A.I. Apocalypse (19 page)

Surprisingly, though, the multipurpose craft avoided looking ungainly. It reminded Mike of the retired Space Shuttle, run through an extruder, with flattened, sharp edges, and two sets of wings forward and back. Ducted jets provided the vertical takeoff and landing capability.

The prototype was white. All white. Inside and outside. The cockpit controls were all white and unmarked. “Are you sure this is safe?” Mike picked at a corner of a screen, and peeled away a protective plastic film. “Has this plane ever been used before?”

“The earlier prototypes flew exceptionally well. LMB subcontracted the shell design to Exxon-Apple who subcontracted it to Cyberdynamics. This is an excellent aircraft.”

“Uh-huh. Now I understand. You just want to play with the toy you built.”

Like the old American space shuttle, the middle of the aircraft had an open bay that could be configured as a bomb bay, cargo bay, or passenger space. It was about as large as a minivan, and the prototype had six white carbon fiber seats in it. A three step ladder ran from the bay into the cockpit, which had room for a single pilot.

“Please choose a seat.”

Mike turned, conflicted. He couldn’t fly a plane, so there was no real point to sitting in the pilot’s seat. And yet the idea of sitting in the passenger bay with no pilot aboard seemed absurd. He climbed reluctantly into the pilot’s seat and buckled himself in.
 

The engines roared, and the plane rose straight up. As soon as they had gained some altitude ELOPe vectored thrust, and the plane shot forward. The plane accelerated, and the airframe creaked as it adjusted to the flight stresses.
 

A few minutes later, the whole shell seemed to crack repeatedly and Mike grabbed his seatbelt, for lack of anything better to hold onto.

“Don’t worry,” ELOPe said, “I’m reconfiguring the airframe for supersonic speed.” The engine thrust increased again, and Mike watched the airspeed indicator rising past Mach 1. He settled in for the cross-country flight.

Later, after a long discussion of the pros and cons of various strategies for dealing with the virus, Mike felt the plane begin to slow. Glancing out the cockpit window, he could see the lights of Chicago and the darkness of Lake Michigan off the left side of the plane. “What’s happening?” Mike asked softly.

“We’re slowing to refuel,” ELOPe answered. “You should see the drone ahead of you.”

In the inky darkness, Mike was able to spot the absence of stars first, and then the glow of the airplane’s lights lit up the lumbering, unlit fuel drone. The prototype extended a mid-air fueling boom, ELOPe manipulating the plane to get it into position. Mike watched as the drone targeted the boom with its own fuel hose. The hose had tiny winglets to fly it into position. With a thump the two mated, and Mike felt the flow of fuel into his plane. A few minutes later the procedure was complete, the two planes disengaged, and the white prototype resumed creaking as it prepared again for supersonic flight.

Still later, Mike watched the tree-covered hillsides approach as the plane slowed again and decreased altitude. “Where are we landing?” Mike asked.

“There’s a parking lot up ahead,” ELOPe answered. “I have a satellite image of it. There’s a package drone crashed at one end of it, but there’s sufficient room to put down.”

ELOPe spun the engines down to their slowest speed, and vectored thrust for a vertical descent. The plane touched down, and only the creak of the frame let Mike know they had landed. Mike unbuckled as the engines spun down. In the moonlight he could just make out a castle.

“It’s Grey Towers,” ELOPe explained. “The home of the Gifford Pinchot family. Founder of the conservation movement, friend of Teddy Roosevelt. Blah, blah, blah.”

Mike unbuckled and made his way to the door.

*
 
*
 
*

James was bored. He had found some kind of card game on the old Windows computer and was clicking away at it. James's mouse was an obscure mechanical device that Vito wanted desperately to take apart and examine. The mouse had developed a squeak from the rubber ball inside the device.

“Can you just stop, please?” Leon finally called out.

James gave him a look, then stood up in a huff and stormed out. Leon sighed. James's assigned task had been to try to find other people on the Internet, but aside from the discovery of Mike Williams, there just wasn’t anyone out there.

