be ready and prepared for your visit to our facility.” 

“Could you clarify the house rules that refer to security for me please, should I need to address them prior to the test.” 

“The most important being the number of staff you are planning on bringing. The directive states yourself and a small staff, we need to run background checks on whomever you are traveling with. I trust you understand the requirement for this,” he offers in a distant monotone. 

“At this time it will be myself and one other, our Director of Operations, Mr. Fieldstone, a GS15 civilian with top level security clearance. There is still the possibility that one other will be joining us, but her availability is subject to other pressing concerns in the Middle-East. I will advise you on any changes to this as intel comes available. Also I trust it clear that the actual demonstration will be witnessed by yourself and two of your staff. We, as you, are committed to the highest levels of security, we need to keep this as controlled as possible. Please ensure that the two of your staffers are one-hundred percent trustworthy for this sensitive assignment. This cannot leak. I am sure we agree on this.” 

“We do,” confirms the Warden instinctively. 

“Outstanding, I will keep you updated on the staffing. Thank you and I look forward to meeting you and conducting what I am sure you will find to be a most dramatic demonstration of modern military technology. You will be in for a wild ride into the history books, sir, I guarantee.” 

“Likewise, good day then,” he closes with a tone somewhere in the vicinity of honest emotion. 

One Line

170.

I have always appreciated the nuanced similarity connecting actors with athletes. The actor, be they on stage or on set, portray another person who’s characteristics, mannerisms, attitudes and actions create a story line. The athlete, who thrives in real time surrounded by near constant danger, portrays her best self in the heat of battle. They each must adapt to changing circumstance, call upon their experience and training, inspire and lead others into and out of violent confrontations with their opponents and find a sense of dynamic flow in their quest for victory. The only difference between the two is that the athlete must adhere to a strict set of rules and play in front of the watchful eyes of a referee, umpire or official. The actor, as suggested by the script writer and instructed by the director, is unencumbered by such rules. 

It is with this socio-philosophical backdrop that we use our individual gifts, physical and intellectual, to achieve the common goals of each discipline: The creation of good art. Without hesitation I can recreate hundreds of special moments from my athletic past, the perfectly placed spiral hitting the target in stride forty yards downfield, a dramatic twisting, spinning, dodging, starting and stopping run to daylight. To me there is little difference between the long hours of practice required of a successful athlete and the physical demands of the endurance athlete, where the only question is how long the time separating the opening gun from the closing curtain. Likewise, the many dramatic, frightening and joyful moments on stage in front of a live audience, who’s only demands are to share instant emotion, are equally vibrant in the library of my random access memory. There are themes, experiences, lessons and magic moments from each with which we may call upon when the situation requires improvisation. 

This is one of those moments, or rather this is the moment I practice and prepare for that moment. 

I will need to be both actor and athlete. I will need sharp wit, stage presence, a command of the material and the ability to follow the lead of the person who holds no understanding of the line, page or act. I will be acting with a non-actor. This is like dancing with a pine tree or batting practice with a pitching machine, the interaction all one-sided, a soliloquy of solitude. 

The character I will portray is a retired Marine Colonel who now heads a clandestine defense contractor operation loosely affiliated with NASA, McDonnell Douglass and a startup civilian company called Oculus Rift. He is also the liaison between the Department of Defense who funds the operation and the amalgamation of private and military contractors. His persona is charismatically professional, profoundly confident, energetic and, in a chivalrous way, both classic and modern. He appreciates the difference between talent and luck, noise and music, victory and defeat. He loves a good Cuban cigar and a formidable challenge. 

The Queen has authored a line by line script that is a brilliant forecast of the critical time we, Warden Daniels and myself as Col Mason, stand admiring the silent maneuverability of the secret drone in a test at the epicenter of the highly secure exercise yard in the frozen vortex of the most escape-proof maximum security prison in the United States. 

I have a single line of dialogue to deliver that is the culmination of all our efforts to arrive at these precise coordinates and with the target personnel. The line must achieve the desired result. 

One line. 

In Rehearsal

169.

