CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
The southern tip of Central Park
‘LEAVING NOW,’ Rose’s text read. Simon leaned forward, placed his cell phone on the coffee table before him, and then settled back into a very comfortable black leather sofa. A pre-recorded image of his father enlivened the wall in front of him, its mid-sentence, facially expressive pause disputing the importance of any audible context. Simon’s flat, as he called it, was located in the architecturally stunning, ‘The Gladium.’ His eighty-fourth floor, two-story apartment boasted, among other engineering marvels, a street level footprint of only sixty feet square. With ninety stories in total, it lived up to its Latin translation by unapologetically ‘swording’ its way into the Manhattan skyline.
Rose’s message prompted Simon to get up and make his way into the floor’s spacious kitchen. Its overtones were definitely masculine. Stainless-steel appliances were supplemented by black granite countertops. He went straight to the humidity controlled wine fridge and pulled a light-bodied Pinot Grigio. In the time it would take for Rose to arrive, the grey-red grape variety would be gently teased toward the room’s ambient temperature. Barring any traffic delays, Simon hoped the bottle would be uncorked before reaching equilibrium. Even with an enchanting evening before him and his exquisite companion on the way, he couldn’t help imagining the two variables intersecting at a common value. In both minutes and degrees Celsius the optimum outcome was undoubtedly ten.
Simon knew how much Rose enjoyed toasting another workweek survived. He also remembered the degree to which his apartment intimidated some of its visitors, her in particular. The first glass of wine always helped to settle Rose’s nerves. The effect of the second or third, well … that would depend on how willing she was to venture toward the building’s glass veneer. If Rose lamented anything about the lofty abode’s sparse decor it was the troubling lack of window coverings.
Anticipating her concerns, Simon brought two glasses, along with the bottle of wine, and set the trio down on the table next to his cell phone.
“Resume program,” he stated, after falling back into the sofa. The news program that his father frequently guest-hosted instantly came to life.
“Hold on … hold on,” Richard proclaimed, directing a visible measure of light-hearted enthusiasm toward his two familiar guests. “You both know I am an ardent supporter of technology.” He was seated behind the shorter end of an ‘L’ shaped desk, while his female and male counterparts sat alongside the lengthier part respectively. “But you know what annoys me the most?”
“You mean about us or technology?” Tracey Rushmore asked, laughing. The political pundit/newspaper reporter elbowed her closely seated guest, drawing him into the feisty exchange.
Richard’s other guest, a fifty-something conservative waded in. “Don’t get him started, Tracey,” Doug lamented, playing along. “Richard would run out of time before scratching the surface of our deficiencies.”
“You’re right,” Tracey agreed. “We’d need an entire show for that.”
Simon laughed, while his father smiled. “Trust me when I say, what annoys me about you two could make up a six part miniseries. Commercial free, I might add,” Richard taunted.
“I always wanted to be part of miniseries, how ‘bout you, Tracey?” Doug chided.
The banter between Richard’s two guests continued. “Would we have to do our own hair and makeup for that as well?” Tracey asked.
“Alright … alright,” Richard pleaded. “Can we please get back to the topic?”
Doug Jenkins did his best to return the discussion to its proper tempo. “You were going to say what annoys you about technology.”
“Yes,” Richard continued. “What sticks in my craw is the fact that many people have the perception that we should be suspicious of technology, that its ubiquity will inevitably lead us toward destruction.”
“What do you expect?” Tracey firmly stated. “Of course we’re going to be suspicious,”
“Suspicious of what?” Doug interjected. “Who in their right mind would distrust the technology that our hospitals deploy on our behalf? No one thinks twice about how indispensable our smart phones are. How about the internet, should we be leery of that too?”
“Of course not!” Tracey argued.
Voices were raised and then lowered and raised again all the while the intermittent exchange of smiles underwrote the debate’s friendly terms.
