MORS

1

Year 2018

The analyst, clad in a crisp blue uniform, strode down the sterile white corridor, the requested file clutched firmly in hand. As she approached the frosted glass door at the end, she could see her own distorted reflection staring back at her. The door, like all the others in the building, bore the company’s logo—a gleaming tower of four interlocking circles encased in a ring.

She pushed her way into the room, into a cacophony of shuffling papers and side conversations. High-ranking uniforms representative of each arm of defense forces filled one side of the boardroom table. Suits (the best a government paycheck could buy) worn by people from attached agencies joined them.

On the opposing side of the table were the doctors, scientists, mathematicians, and behavioral psychologists, to name a few. Between them, paper reports, charts, predictions littered the surface. Behind them, a series of screens showed facts and figures, along with a world map. The graphic would start with a single red dot, and then it would rapidly expand, quickly turning other countries red. When blood red covered the entire map, the graphic would wipe and start again, this time projecting slightly different routes with slightly different growth. Subtle and slight variations. However, the world map would always end the same. Red. Utter and apocalyptic destruction.

The analyst rounded the desk, past other analysts in different colored uniforms, and stopped at her representative. She reached over and placed the folder in front of Colonel Lawrence Beacon. His distinct eagle insignia sat proudly above his numerous awards. Closely cropped salt and pepper hair sat atop an experienced face.

Beacon broke away from his conversation with a Navy Captain, placed on a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, and opened the file. He scanned the sheet, soaking in the contents, then abruptly sealed the folder, resting his hands on top.

“I must say,” Beacon started, causing the room to fall to silence, “your analysis of the situation leaves a lot to be desired. And to be frank, I’m a little disappointed. The spectrum is too wide and the margins too great. There is little redeeming or inspirational about what we’ve spoken about here today.”

“If I may,” Dr McKenna started, “we at Argent Laboratories are just as concerned about our discoveries, research, and findings as the government is. But the variables are just too great, almost incalculable, even with our intelligence, models, and systems.”

“That’s all very well, Dr. McKenna, but the impact of the virus is brutal. POTUS has no qualms about shutting this all down if we can’t generate stable results. There’s no way he’ll sign off on this without some assurances.”

A fresh voice broke from the end of the table. “Then we need to think about this entire situation a little differently.”

Heads turned to the striking gentleman at the far end of the table. Donning a maroon pocket square in his dark jacket, and the absence of a tie, he was the odd person out in the room.

“You know,” Beacon started, “I’ve been ignoring your presence this entire meeting.”

McKenna shifted in her seat. “This is—”

Beacon held up his hand. “I know who Baxter Parks is, Dr. McKenna.” He turned to Parks. “I’ve seen you speak several times and across the many programs you have engaged with the variety of military branches.”

Parks smiled. “Thank you, Col—”

“I’ve also heard the protestors outside the building being as loud as the supporters inside the room.”

“We all have our detract—”

“And so, I just don’t know why a philanthropist is here at this meeting.”

Parks made sure the Colonel had finished before smiling and throwing out his hands. “Because I own the place. Argent Labs is a subsidiary of a shell corporation. If you search long enough and hard enough, eventually you’ll find my name somewhere, but we try very hard to keep it secret. It’s a branding thing.”

“What about her?” Beacon said, pointing to the woman standing in the room’s corner. “Is she part of Argent Labs as well?”

Parks smiled. “Heaven’s no! Halayna is my personal bodyguard. Someone like me can never be too careful.”

Halayna had the imperceptible skill of watching the room and not at the same time. Like the eyes of the Mona Lisa, she seemed to track everyone’s movements concurrently. And as such, no one knew if they were being watched, observed, judged, or recorded. Innocence gently dusted her features, yet there was a dullness in her eyes that suggested she had performed acts that would make a serial killer blush. Even though she casually held her hands in front of herself, she looked like she could extract a concealed weapon and execute a threat before they thought to act.

“Still,” Beacon soothed, blinking away the intoxication, “why are you part of this meeting?”

Baxter smiled. “I’m here because I help people see beyond their problems.”

“And what do you think the problem is?”

“I think you’ve summed up the challenge quite nicely, Colonel. You need certainty, and I wish to propose an idea that can get you closer to the mark.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Parks, this society has the intellectual might of all branches of military working alongside operations research professionals.”

“As well you might, I’m just proposing an alternate way of thinking about the challenge. We have created a devastating virus for you. That is a fact.”

Beacon flinched at that comment. That he had created the virus.

“You can predict what it does to people,” Parks continued, “on a biomechanical and molecular level. This is also true. But you can’t predict how people will respond once the virus is released.”

“First of all, no one has mentioned releasing the virus. We’re purely modeling the impacts if it happens to find a way out of the test tube. Second, I know the work you’ve been involved in. I don’t intend to go down the rabbit hole with this one. We can’t afford to get lost in the labyrinth.”

“I don’t take people down the rabbit hole, as you call it, Colonel. I help them see beyond their own limitations, extending outside their burrow.”

Beacon chewed over the statement for some time as eyes darted around the room. He made eye contact with a few of his trusted allies, then glanced down at the desk. In the end, he said, “What did you have in mind?”

“Before we talk about the solution, I think we should fall in love with the problem.”

“We’ve been talking about it for the past hour. I think we’re all aware of what the problem is.”

Parks cocked his head to the side. “No. I don’t think you do. I’ve spent this ridiculously elongated gathering hearing you all pour over the data and how you can’t trust it. You lost sight of the problem a long time ago.”

Beacon scoffed and shifted in his seat as he exchanged glances with the other uniformed officers in the room. He returned his glare to Parks. “You’re very close to being ejected from this meeting, Mr. Parks. And all further meetings, regardless of your connection to this military.”

“I apologize for the harshness of my comment. But sometimes people need a shakeup.”

“Just get to it.”

“The problem is you are holding onto something, and it’s not like you don’t know what it can do. You just don’t know how it will impact the bigger picture. Not one person, but a community. A town. A country. The world. Our enemies. Us. All the models in the world are just that, numbers and bits and bytes that do things they’re told to do.”

“We use simulation models to predict performance in safe and efficient ways.”

Baxter leaned forward on the table. “Aha. And there it is. Safe. Efficient. But look at what you have. Uncertainty. A spectrum. A percentage of probability. There is one thing you can’t predict, Colonel.”

“Do enlighten me, Mr. Parks.”

“Human behavior,” he mused as he waved his hands.

“And you’ve got something better than what the best minds and unlimited budget can create?”

Parks leaned back. “Of course.”

“You said that without hesitation.”

“Because I know what I’m talking about.”

“And what are you talking about? Exactly?”

Parks stood, buttoning his coat as he did. He strode the length of the room as he spoke. “You create a model and hope to hell people behave in a way that aligns with your input parameters.”

“And?”

Parks stopped in his tracks. “And? And it’s backward.”

“Elaborate, Mr. Parks. And make it quick, because my patience is wearing thin.”

Baxter Parks smiled a toothy grin.

“I have a wonderful idea,” he started.