The feathers push, p.1
The Feather's Push, page 1
THE FEATHER’S PUSH
RELENTED
BOOK 2
NOEL ZAMOT
Atabey Press
New Port Richey, Florida, United States
Copyright © 2023 by Noel Zamot
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Edition
ISBN: 979-8-9877112-1-7 (eBook)
ISBN: 979-8-9877112-2-4 (Paperback)
For my father, Noel Sr., who couldn’t read this one.
CONTENTS
Preface
A Short Timeline of Artificial Intelligence
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Epilogue
Afterword
Did you enjoy this book?
About the Author
Also by Noel Zamot
Empath
(noun) em·path |em.pæθ
1: One who has the ability to sense emotions; someone who is empathic or practices empathy.
Pusher
(noun) push·er |poo͝sh′ər
1: One who, or that which, pushes; someone who drives forward; someone who controls.
A SHORT TIMELINE OF ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE
1997: IBM's Deep Blue becomes the first computer chess-playing system to defeat a reigning world chess champion, Garry Kasparov.
1999: ALICE (Artificial Linguistic Internet Computer Entity), a natural language processing chatbot, is introduced. It uses heuristic pattern matching for conversation and becomes one of the earliest and most well-known chatbots. ALICE passes the Turing Test in just over 30% of sessions.
2011: IBM's Watson defeats two of the greatest champions on the game show "Jeopardy!". Watson's ability to understand natural language and quickly retrieve relevant information showcases advancements in machine learning and data processing.
2012: AlexNet, a deep convolutional neural network, wins the ImageNet Large Scale Visual Recognition Challenge. This event is often credited with kickstarting the deep learning revolution.
2014: Chatbots begin to appear on messaging platforms like WeChat and Facebook Messenger, allowing businesses to interact with customers in a more automated fashion. Chatbots are able to pass the Turing Test at scale.
2015: DeepMind's AlphaGo defeats Lee Sedol, one of the world's top Go players. This is a significant achievement as Go is a complex game with more possible moves than chess. Most experts at the time believed that computers would not be able to defeat human Go champions for many more years.
2018: Google introduces BERT (Bidirectional Encoder Representations from Transformers) , a new method for pre-training natural language processing models. BERT represents a significant leap in the ability of machines to understand the context of words in a sentence.
2019: The source code for StyleGAN is released. NVIDIA researchers created the software to generate realistic, yet entirely artificial, human faces. A website, “This Person Does Not Exist” displays a new face created by the AI every time the website is refreshed.
2020: OpenAI releases GPT-3 (Generative Pre-trained Transformer 3), one of the largest and most powerful language models ever created. It demonstrates human-like text generation capabilities and can perform a wide range of tasks without task-specific training.
2021: OpenAI introduces ChatGPT, a sibling model to InstructGPT, designed for conversational interactions. It's trained using Reinforcement Learning from Human Feedback (RLHF) and showcases the ability to generate coherent and contextually relevant responses in a conversational setting.
Today: A variety of social media platforms sprout up with alarming regularity, providing subscribers with AI-curated content that appeals to their desires, opinions, and tastes. These platforms charge no fee, generate millions from advertising, and isolate users from content, news, or factual information which may prove offensive, and thus reduce engagement.
PART ONE
1
Christopher Everett let the setting sun warm his mind. He loved shooting during golden hour, and today’s sunset was spectacular. The Charles River disappeared to the west as the afternoon melted over slate gray water, lighting the Boston sky in colors that overwhelmed him. The low clouds would gift the Berkshires with an unspeakably beautiful evening. Across the Charles, the reserved majesty of MIT stood quiet and content. Behind him, Back Bay erupted across from an emerald esplanade vibrant with life. This would be the perfect ending to a spectacular day.
He arrived at his spot late for a great reason. His company closed a second round of funding at work, and he felt lucky to have even only a few minutes to catch the sunset before dinner with Kate. He couldn’t wait to tell her all about the day’s events, about what it meant for his job, and their new future together. There was no time to waste.
He was about to capture the shot when a young woman stepped into view.
“Hi, excuse me? Would you mind?” She seemed disheveled and clueless, but he tried his best to be polite. A good photographer should never rile a subject, even one burning up precious time during golden hour.
The girl stared, then walked up to him.
“Miss? I’m sorry, I just need a moment to take this—”
She reached out unexpectedly, almost awkwardly, and touched his forearm. Her hand was tiny, soft as a feather, and very warm.
He realized with a rush that she was beautiful, far more than the gold and pink sunset. He felt an overwhelming urge, right there, to remember her face forever.