“Then what is it?” Richard asked. “Does it all boil down to our less evolved instincts?”
“You mean fear of the unknown?” Doug persisted.
“That’s definitely part of it,” Tracey agreed, as if ignoring the annoyance sitting beside her. “But I think we’ve been conditioned to expect a disastrous outcome.”
Richard sat back in his seat. “How so?”
“In a word? Hollywood!”
“Hollywood?” Doug roared, laughing. “You mean we can trace this all back to Clark and Kubrick?
“The media,” Tracey stated loudly over Doug’s rambunctiousness. “The media defines our perception of reality. You of all people should be smart enough to recognize that.”
“Are you sure about that, Tracey?” Richard asked.
Tracey seemed crestfallen. “What, about the media defining the world in which we live?”
“No, no,” Richard answered, “I mean about this Jenkins fellow being smart enough to know that.”
Doug’s wit was momentarily paralyzed. Tracey laughed and couldn’t help expensing the moment to her colleague’s unfortunate lapse. She leaned back slightly while turning a doubtful expression toward Doug. “I am seeing a slight disconnect there,” she said, glancing back at Richard. “Are you getting that too?”
Richard smiled broadly, revelling in his excitable guest’s distress. “Yes, there it is. The face of uncertainty itself.”
“Wait just a second here,” Doug stated, finally recovering. He looked Tracey in the eye. “You mean to tell me we can blame HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey and … and … and Vicky from Asimov’s I Robot movie adaptation for what … some latent distrust of technology?”
“Let us not forget the Borg,” Richard added, with a smirk and a wink.
“Ahh,” Tracey groaned. “Don’t get me started. In my books the Borg undid all of the goodwill that Data achieved on the Star Trek series. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Richard collapsed into his chair, playing along masterfully. “The Borg terrified me, terrified me!” he repeated, more loudly the second time. Doug and Tracey readied themselves for laughter. “I still have nightmares of being a part of some sort of Marxist/cyber collective.”
Simon laughed and shook his head. He reached for his cell phone to check the time and then sank back into his plush sofa.
“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” Doug intervened.
Tracey obviously agreed. “I think there’s a thespian in there struggling to get out.”
“Then how does this nightmare scenario fit into your acceptance of your cyber granddaughter?” Doug asked Richard.
“My what?” Richard asked.
“Your granddaughter, Sophia?”
Richard smiled and leaned forward in his chair. “You know, Tracey, I think our little friend here is not as daft as he appears to be.”
“Are you sure?” Tracey asked.
“Should I take that as a compliment?” Doug inquired.
“You should, they’re in short supply around here. At least for my male guests,” Richard quipped. “What I meant was that in your own bumbling way you have stumbled us headlong into a perfect segue.”
“Well, what’ya know,” Doug offered.
“Yes, in the segment following our commercial break I would like to discuss with you what defines intelligence. And since you brought it up, Mr. Jenkins, we might as well ask ourselves do supercomputers like Sophia possess some form of consciousness?”
“Wow,” Doug joked. “When are we going to stop talking about fluff on this show?”
“But before the break I want to ask one final question.”
“Yes,” Tracey answered first.
“Do we really make you do your own hair and makeup?” Richard asked. “I mean we all know there are limits to what can be done to a face like Jenkins, but honestly, Ms. Rushmore, I don’t think you could possibly benefit any further from the hand of artist, makeup or otherwise.”
“Mr. Taylor, you are too kind.”
“Too kind,” Doug interjected. “Are you kidding me?”
Richard leered at Jenkins then leaned over toward Tracey. “You wouldn’t want to join me for a coffee after the show, would you?”
“I might be persuaded,” Tracey replied, playing along.
Richard straightened up, slapped his hand on the desk, and directed his next comment toward the live camera. “On that note, we’ll be right back.”
Simon’s concentration was deflected again to his vibrating cell phone. “Fast forward to the beginning of the next segment, then pause,” he ordered his streaming video player.