Of all the applications, codes, algorithms, devices and their resulting utilities, none are more impressive than The Helmet. The Queen of Hearts has put special emphasis into its design and prototype manufacturing. By leveraging her many contacts in the fledgling world of virtual reality she has mashed-up a device that might be the modern day equivalent to the technological inflection point rushed into reality in 1945 by a small group of the worlds best and brightest. Robert Oppenheimer was nicknamed the American Prometheus for his genius engineering and hurried development of the first atomic weapon, saving — by force — perhaps millions of human lives through the ultimate shock and awe destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Of course that was the spin put on it by the Department of War, later to become the softer sounding Department of Defense. Harry Truman knew full well this was his only chance of a favorable review in the history books after that infamous August day. However devastating Fat Man and Little Boy were to Japan, The Helmet held the potential to impose another type of justice upon the criminally unjust. In both cases it is vital to see the wisdom behind the chilling warning, ’when used for peacekeeping purposes.’ 

The Helmet, part Robocop, part Terminator and part Spielberg, is a wearable combination that augments sight, sound, touch and smell if you so desired. In the latter olfactory category, The Queen insisted that there are medical applications that have, to date, gone unexplored. The helmet itself looks like the modern headwear used by jet fighter pilots with a painted dome, heads-up display face mask and an assortment of wires, hoses, sensors and a pair of matching antennae. Because of its weight it sits atop a padded neck and shoulder brace. That is the upper portion of the apparatus. The lower part is what the design team calls the Iron Fist. The fist is connected by Blue-tooth technology to the helmet allowing motion control with similar maneuverability as a gaming joystick. The combination the two gives the operator control over whatever objects are connected via 5G wireless technology. In this specific case The Queen has successfully paired the Helmet with the drone. All the operator, called the Pilot, needs to do is see, feel, hear, point, lean and direct the drone in much the same way that one operates a flight simulator. With these basic operating functions the drone can maneuver into and out of situations previously considered impossible. The myriad functions of this technology is, in the opinion of those desperately trying to patent its power potential, profoundly robust. 

As always,  Queen has other plans. Anybody can build something and sell it, license it or mass manufacture it, but to her way of thinking, a style that I have quickly learned to respect and appreciate, the true test is in its application. 

At this point in the history of The Helmet fate has intervened. 

A series of ‘what if’ questions has led us to the formulation of the foundational strategy holding Operation Firecracker together like C-clamped flat-iron pressing a thousand pounds of torque. 

It is this crucial bit of technology that gives us the plan. With it, we live to fight other days, without it we are dead in the water. 

The Queen has provided me with a script. My role as Colonel Mason, is to demonstrate the superior firepower capabilities of this revolutionary new device, one that could have similar impact on society as Oppenheimer’s, to Warden Daniels. 

That is the easy part. There is another, altogether more complex and vitally important component to the operation that hinges on my sales performance. 

The script calls for me to goad the Warden into trying out The Helmet for himself as the drone hovers one-hundred feet above his SuperMax prison facility on the evening of the test.

Today I am in rehearsal. 

The Mad Conductor

168.

The four of us sit in the DC war room. Paradoxically, the largess of our current mission is in sharp contrast to the tiny office space we call HQ. Six computer screens have replaced traditional wall coverings and the space is constantly abuzz with the static of an operation in progress. Julie and Harlan sit at their consuls, TOM and I behind them on a slight riser that provides a better viewing angle. The additional eight or so inches of elevation also gives us the slight advantage of seemingly owing the higher ground. It is the first time that I have been invited to sit in this lofty position alongside TOM and I can see that Julie is enjoying my metaphorical first day on the job uncomfortability. 

Harlan is monitoring intelligence chatter on two fronts, one is the paranoia coming from Warden Daniels as he tries to validate the drone test and its briefcase full of inconsistencies. The second is the meeting in Vegas between Drysdale and the local NAACP bureau chief. They are in their third day of talks, the subject matter so sensitive that it might be impossible to contain, let alone control. On both of these integral snapshots of the bigger picture, TOM jots notes and silently passes them to me.

Have Col Mason call the Warden again asking about his conversation with the Senator, and suggesting we consider upping the ante in Drysdale’s poker game. 

I silently nod my head in agreement as Julie creates a model on the probabilities of mission success. 

Davis and Saunders seem to be establishing a positive relationship with Adleson, especially after his background check on the pair turned up the fake bios we planted. Wildly successful international financial entrepreneurs and retired stock market wizards. 

But the big news of the day comes from The Queen. Sequestered in her office, under the guise of working on a plan to spring the boss from SuperMax Florence by tossing a million dollars at lawyers, with bribes and around crooked judges, she has actually been perfecting the programs that will actually do just that. It is a cyber double-cross known only to her and the four people sitting in this room. I am constantly amazed by the talent that this young girl, not yet twenty, exhibits in the neo-craft of computer hacking. The best programmers, security experts, computer science nerds and the entire intelligence community, backed by all the money that Fort Knox could guarantee, is no match for her genius. When her time comes, and it is coming soon, there will be a host of ref-faced officials wanting quick answers to hot questions.