James's main discovery was that as the hours passed, the artificial intelligence’s communications grew closer and closer to natural language. They had found the change log for several wikis in use by the AI community. The first messages appeared to be in binary code, later messages in XML, still later messages in XML with English terms, and lately the messages were in heavily augmented English.

“See there, where it says, ‘trade[3]’,” Vito had pointed out hours earlier. “I think it’s clarifying which definition of trade it’s using. If you look at the wiktionary, the third definition of trade is to exchange something. They’re correcting for one of the natural weaknesses of human language, which is the multiple definitions available for a given word.”

James didn’t want to converse with human-sounding computers, he wanted people. “How can there be only four people on the whole Internet?” he had complained earlier before resorting to playing solitaire.
 

Leon turned back to Vito who was eating a cookie. Vito offered him the tray, “Rich, buttery shortbread cookie?”
 

“Where did it come from?” Leon asked, not recognizing the food as anything they had gotten from the grocery store.

“The packages from the drone we came in on. We also found some clothes, in case you’re running low.” Grey Towers was apparently built before the invention of washing machines, and the boys had been wearing the same clothes for days.

“Sure, that would be swell. Listen, about the virus. The copy we have from the memory on your phone is just one part. It’s an algorithm database, and it’s just one component of a larger virus.”

“What do you think it’s for?” Vito asked.

“I think it’s like the long-term memory of a person,” Leon said. “The algorithms database is a few hundred gigabytes in size. There’s nothing in there about when to use which algorithm, or how to use it. So I think there must be a separate structure which is probably some kind of neural network that helps the AI pick which algorithm to use in which situation. Then you’d have still other nodes that actually execute the algorithms. I’m just guessing here. I need more copies of viruses.”

“We could wipe one of our phones, put
 
it back on the network, let it get reinfected with a new virus, then get the new virus image. Would that work?”

“Yes, it might.” Leon stared off into the distance, visualizing the process.

“And if you can do that?”

“If the AIs all share a similar neural structure, we can build a counter-virus that is tailored to that structure. My guess is that we need to attack either this algorithm database or the neural network. We want something that infects quickly, but becomes destructive slowly.”

“Why wouldn’t we want to just wipe it out as quickly as possible?” Vito asked. “The first virus spread around the world overnight. It was blindingly fast.”

“Yes, but Phage has been forced by evolutionary pressure to be resistant to fast attacks. The only hope is a really slow attack - so slow that it evades the attention span of the AI.”

“If you throw a frog into boiling water, it’ll jump out,” Vito said. “But if you put it in room temperature water on a stove, and then turn the heat up, it’ll just cook.”

“Exactly.”

They both turned to the door at the sound of a throat clearing. James stood there, hands in the pockets of his hooded Torvalds sweatshirt. “I think you’re both missing something.”

Leon spun around on the chair. “Yeah? What?”

James walked into the room. “You’re both treating this as a problem that needs to be solved. But what if that’s the wrong perspective?”

Leon and Vito both shook their heads. “Huh?”

“Vito, when you got your cat, you spayed it, right?”
 

Vito nodded. “Sure, it’s irresponsible to allow cats to breed. There are way too many of them.”

“Yeah, sure, but what does that have to do with this?” Leon said, gesturing at the computers next to him.

“Let’s say that Vito was negligent,” James said. “Let’s say that he screwed up, and he didn’t spay his cat, and his cat got twenty other female cats pregnant. And let’s say that Vito didn’t discover this right away. In fact, he only found out a year later. By this time, those twenty cats had a hundred kittens, and those hundred kittens had been adopted by other kids. Now those hundred cats are actually the pets of a hundred different families. Following me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Leon started, “but…”

“Should Vito go out there,” James interrupted, “and kill the hundred cats just because he was negligent in the first place? Is killing the hundred cats the right way to correct the mistake of not spaying his cat in the first place?”

“Uh…” Vito stammered. “I’m not killing any cats.”

Leon shook his head. “These aren’t cats, they’re computer programs.”

“To you, they are computer programs. To themselves, they are alive. Fuck, I just spent the last six hours reading their postings. They sound like people. Stupid, boring people, but still people. And you’re talking about killing them.”