‘I’ll be right up,’ Rose’s text read.
Simon leaned forward and uncorked the bottle of white wine. He poured two glasses and then set the bottle down on the table in front of him. He knew Rose would only be a couple of minutes, so he picked up his cell phone and touched on an icon, which displayed Sophia’s real-time cyber threat assessment. The ‘at a glance’ colour bar at the top of his phone’s display was presently testing the darker shades of yellow, indicating that Gary and his team would not have much time for gaming during the overnight hours.
From the moment Sophia’s super genome became public knowledge attempts at cyber intrusions had been on the increase. People the world over quickly realized the helix’s true potential. Obvious applications included how its entirety or parts thereof could be exploited financially. While most interested parties, corporations, and health organizations waited with baited breath for licensing announcements, others sought to possess it by any means necessary.
A knock was heard at Simon’s apartment door. His Home Management System had detected Rose’s cell phone as she approached then confirmed her presence through the use of ‘peep hole’ camera in the door. Facial recognition software quickly validated her identity. By the time the lock was unlatched Simon was standing in the apartment’s
vestibule. “Come in,” he said. The two glasses of wine had been moved to an adjacent hall table.
Rose opened the door and walked in. “I hope the trip up wasn’t too unnerving,” Simon stated, stepping forward and offering Rose a perfunctory kiss on the lips.
“You’ve got me twisting in the wind in more ways than you know,” Rose said.
“Uh oh,” Simon replied. “You’d better have one of these then.” Simon picked up the two glasses of wine and offered one to Rose. After putting her purse down on the same table, she relished the relief associated with kicking off her high heels. In one enchanting motion, she took a drink from her glass, tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Simon couldn’t help being captivated by her beautiful face, her long, extended neck.
“I never thought this week would end,” Rose lamented, before setting her glass down on the table. She unbuttoned and began removing a suit jacket that complimented her tan coloured slacks. “Here, let me take that for you,” Simon offered.
Although Rose’s business attire was impeccably tailored, her sleeveless blouse spoke to Simon in ways that forced him to refocus his thoughts on what he originally had on his mind. They had things to discuss, the outcome of which would most likely determine how the remainder of the evening unfolded.
After putting away Rose’s coat, he suggested: “Why don’t you come in and sit down?”
Rose sensed a dispassionate note in Simon’s voice; it was a continuance of what was lacking in his kiss. He obviously has something other than me on his mind, she thought. After following Simon into the living room, Rose stopped at the foot of the room’s coffee table. She glanced at the image of Richard on the wall, then looked at Simon. “Did I catch you in the middle of something?”
“How about a pleasant distraction? There’s only a few minutes left.” Simon had just sat down on the sofa and, sensing Rose’s rising trepidation, he thought the diversion might have the effect of resetting the evening. “My father hasn’t guest hosted for some time. They’re about to discuss whether a consciousness is uniquely human.”
Rose’s expression seemed devoid of an appetite for theoretical discussions, but she sat down beside Simon just the same. The distance between them was not lost on Simon as he instructed the video to continue. Richard had barely finished his segment intro, though, before Rose asked: “I need to know whether you’re going to come on Monday.”
“Pause video,” Simon stated, turning to Rose. “I thought we were going to leave our distractions at the office?”
The hint of a patronizing tone caused Rose to take another drink of her wine. “We need to discuss this, Simon. The Director General is pressuring me.”
“To do what?”
“To find out what your intentions are, of course.”
The momentary slump in Simon’s shoulders indicated the subject was touching a nerve. He knew that Rose’s boss, the Director General of UNESCO had called an emergency IBC (International Bioethics Committee) meeting for this upcoming Monday. The subject: ‘What the newly discovered Super Genome means to the world.’ He also didn’t appreciate how quickly the conference was being convened. Barely a week had passed since the world was made aware of the genetic marvel and, from a personal perspective, a mere seven days seemed an inconsiderate amount of time to get over the events with which it would forever be linked.
