A.I. Apocalypse (30 page)

She laughed again. “Oh, it’s hideously complex. You can’t imagine. It took three months of arguing with the Secret Service before they agreed. They have to send an undercover agent in to buy it. And then each bag has to be sampled and chemically analyzed for contaminants. But what’s the point of being President if you can’t drink the coffee you want?”

Now it was Mike’s turn to laugh.

“But, we have some serious topics to discuss, Mike.” Her expression turned sober. “First, the boy, Leon. What should we do about him? I know what my security advisors have said. But I want your opinion.”

“To do with him?” Mike asked, puzzled.

“One opinion is that he goes to jail, quietly, for the rest of his life. Another opinion is that he’s exposed. That the world knows who caused this disaster.”

“Oh, God. You can’t do that to him. He’s just a regular kid. An incredibly brilliant kid, but still just a kid. He never intended any of this.” Mike gestured, at what he wasn’t sure. The whole world, maybe. “Besides, his uncle coerced him into doing it.”

“Mike, the virus caused trillions of dollars in damages, millions, maybe tens of millions of lives lost. And the economic damages.” She shook her head. “We won’t know the full loss for months. It could be bigger than the impact of World War II, and it all happened in five days, Mike. Five days.”

“You know this isn’t just Leon’s fault. I tried to tell you ten years ago. If we could build ELOPe, an artificial intelligence, ourselves, then it was only a matter of time before someone else did it.”

“I thought that was what ELOPe agreed to do. To monitor and suppress any other AI research. That was what we agreed when I took office. I wouldn’t go after ELOPe, and you two would ensure that there wouldn’t be any more AI disasters.”

  
“And we did. But what happened is the consequence of that policy. It’s like the forest fire suppression techniques of last century. They tried to suppress every fire. Then brush and weak trees would build up in the forest. When it finally burned, instead of being a little fire, it would be a big fire.”

She gestured for him to continue.

“We suppressed any other AI from being developed in public. In large, organized research efforts. But meanwhile technology has moved forward. It took twenty-thousand servers for ELOPe to be created as an emergent intelligence. Ten years later computers are sixty times faster, and the smallest virus AI we saw was about two hundred computers.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that twenty-thousand computers are only within reach for large companies and big research organizations. Two hundred computers is within reach of a couple of motivated individuals. And in another ten years, an emergent artificial intelligence could run on a dozen computers. Then it’ll be within reach of any hacker in the world. ELOPe can’t monitor every computer and every individual on the planet. Then we’d be the worst kind of police state.”

“We need a long term solution to this.” Rebecca shook her head. “What do we do, ban all access to computers? Give security clearances to people before they are allowed to develop software?”

“I don’t think so. Even if you could, people have been jailbreaking their phones for twenty years to get around anti-modification restrictions. What we need is a new approach. Instead of suppressing AI development, let’s endorse it. Let’s organize it. We know now what can happen. The world will have seen it. Let’s get the most brilliant people in the world and put them on the task of developing the platform for AI to run on. One that has safeguards. One that incorporates a set of ethical behaviors for AI. And for the love of humanity, let’s put some hard switches on the military technology. We can’t have computers running away with our weapons.”

“And let me guess. You think we should recruit Leon for this effort.”

“Hell, yes. He’s a brilliant biologist. He doesn’t even realize how smart he is. Make him a principle researcher.”

“What do we do about his responsibility for all of this?”

“He’s carrying enough of a burden for his responsibility already. He’s crying himself to sleep. Get him a psychologist. And just tell the world it was a virus. Nobody needs to know it was him.”

President Smith was quiet. She nodded her head slightly, working out some internal dialogue.
 

He’d known this woman for fifteen years, but always at a remove. When he was a lead architect at Avogadro, she was the CEO. He became ELOPe’s caretaker, and later she became President. Two people, two different kinds of power. He sat quietly.

She turned back to him. “We’ll make it so.”

