Ryan grew distant, thinking, pondering. He didn’t see the proverbial falling dominoes when he pictured a world map, but it was impossible not to see a chessboard, with Zhao gobbling up land and resources around the world — Africa, South America, and all over the Pacific. As it stood, most war-gaming models predicted that the United States would win a prolonged conflict. But what did that even mean? Generals on both sides — PLA and U.S. — stood steadfastly behind their ability to crush the enemy in any conflict. A good general had to be possessed of a certain swagger, a deep and abiding confidence, no matter their shortcomings. Great men were often… almost always… incredibly flawed men. Lincoln, when confronted about Grant’s drunken behavior, had said simply, “I can’t spare this man; he fights.”
The giant brains in the think tanks and working groups around Washington had a more sobering view of possible conflict with a near peer state. The U.S. would likely “win” a prolonged conflict — but any openly declared war with a state like China or Russia would come to American soil. Maybe not in boots-on-the-ground foreign troops, but certainly in a rain of missiles and bombs and devastating cyberattacks once the gloves were off. Gone would be the proxy wars fought by guerilla armies and despot dictators propped up with foreign money. Everyone would suffer greatly. Even the nation that came out on top would be belly-down, gasping for breath, and drained of blood and treasure. The American people would feel the next war.
Ryan had to force himself to stop clenching his teeth.
Van Damm waved a hand back and forth in the air. “You still with us, Mr. President?”
“Your analogy made me think,” Ryan said. “I’d like to hear more about these illegals and what they’re up to.”
“Of course, Jack,” Foley said. “I’ll get you something by lunch.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said. “You know, we’re playing a game of chicken with China. You know what game theory says about the surest way to win a game of chicken?”
Foley shrugged. Van Damm wrinkled his bald head.
Ryan jammed an index finger on the table to make his point. “What you have to do is let your opponent see you rip out your own steering wheel right before the game begins.”
“That would work if the other guy happens to be sane.”
“Yeah.” Ryan nodded slowly. “There is that…”
Major Chang Xiubo of the People’s Liberation Army stared at the twin monitors of the desktop computer, mouth half open, lines of code reflecting off the lenses of his thick glasses. He studied the program carefully, imagining the beauty of her avatar. She’d been designed as an NPC for video gaming, but, oh, she had potential for so much more.
From the time he was a small boy, Chang had always imagined that computers and all their glorious parts were female. This software was certainly mysterious enough to be a woman. Completely engrossed in her ability to solve problems on her own with no prompting or additional coding from him, Chang watched the mission unfold on his screen and passed a long, rattling fart into the mesh of his office chair. The two other engineers in the lab, both women, glanced up and shook their heads in unconcealed disgust. They were accustomed to, if not at ease with, the major’s eccentricities.
He clicked the mouse beside his keyboard, scrolling, studying.
This software — called Calliope by the Americans — had already caused the deaths of two people, with another soon to follow.
Chang Xiubo’s grandfather once owned a horse that was so clever it could escape from any gate, no matter how complicated the latch. Unable to be contained, the horse eventually had to be killed. It was a near indisputable fact, the old man said, that the smarter something was, the more mischief it created, putting everyone and everything around it in danger.
The risks of being a smart horse became a popular warning from young Chang’s parents and a way to say no when he asked for more math books or a new computer. He got these things anyway — because he was smart, which made them worry all the more.
Chang’s father was by no means rich, but he was a loyal party member and a good provider for his family. He said what people above him wanted to hear and farted silently. Xiubo could never bring himself to do either. The elder Chang was charged with supply of military garrisons in and around Jiuquan, a relatively small city of a million people, west of Beijing, and south of the border with Mongolia.