“I need a little more time ...”
“For what?” Rose implored. “The Director General of the UN has asked his Science Advisor to attend. I got the notification this evening, just before I left.” Rose stared straight at the stilled image on the wall. “I’ve also been asked to assist with a briefing of the Security Council.”
“The Security Council?” Simon quipped. He didn’t see the look on Rose’s face, what the upcoming series of events obviously meant to her. “Do you really think they understand the implications of … of relinquishing Sophia’s super genome to the world?”
Rose’s thoughts turned introspective. “It could be the greatest gift humanity has ever received.”
“Yes,” Simon agreed. “But in the wrong hands …” Simon stopped short and looked at Rose. They both realized to whom he was referring.
A shared moment of awkwardness ensued, before Simon pressed the play button on the remote.
“But a consciousness is not a static entity,” Richard stated. “The great physicist, Erwin Schrodinger, once hypothesized that a consciousness, simply put, is the product of being able to discern one experience from another. It’s having the ability to differentiate any deviation from the mundane. If I remember correctly, he gives an example of a man walking to work. Much like you there, Jenkins, walking along the same street everyday with the same pathetic briefcase, taking the same boring sidewalk day in day out. I mean, can you imagine anything more mundane than that?”
Simon dared a smile. Rose was unimpressed.
“I’m not sure I like the sound of this,” Jenkins stated, half chuckling, “but I think you’re suggesting the same old same old tends to fade into the sub-consciousness. It’s only when I encounter something out of the ordinary, like a piano falling from an apartment above.”
“Which causes you to what?” Richard quickly asked.
“I don’t know, dive for cover.”
“It causes you respond and adapt to a changing environment.”
Tracey concurred. “Adapt to your environment and you survive. If you don’t …”
“I become a fossil,” Doug interjected.
“Therefore, diving for cover becomes a new skill,” Richard stated. “Your ability to assimilate new skills leads to learning, learnin
g to intelligence.”
“And isn’t all life in this world somewhere on that continuum?” Tracey suggested. “From the instinct to adapt to possessing the intelligence to plan for the future?”
“I suppose one is as indispensable as the other, isn’t it?” Richard waxed philosophically. “A consciousness raises a life-form’s survivability above the threshold of relying on sheer luck or happenstance, and intelligence dictates the degree to which one seamlessly weaves itself into its environment.”
“Then how does this all relate back to whether Sophia is an intelligent entity?” Doug asked.
Rose sat back into the sofa with a very full glass of wine and, knowing how to show her displeasure with the circumstances befalling her, she let loose an unmistakable sigh. The hint resounded above all things audible. Simon was wise enough to ask for a pause again. He topped up his own glass and then got up and made his way toward one of his apartment’s floor to ceiling windows.
“There’s something else we need to discuss, Rose,” he stated, while looking out over the New York skyline.
Rose barely heard the words Simon spoke. All she could think of was, He’s walking away from me. He knows I won’t follow him, that I can’t bear the thought of looking down.
Rose was definitely puzzled by Simon’s actions. She took another drink of wine before leaning forward to put her glass on the table. Other tangibles, she reflected, were rarely allowed to slip as easily from her fingers. Her time with Simon almost always unfolded the way she wanted it to. Drinks and dinner were a familiar prelude to a memorable evening. But whether it was live theatre, a concert or even a spontaneous movie, the preceding was always a prelude to passionate lovemaking. The sex was amazing, both would agree. It was a wonderful expression of what they felt for each other, how much one needed the other, especially during those passionate moments. Neither partner seemed concerned, however, by the fact that their devotion to each other was dictated more by their hectic, professional lives and less by any shared vision of the future.