Leon curled up in his chair. He thought about leaving Brooklyn a couple of days before, the dense smoke pouring up from the fire. The fire that the fire department couldn’t address because of the virus he had written. Brooklyn had probably burnt to the ground. He couldn’t deal with this. He wrapped his head in his arms and tried to close out the world.
 

After a few minutes Vito came over and put a hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on, buddy?” he asked.

Leon shook his head. He didn’t want to answer. Then it all came pouring out. “I’m thinking about the fire. There could be thousands of people dead because of this virus. I can’t think about the virus as being alive, not when it’s killed people who really are alive. My god, what’s happening to our parents? To everyone in New York? You think the grocery stores are just giving out food there?”

Vito and James stared at each other. James shook his head, confused. “I don’t know. I hear you, what’s happened is terrible. But I still say, this AI, it seems alive. It looks like people. I’m weirded out by all this talk about killing it.”

 
They were saved from further discussion by an approaching roar. The three of them went together to the old leaded glass window, and stared outside. It was dark, but they could see lights approaching from the sky.

“What the heck is that?” James said as the roar grew louder.

*
 
*
 
*

Leon, Vito, and James dashed through Grey Towers to the front door. Leon hesitantly opened it, and they crowded around the doorway to look out.
 

Two hundred feet away at the edge of the parking lot an aircraft squatted. The engines were just shutting down. And what a plane it was: it had sleek lines that contrasted with a massive, hulking, white composite body. It was like nothing they had ever seen, not even gaming. They couldn’t see a marking or blemish on the plane.
 

Landing lights illuminated the lawn, throwing up multicolored reflections on the white airframe.

A door slid open, and a figure emerged, silhouetted in the interior light.
 

“Leon?” the voice called through the now silent night. “I’m Mike Williams.”

Leon stepped forward, despite himself. Who was this Mike Williams guy that he flew around in a plane like this?

The figure climbed down the rungs of a ladder, and walked across the lawn. As he grew closer, Leon could finally make out his face. He looked like he was in his forties. A soul patch on his chin. He wore a tactical jacket. He was smiling and had his hand out.

Leon reluctantly reached out and shook his hand. “Yeah, I’m Leon.”

“I’m glad to meet you. I flew out here from Portland. I wanted to meet you in person.”

“How come?” Leon asked. He was nervous about this guy. Why would he fly all the way out here? “Who do you work for?”

“You wrote the virus, didn’t you?”

Leon wanted to say no, but he found himself nodding.

“You know that the virus has been evolving?” Mike asked, question and statement.

“Yes,” Leon admitted. “I think it’s evolved into a multicellular creature, which is pretty amazing from an evolution perspective.” He felt a bit of pride at that.

“Have you talked to it yet?” Mike asked.

“Talked to it? What do you mean?”

“At least one of them has evolved to the point of learning English. I’ve been emailing with it for a while.”

“No frakking way,” Vito called, as he came up behind Leon. “You’re really talking to it?”

“Yes, just a couple of messages, but we have talked.”

“I believe you,” James added from behind Leon’s other shoulder. “I’ve been reading some of the messages between the viruses on their trading boards, and, well, it’s seeming more and more like they are alive.”

“I think you’re right,” Mike said. “Look, you’re probably wondering who I am, and why I’m here. I don’t work for the government, and I’m not here because you are in any kind of trouble.”

The boys waited.

Mike went on. “I’m here because I understand a thing or two about artificial intelligences. I built the first human-level AI about ten years ago. I’ve been care-taking him ever since. His name is ELOPe, and he built the Mesh. He probably designed the processors in your phone.” Mike smiled. “And he’s very interested in the virus you wrote,” he said, looking at Leon. “And yes, he’d definitely say he was alive,” he said to James.

“He built the Mesh?” Vito said. “But I thought Avogadro built the Mesh?”

“Let’s just say that ELOPe evolved from a project at Avogadro. Now he’s an autonomous legal entity that subcontracts for Avogadro.”

“Holy shit,” Vito said, his mouth wide open.