*
 
*
 
*

A few weeks later, Leon and his parents got ready to leave the Pentagon. The situation in New York had stabilized, and the military arranged a flight to bring them home. A military truck brought them to the airport through the quiet streets. Most civilian vehicles were still inert, but recently hackers had been distributing pamphlets on how to remove the computer controls in some cars to operate them manually. So they saw a few cars on the road.

Military programmers developed a firmware update for emergency vehicles and equipment, restoring them to operational status, albeit in isolated mode, with no computer communications.

The military radio mesh network was spread across the United States, providing low-bandwidth data communications. The Treasury department was kept operating at full capacity, printing cash and coins once more to enable commerce, and distributing money to every family. The finance department guaranteed any business-to-business transaction, so businesses could purchase supplies and goods on credit, until financial computer systems could be restored.

Leon was going home, for now. He was coming back in three months, and he’d be attending George Washington University in Washington, D.C., on a full scholarship, courtesy of the United States Department of Defense. George Washington would be establishing a new cross-specialization program in Artificial Intelligence and Ethics. He’d be not just a student but a lead researcher as well.

On the tarmac at the airport, a caravan approached with a limousine in the middle of four military trucks. The vehicle pulled up alongside the group and stopped. The door opened, and a man in a black suit opened the back door. The President of the United States of America stepped out, and walked up to the group.

She shook hands with Leon’s parents, and complimented them on having such an intelligent, compassionate son. They smiled and beamed. Then she approached Leon.

“I expect good things of you,” she said. “The world needs your help.”

Leon gulped.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Author’s Note

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed
A.I. Apocalypse
.
 

As an independent author, I don’t have a marketing department or the exposure of being on bookshelves. If you enjoyed
A.I. Apocalypse
, please help support the writing of additional books by writing a review or telling a few friends.

• Write a
  review on Amazon
  
• Buy my first novel
  Avogadro Corp: The Singularity Is Closer Than It Appears
  
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  if you’d like to find out when
  The Last Firewall
  is released.
  

Thanks again,

William Hertling

P.S. Keep reading for a free preview of
The Last Firewall
.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Acknowledgements

It takes many friends, readers, and professionals to write a book.
A.I. Apocalypse
would not be what it is without substantial help from encouragement and plot feedback to proofreading and detailed critique. Any errors that remain are mine.

I want to thank my early readers, including Mike Whitmarsh, Erin Gately, Grace Ribaudo, Nathan Rutman, Gene Kim, Jeanette Feldenhousen, Jeff Weiss, and Kim Meyers.

For putting commas in their right place, ensuring that I don’t use the same words over and over, and fixing many language, grammar, and spelling issues, I want to thank Maddie Whitmarsh, Shelli Whitmarsh, Barbara Lawrence, and Deborah Wessel.

The cover design and interior layout is thanks to Maureen Gately.

I also want to thank my writing teacher, Merridawn Duckler, as well as the Hawthorne Writing Group: Jonathan Stone, Jill Ahlstrand, Debbie Steere, and Mary Elizabeth Summer.
 

Thanks to the real-life namesakes of Leon, Vito, James, and Mike.
 

Of course, I could not have written this without the support and encouragement of Erin Gately.

Finally, all my love to Rowan, Luc, and Gifford. Thanks for letting me write on Saturday mornings, even if that meant you had to go without chocolate chip pancakes.

THE LAST FIREWALL

An excerpt from
The Last Firewall

Sunday, July 15, 2035

Stephanie diced onions swiftly until she had a neat pile, then she slid them with the blade of the knife into a bowl. She went to work on the red peppers, humming to herself as she worked. She looked up, over the kitchen island to the living room. The table was set with the beige linen tablecloth. Two candles and a bottle of her favorite red waited for her date.
 

She glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes until Bryce would get here. She smiled girlishly thinking of Bryce. She offered thanks to the universe that her son was camping this week. Finally old enough to join the boy scouts, she felt a slight guilt that her primary reaction was relief at some time alone in the house. Well, hopefully not alone. She smiled again.