Although their time together seemed as much a convenience to Simon as it did to Rose, in reality only Rose knew how much she had grown during their relationship. She knew he would always represent the touchstone from which further personal fulfilment would be realized. But in circumstances such as these, when Rose allowed her mind to wonder into murkier, ambiguous territory, sex was a tool meant to provide leverage as much as it was an expression of physical love.
While Simon gazed out over the night sky, Rose made a motion to get up. She instantly felt the effects of drinking her wine too fast, however, and sat back down. The fact that she had barely eaten anything all day didn’t help matters either. Rose leaned back into the sofa and began muddling through her options. Should I stay? Let my guard down for once? She couldn’t help wondering: If I come clean now, maybe there’ll be something worth salvaging.
Caressing her forehead she suggested: “The Director General won’t be pleased, but I can tell the members of the panel …”
“If you think I’m worried about what the UN thinks, I’m not,” Simon interjected.
Rose sensed Simon steeling his thoughts. It was a side of him with which she was unfamiliar. She seemed caught off guard. “Of course, I …”
“I can’t afford to lose control of this, Rose. Nor will I allow this to become a euphemism for some new world order,” he stated, still looking out over Central Park.
Rose took Simon’s comment as a definite slight against both her and her colleagues. She stood up and instantly discovered a surge of adrenaline overtaking the effects of the wine.
“For what it’s worth, my brother swore to me that he had nothing to do with Jennifer’s kidnapping.”
Simon appeared unconvinced. “And you believe him?”
“Does it really matter what I believe?”
Simon’s thoughts turned inward and teetered on an unpleasant threshold. He clenched his teeth and chose to say nothing.
Rose’s sense of disappointment was now complete. “Then it’s all about the money, isn’t it?” she quipped. “The licensing rights?”
Simon instantly interpreted the remark as it was intended, as a hit below the belt. “Look,” he began, turning, “I’m willing to overlook that last remark …”
“Don’t bother,” Rose stated, before taking several steps toward the door.
“Rose,” Simon stated, loudly. The firmness of his voice caused her to stop. “Try to see this from my perspective.”
The selfishness of Simon’s comment further fuelled Rose’s desire to flee, but she forced herself to stop. “I see the good that it will do, the disease that it will cure, the suffering it will end.”
“End?” Simon repeated.
“Yes, End, Simon!” Rose yelled. “This is not about some wealth redistribution scheme,” she said, passionately, “it’s about helping people … it’s about lifting humanity out of its misery.”
“I know, Rose,” Simon agreed, lowering his voice. “I know, and that it will do.” He took a step closer to Rose. “But we have one chance, Rose. Humanity has one opportunity to get this right.”
“I guess the question is, who is going to make the decisions on behalf of humanity? You?”
Simon and Rose stared at each other, longingly, wishing the evening could be rewound. The lack of a rebuttal from Simon was left for Rose to interpret.
An impasse, seemingly larger than the one unfolding before them, was tremoring in Simon’s eyes. Rose could feel him slipping away. She wanted to say something, but feared what would come out. There was only one thing left to do, preserve a glimmer of hope that this would not be their last encounter. “Thank you for the wine,” she stated, before turning for the door.
“Rose,” Simon said, this time more softly. Again, it caused her to pause, but only momentarily. She turned her head to the left just long enough for Simon to recognize the look on her face. Forlorn, Rose hastened her exit from the apartment.
For a few moments, Simon stood there, wondering what had just happened. He shook his head before stating, “Resume program.” Richard’s voice filled the room. Simon could hear his father speaking, but he was deaf to the fact that words could be assembled into sentences, paragraphs, or any kind of meaningful narrative, for that matter.
He sunk into his sofa, poured what remained of the Pino Grigio into his glass, and took a healthy sip. Its fruity resonance lingered as if it were cultivated to assuage all earthly concerns. A palpable measure of sexual frustration would not be washed away as easily, however. He knew he could have handled things better, but after looking up at the program replaying in front of him, his father’s familiar face and tone tempered the void left by Rose’s early, sudden departure.