Still, she has a way to go. We are banking on the fact that she will have the programs up and running at the precise time necessary. We are setting the stage, working acts one and two, creating a backdrop of colossal drama. Once we have built the requisite tension and arranged for all the bad guys, the antagonists of a thousand nightmares, to gather in one place at one time, our titular operation needs to explode much like Francis Scott Key’s bombs bursting in air. 

In this comparison, the orchestra has taken the stage and is tuning up as the auditorium fills to capacity. 

The only thing missing is the mad conductor and her sheet music. 

Cancel Our T-Time

167.

Davis is enjoying his role as entrepreneurial mobster. He sits at the table with Saunders, also slightly overplaying her role, the pair of high-level managers and what appears to be the business legal counsel for Adelson’s gaming operations in Las Vegas. They are waiting for the boss to arrive. Davis can see his reflection in the highly polished Brazilian cherrywood tabletop, indicating, to him, that despite the environmental tone deafness of the furniture's owner, it probably is oblivious to someone who could buy the Amazon rainforest should he desire. 

They sit silent, game faces on. 

From a hidden door behind them Aldelson enters the meeting room, walks to his place at the head of the table and sits. He scans the table’s attendees and, apparently satisfied, opens the dialogue,”Well good afternoon everyone, I understand that we have a proposal to hear from this talented pair of, what, businessmen?” he looks at Saunders and condescendingly adds “and business women?” Davis internally recoils at his gross sexism, but shows no external indication that he really wants to shoot the prick in the face with the concealed derringer in his right snakeskin boot. 

Everyone nobs a terse ‘good afternoon’ in response. 

“So let’s get to the heart of the matter. We have you on surveillance video using a gaming device to manipulate the outcome of our slot machines, an outcome that we pay a premium to ensure is impossible. You may begin your presentation by stating why we shouldn’t simply arrest you on the spot and, meeting adjourned, spend the rest of this glorious day golfing. If we find your opening argument satisfactory, you may continue, if not, we have a tee time in one hour. Please begin.” 

Davis clears his dry throat and opens his prepared oration with as much bravado and falsified confidence as he is able to invoke. 

“Thanks you for seeing us. The demonstration was due to the timeliness of the situation. Had we of gone through standard channels the odds of this meeting happening would have been much too late to leverage the opportunity at hand. We simply felt that by proving our capabilities, knowing full well we were on camera, would speed the process of getting to, well, this. We fully intend to reimburse every penny of the illicit payout once we have an arrangement in place.”

Adelson raises one eyebrow significantly higher than the other and cocks his head approvingly. 

“But that is small potatoes,” Davis says, gaining momentum, “Compared to the bigger picture opportunity we offer to you in good faith.”

Even Saunders is impressed by the performance. 

Davis powerfully pauses for effect, re-establishing eye contact with the others at the table before proceeding.

“The gaming device is not the end game, it is the opening move of a pawn in a chess game. We have the technology to silently and efficiently manipulate Wall Street and put the gutless and greedy bastards in check with one decisive move. Call it a Queen-Bishop diagonal assault.” The looks on every face in the room are similar versions of disbelief and doubt. 

Davis yields to Saunders for the closing salvo.

She stands. 

“We have the tools, the technology and the motivation to make this the biggest score in the history of organized gaming. And I am sure you all agree that to be the actual business designation of the stock market. We can set up and create a shadow corporation, manipulate its standing, rating and value, leverage its portfolio and, when the moment is maximized, sell the stocks we digitally and virtually created from scratch. It is genius, foolproof and guaranteed.” 

Even the fly on the wall is silent with the ramification of this bombshell. 

“Why me? What is this to me? We run a legal operation from top to bottom,” falsifies Adelson. 

“We need someone with your clout to bankroll the operation.” 

“Payout?”

“Put up ten get one hundred.” 

“We talking millions?”

“We’re talking billions.” 

One of the execs snorts and is immediately silenced by a devastatingly sinister glare from the boss. 

Aldelson sits with his chin on the knuckles of his interlaced hands looking alternately at Davis and then Saunders. 

He looks menacingly at the underling who voiced the audible response to the dollar amounts. He looks like he could use a shower.

Adleson says to him with deadly calm, “Call and cancel our tee-time.”