“I’m so sorry, miss. Would you... would you mind if I took your picture?” He wanted to tell her she was the most interesting person he’d ever seen, but words failed him. She was thin, with an auburn mane framing a delicate face, and honey-green eyes that toyed with a secret he could not understand. The sunset paled compared to her smile.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her lips parted in a soft pout that left him speechless. “That is very sweet. I’d love it.”
Her voice was low and throaty, and he drank it in. His heart soared, and he melted with a desire beyond anything he’d experienced with Kate. He asked her to pose with her face lit by the fading sun. If he lost everything in life, he’d still have this one perfect picture he would treasure more than anything, forever.
Click. Click.
“Thank you. You... made my day.” He struggled to find words to convey the gratitude for being in her presence. “Could I please have your number? I’d love to send you a copy.” He smiled and hoped she would, too. “If you don’t mind.”
“Well…” She flashed her mobile phone with a flirty smile. “I was wondering if you could just download it from your camera?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I can’t do that.” He was terrified for a moment that she’d run away. Of all the days to be a film aficionado, this was the worst. He’d left his digital camera sitting on the table back at his apartment, excited to finish this roll. “I’m shooting film today. But I can definitely scan it and send it to you—”
The change in her eyes surprised him, beautiful through her anger. She stepped closer, and he melted with expectation. She touched him again with her deliciously warm hand. Her touch was electric.
The afternoon gloom covered him like sand, endless desperation with no escape. The girl in front of him probably had it all but didn’t care. She’d never understand why life was so difficult for him. He was worthless, sick of being a failure, ashamed that all his life had led to only this. He glanced at his stupid camera—why did he even do this?—and felt a deep, all-encompassing disgust with himself.
Cars flew by on Storrow Drive. He was a loser, in a dead-end startup job in Cambridge that he knew would fail and doom him to misery. Kate was probably cheating on him right now, laughing at him while she was having sex with a coworker. He realized he hated her, but he understood. The world was better off without him. He knew, finally and clearly, what he had to do. No one would know and no one would care, but the pain would soon be over.
He glanced over his shoulder as he stepped onto the parkway, barely hearing the people screaming at him. The girl with green eyes and auburn hair stood in a small crowd, staring at him and shaking her head with a terrified look on her face. She seemed to yell the word No.
His last thought before the truck slammed against him was I hope it hurts less than
2
“Are you ready?” Simon Lyons asked.
Justin Asher nodded. He stood straight, staring at the dark wooden door at the back of the small foyer. Although he’d been out of the military for over a decade, Simon still appreciated the young man’s fresh haircut, the close shave, the well-fitting but unwelcome charcoal suit with a mandatory white shirt and dark tie. Justin was ready for the most important meeting of his young life. For a moment, the only sounds Simon heard were the far-off, muted whine of an air handler and the pounding of his heart.
Justin took a deep breath and knocked on the door three times. Then he opened it, walked straight to the desk at the far end of the spartan office, and stood at attention.
“Ma’am. Technical Specialist Justin Leigh Asher reporting as ordered.”
Minerva Ayala stood tall behind her desk, her black hair tied up in the severe bun she reserved for serious business. A man Simon knew to be legal counsel from somewhere in the bowels
“You may stand at ease, Mister Asher.”
Minerva knew the importance of dressing the part for uncomfortable events. She wore a dark business suit, a starched blouse, pearl earrings, and no smile. She looked less like a government executive and more like an angry accountant. Simon could not see the tiny crucifix he’d gifted her ten years ago when she was the center of his life, before he became someone else. He wondered if she still kept it.
She stole a glance at Simon, then read from a single sheet of paper on her desk.
“Memorandum for the Director, Defense Special Activities Offices, with copies to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the Secretary of Defense, Under Secretary of Defense for Intelligence, and Director of the Defense Intelligence Agency. The letter is from the Office of the Inspector General at the Department of Defense.”
She paused and glared. “Subject: Recommendation for Reinstatement.”
Tension evaporated from Justin’s lean frame. He almost teetered, a house of cards before collapsing from an errant breath.
“Paragraph one. After conducting an extensive review, the Department of Defense Inspector General and the Defense Counterintelligence and Security Agency, based on the legal opinion from the Department of Justice, recommend full reinstatement of Technical Specialist Justin Leigh Asher to the Defense Special Activities Office.
“Paragraph two. Additional details remain classified in accordance with Department of Defense program guidance. Please contact the Office of the Inspector General for additional information.”
She looked up. “That’s it. That’s the letter. Signed by the Inspector General.”
Simon smiled. Working at one of the most obscure outfits in the nation had some perks. One was minimal paperwork. Not much of their jobs could be shared with the world or documented for posterity. The clinical opacity worked well and kept secrets—like his—hidden from an unsuspecting world.
“Do you have anything to add, Mister Asher?”