“How does this all relate back to supercomputers like Sophia?” Richard asked. “Doug, you mentioned Isaac Asimov. If I remember correctly, he was once quoted as saying: The saddest aspect of life right now is that science gathers knowledge faster than society gathers
wisdom.”
“Still true after all these years,” Doug replied.
Richard continued. “Then shouldn’t the process of transforming knowledge into wisdom be the best measure of intelligence?”
“Of course,” Tracey agreed. “But wisdom is also the application of reason … it’s deciding on the best course of action that truly defines a species.”
“Aye,” Richard declared, as if poetically. “Let us not bring words where deeds are required.”
“So if supercomputers like Sophia,” Doug began.
“Or Watson,” Richard interjected. “In order to dispense with the accusation of bias, maybe we should refer to them as cognitive … or thinking computers.”
“Alright,” Doug agreed. “More and more people are recognizing the roll of cognitive computers and how they are transforming the way in which we live. So, I suppose by that definition, yes, they are intelligent.”
“Would you agree with that, Tracey?” Richard as
ked.
“I’d go one step further and ask is Sophia is a sentient being? And if the answer to that question is yes, then where is this all leading us? I mean, I agree wholeheartedly that there is a place for the Sophia’s of the world, but I also have to wonder about what we are witnessing here?”
“You mean, what are the implications for humankind?” Doug asked.
“It’s inevitable, isn’t it?” Tracey reflected. “That humans will be surpassed by these intelligent, cognitive computers?”
“That won’t happen until the Moore’s Law barrier is conquered,” Richard stated.
“Ahh,” Doug lamented. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve got him onto his favourite topic.”
“It’s true,” Richard said, smiling. “Micro-chip performance will remain at a comparative standstill until a replacement is found for silicon-based technologies. This isn’t some cooked up Y2K millennium bug, Jenkins,” he chided, responding to his guest’s expression of skepticism. “This is a bona fide barrier that, if not solved, will cost the world economy trillions of dollars.”
Doug went on to tease his host further, but he was, in fact, well aware of the challenge facing the technological world.
For decades, computing power had been doubling every eighteen months to two years. This exponential improvement, which was documented in a 1965 paper by Gordon E Moore, co-founder of Intel Corporation, all stems from the not so simple process of doubling the number of transistors within an integrated circuit on a predictable, biennial basis.
The ability to tune ultra violet light to smaller and smaller wavelengths allowed processor manufacturers to etch increasing numbers of transistors onto silicon wafers. But while consumers focused on sleeker, faster devices, physicists appreciated the limitations of UV light. With a wavelength of only ten nanometers (a nanometer is a billionth of a metre), a barrier to further miniaturization occurs when transistors approach the size of atoms. At this point, the principles of quantum physics take over and electrons begin to leak out, causing a short circuit in a transistor’s micro wiring. Paralleling processors provided life-support to an ailing industry, however, it only postponed the inevitable.
The event horizon was predicted by many to occur during the third decade of the twenty first century. As the date approached it was feared that, without a replacement to propel further technological advancements, a driving force of prosperity, vis-a-vis the consumer electronics, communications, and defense industries, to name a few, would suffer from the lack of new products to offer their customers. If a solution were not forthcoming, economies the world over would be exposed to a potentially unprecedented pause in growth.
“We have options, though, don’t we?” Tracey asked.
Still watching from the comfort of his sofa, Simon leaned forward. He knew where his father was taking the discussion and wanted to hear him say the words.
“Of course we do,” Doug affirmed. “Quantum computing has had its breakthroughs.”
“Its setbacks as well,” Tracey added.
“Indeed,” Richard agreed, clasping his fingers. “DNA computers might provide the answer, but one thing is for certain … the post-silicon era will be defined primarily by one thing.”
“And that is?” Doug asked.
“Super intelligence,” Richard and Simon said in unison.
SOPHIA - Age of Intelligence Page 24