She felt a sudden sharp pain in her temple, and fumbled the knife. She held her right hand to her temple, and swore as she realized that she’d cut her other hand. Damn, what was the unexpected pain in her head? She turned the water on, and ran her hand under the water to rinse off the cut.

The pain in her head doubled, then quadrupled in the space of seconds. She gasped, and felt her knees weaken. She gripped the counter with both hands, ignoring the cut now.

Suddenly, a memory surfaced, unbidden. She teetered on wobbly legs, her head too heavy for her body. Her mom and dad, young again, smiled at her, and her mother clapped her hands. The memory was sharp and vivid, cutting across forty years with an intensity she couldn’t imagine. Suddenly the memory was ripped away.

What was wrong with her? Was she having a stroke?

Then another memory, just as crystal clear as if it were happening right now. She was standing in a bathtub, slipping, falling, hitting her head. That happened when she was ten. She was torn away again.

Now she felt a satin party dress under her clenched, sweaty palms. She watched her pimple faced prom date walk away, leaving her in the hallway at school, her eyes misting over with hot tears.

In the kitchen, she sank to her knees, crying. Was this it? Was she dying?

The memories continued to come, unbidden, unwanted.

Her ex-husband, handsome in his suit, smiling, the day before he won the election and became a Congressman, before their marriage had turned into hell.
 

Her son’s first steps, when they were by themselves at the museum. A look of pure joy on his face, clenched little fists, squealing with delight.

The worst memory of all: the fight with her ex when he was elected to Senate. Storming out of the house with her son and a suitcase.
 

She slumped against the counter, the tears pouring down, even among the happy memories. This was it, she knew. She wouldn’t be seeing these people again, wouldn’t have a chance to watch her son grow up.
 

Her final memory was of her son, away on the camping trip. The feel of his hair under her fingertips as she had said goodbye to him yesterday. Then she felt a blistering pain spread across her head. She screamed out one last time, then she was silent, mouth open. She wavered, and fell sideways, dead before her head hit the floor.

The doorbell rang.

*
 
*
 
*

Monday, July 16, 2035

Catherine shrugged her shirt on, then looked back to the bed where Nick still slept. She watched him breath for a minute, and gazed at the stubble of day old beard. Cute, but dumb, she thought. Well, she’d keep him until she got bored, she guessed.

She looked in the mirror at her T-shirt, mentally reversing the words. Life without geometry was pointless. She smiled and headed for the hallway. She padded softly down the stairs to avoid waking her housemates.

As long as she could remember, she was always the first to wake up. She didn’t go to bed early, she just didn’t need to sleep much. It didn’t take long to learn that housemates don’t like early risers. Downstairs, Einstein was sleeping on an eastern windowsill, catching the early morning rays. Catherine tickled the dat’s ears, and she purred softly. The cat half of Einstein’s recombinant heritage was strongly dominant. Other than Einstein’s size and fur, most people thought she was pure cat, and couldn’t see the dog heritage at all. On the other hand, take Einstein to a park, and she’d fetch a stick. You couldn’t teach a cat that.

Catherine slid out the kitchen sliding glass door into the courtyard that passed for a backyard. It wasn’t bad really, plants gone wild around the border, reclaimed fireplace bricks for pavers. She faced east, toward the house, and started Ba Duan Jin, the Eight Treasure qigong form. She moved slowly, eyes unfocused, hearing the wind in the leaves of the small trees, a neighbor’s wind chime, her breath. She repeated the movement twice, then started the Jade Body form.
 

She had finished her qigong forms and had moved onto the Nihaichi karate forms when she finally heard movement in the house. She finished Nihaichisan for the fifth time. Sweating slightly, she sat down to meditate, cross legged on the porch steps. Inside she heard the sounds of the coffee pot gurgling, laughter, the toilet running. She sat for twenty minutes. Empty mind. Empty mind.

Finally she opened her eyes and gazed anew at the world. She watched the sunlight play on leaves, and slowly stood up and stretched.