Justin shuddered. Simon saw tears of relief welling up in the young man’s eyes. “No, ma’am.”
“Very well. I do.” She turned to the attorney. “Thank you for being here. That is all. Miss Bennett will escort you out.”
The man nodded curtly in approval of the deed, then opened the door. As he stepped out, Simon winked at Marcy Bennett, his partner at work and Minerva’s erstwhile assistant. She closed her eyes in a fleeting gesture of relief. The door closed behind the attorney and the room went quiet.
Then Minerva leaned on her desk, her ebony eyes blasting into the young man. By any measure, Minerva Ayala was imposing: tall and beautiful, with exotic features that seduced or threatened with equal ease. She commanded attention and respect—and when she wanted to, fear. Years ago, he’d fallen in love with that.
“What did you do on active duty, Mister Asher?”
“I was a Combat Rescue Officer, ma’am.”
“How good were you?”
“I was, uh—”
Simon smiled at the hesitation. He’d known Minerva long enough to recognize this counseling technique from miles away.
“Director Ayala, if I may,” he interrupted. “Mister Asher received numerous service and joint commendations for bravery and heroism in combat while serving as a captain in the US Air Force. He was ranked as the number one Combat Rescue Officer when he separated with distinction after his active duty service commitment. Had he stayed in, he’d be fast-tracked for promotion and groomed for command.”
“Thank you for the clarification, Mister Lyons. Is that correct, Mister Asher?”
Justin snuck a glance at Simon, trying to convey a nervous thank you. “It is, ma’am.”
“Justin Asher, you are smart, capable, and one of the very best in my unit. I am glad you are back. But you are also a lucky sonofabitch.” She paused and let her silence flood the moment. “You swallowed an internal mole’s bullshit hook, line, and sinker. You put that man”—she pointed at Simon—“and three civilians in mortal danger. It took our team—your team, my team—months to clean up the mess. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
“If you do something that stupid ever again, Mister Asher, I will rip your fucking head off with my bare hands and shit on the stump of your neck. And that won’t be the worst thing to happen to you. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Justin croaked.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, a lot louder.
“Good. I hate Owen Lockwood more than you will ever know. He betrayed all of us, and we are still trying to figure out why. We have no clue what other horrors he’s planning. The Pentagon, and the FBI, and the Department of Justice, and the DIA have all agreed that you were not at fault. I believe them. Now I want you to prove to me that you deserve to be back.”
“Understood, ma’am.”
“Do you have anything else to say?”
Ten years ago he'd received a gift, the result of an accident that almost claimed his life: Simon Lyons could see seconds in the future. The skill was useful in his line of work, allowing him to predict others—everyone except someone quite special—with ease. Despite the condition, he was unprepared for Justin’s reaction. A tear streaked down the young man’s face, one he could imagine belonging to a son a lifetime from now.
“I will earn this, ma’am,” Justin Asher whispered. “I will not let you down. I swear.”
Minerva Ayala clenched her jaw. Simon knew the tell. She paused to compose herself before she spoke, a moment to control visible emotion.
“Dismissed.”
Justin Leigh Asher snapped to attention, performed a crisp about-face, and walked out of the room. Simon glanced at Minerva as he followed the young man out. She conveyed everything in a fleeting smile—relief, hope, pride. Simon closed the door behind him and stood alone with Justin in the gray hallway. The cold hum of the metal building made him shiver.
“Congratulations, Justin.”
He nodded, fighting emotion.
“You okay, kid?”
“Thank you for being here, sir.” He shook as he tried to control the shame. “I am so sorry…” He stopped before his voice broke.
“You’re back. That’s all that matters.”
“Sir, I want to apologize to you. Again. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve apologized enough. I forgave you months ago.”
“You almost died. Because of me.”
Simon raised a hand to his cheekbone, a reflex born in the recent past. He ran a finger over the scars that might fade from flesh but never from memory. Six months ago, on a deserted street north of Boston, they’d both been betrayed, walking into a trap with Justin as the bait. Simon remembered the look on the young man’s face as he held a knife to his throat and told him the truth. Minutes later, riddled with bullets and a whisper away from death, Simon lay bleeding in a government van. Being close to someone as you bled out had a strange way of drawing people together.
“We all make mistakes, Justin. How we learn from them determines who we’ll be.”
Justin fought a grimace and his dark gray eyes welled up. “Thank you, sir,” he croaked, then turned and ran into the bathroom.
Simon knew. Justin would stay there for a long time, crying alone, not certain of what or how he felt. The experience would be horrible and memorable—and would change his life. A lifetime ago, in a grimy stall a world away, Simon had felt the same.
He let out a short breath, leaving memory and pain behind, then turned toward the labyrinthine exit from the metal building, hoping to catch the next flight home.
3
