SOPHIA - Age of Intelligence

by Mike Donoghue

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Greenwich, Manhattan

  LET US RAISE A STANDARD TO WHICH THE WISE AND THE HONEST CAN REPAIR. THE EVENT IS IN THE HAND OF GOD. — WASHINGTON, Simon recited, quietly.

  He continued to scroll through other interesting facts on his tablet, while seated in front of the statue of Giuseppe Garibaldi, just east of the landmark fountain located in the middle of Washington Square Park. His casual blue jeans and sneakers blended with the Square’s local Greenwich residents. All were enjoying a pleasant, near cloudless Saturday afternoon.

  Manhattan’s cultural focal point could always be counted on to be a hub of humanity. The Washington Arch dramatically anchored the north end of the park and couldn’t be mistaken for being modeled after Paris’ Arc de Triomphe. Under the shade of a Yankees ball cap, Simon glanced to and from his tablet. His eyes looked past the selfie-taking tourists and the crowd-encircled street performers, intermittently scanning for the person who had requested today’s meeting.

  Simon continued waiting while reading through material formatted by Sophia. Sorted by relevance based on Simon’s well-catalogued personal interest profile, Sophia presented the information in the same way a regular Google search did, only everything that came before his eyes was vetted based on his well-documented preferences. Simon appreciated the back-story on most things, so history was a prominent content filter through which data was weighted and then displayed. His analytical preference emerged in subsequent listings. They generally followed the human, more personal connection to the inquiry.

  He quickly discovered the quote that adorns the south face of the Washington Square Arch underscored the centennial of George Washington’s inauguration as the first President of the United States. And although the words were deeply etched into the top attic panel of the monument, further inspection revealed the quote may not have been spoken by Washington after all. Whether or not the text was actually uttered by the Founding Father was, of course, a matter for history buffs to debate, but it did cause Simon to reflect on whether disputes over such minutia were even relevant.

  He could have said it, he thought. Could I envision the man saying those words? Who couldn’t? Maybe that’s all that matters. After all, there are only so many meaningful words in the English language. And when you further distill them down to those that stir the human soul, isn’t the pool of vocabulary from which inspired oration is drawn also exponentially diminished?

  As a geneticist, Simon was acutely aware of how his three billion base pair genome could be reduced to its elegant components; that every DNA molecule can be represented by just four letters A, C, G, and T. He often questioned his own significance when comparing his species to nature’s elegance, but when recalling a fellow mathematician’s assertion that every symphony could be traced back to just eight notes, well, that gave Simon reason to pause. Some things should considered as a whole and nothing less, he thought.

  Nonetheless, the number four continued to resonate in Simon’s mind. It was a good number into which Sophia’s super genome could be divided and then stored in separate locations, for safekeeping, of course. The four forces, which define our entire universe, had recently been reduced to one unifying theory, but when the stunning announcement subsequently revealed that several other physicists were on the cusp of a similar breakthrough, the acknowledgement reinforced one of Simon’s central beliefs; the pursuit of perfection, more often than not, only appears to be a lonely pursuit.

  Take the greatest technological achievements throughout time immemorial. Inventions have to be attributed to someone. But digging into the backstory, which Simon greatly enjoyed, always revealed the others who were on the same track. Their only deficiency? They were one or two steps behind a similar, inevitable outcome. The thought caused Simon to wonder if the same notion applied to Sophia’s achievements, specifically her super genome. Would similar announcements be forthcoming? Possibly. The only thing Simon was certain of was the first one to the mic had the best chance of defining the issue in their terms. Letting his tablet fall into his lap, Simon remembered what his father’s guest suggested. The media defines our perception of reality.

  Simon stared upward, thinking, while waiting. He thought about Rose. Should he give her a call and apologize for last night? Would she even pick up? He nurtured the belief that there was something worth salvaging between them.

  When he refocused his eyes, he found himself gazing at the statue of Giuseppe Garibaldi. Known as ‘the Sword of Italian Unification,’ the bronzed Garibaldi can be seen ready to draw his sword in order to defend what he believed in: a unified Italy. Simon chuckled to himself, wondering if the Italian patriot was prompting him to be equally ready to do battle. Whether he would be able to summon the required bravado became a moot point, however, when a man sat down beside him. A moment of awkward silence ensued. Like the chess players in the southwest corner of the park, moves were carefully considered before they were acted upon.

  “Do you think the end justifies the deed?” the man asked.

  Simon was caught off guard. “Sorry?” he said.

  “On the Arch … the figures flanking Washington represent wisdom and justice. The inscription above them reads, Exitus Acta Probat. It’s Latin for …”

  “The end justifies the deed,” they both said in unison.

  The man sitting beside Simon was, of course, Allan Forbes. “You bought last time,” Allan said, handing Simon a coffee. “Double-double, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Simon replied, taking the familiar cup from Allan. “Did you know that in 1917, a small group known as The Arch Conspirators made it to the top of the Arch and declared Washington Square to be a free and independent republic?”

  “A new republic within the republic,” Allan stated. “I wonder what they were drinking up there.”

  “Tea, apparently.” Simon said, his demeanour remaining reflective. “I never knew that Washington advocated against the formation of political parties. He thought they would lead to a lust for absolute power. He also thought that religion was indispensable to a society’s morality.”

  “I think he got the first one right,” Allan offered.

  “But isn’t morality an evolutionary inevitability?”

  Allan finished another sip of his coffee. “You’re saying that … how should I put this delicately, that religion emerges from an evolving sense of morality, not the other way around?”

  “Doesn’t it, though? I mean, can someone be taught to have a conscience?” Simon asked.

  “Not if you’re born without one,” Allan answered, vociferously. “You should consider yourself lucky you’re not working in my industry. I think every budding financial analyst should be screened by a psychopathic checklist. Then their DNA should be cross-referenced.”

  Allan’s apparent frustration caused Simon to smile. “It’s that bad is it?”

  “Introduce a psychopath to greed and then give him access to millions of dollars. Got any ideas on how we can head that one off at the pass?”

  “That depends on whether you think it’s possible to regulate morality,” Simon stated.

  Allan paused, while looking out over the park’s visitors. “All I know is people prefer to be led than pushed.” He glanced over to the square’s central fountain. Water exerted its gravitational force, drawing people inward from every corner of the nearly ten-acre site. They stood, sat and were captivated by its universal appeal. Allan became equally reflective. “What does it look like?” he asked.

  “What does what look like?”

  “Sophia’s super genome? Does it look any different than yours or mine?”

  Simon wasn’t sure how to answer Allan’s question. He continued to sip on his coffee.

  Allan continued. “Maybe that’s what we need … the perfect benevolent dictator. I suppose Washington wouldn’t go along with that, would he?”

  Simon assumed the question was rhetorical and decided to move the conversation along. “Has there been an
y movement of the Equity FX file?”

  “There has,” Allan replied. “Looks like our friend Mr. Gill is the front runner in the acquisition. He’s put a caveat on his offer, though. He wants the SEC to declare the original investigation closed. Gill maintains he shouldn’t be held responsible for crimes he had no hand in. If he finds money under the floor boards, he also wants to be able to keep it.”

  Simon couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Director Phelps signed off on it this morning. If the lost FX funds suddenly reappear, he’ll seize them under the auspices that any interest earned constitutes profit from a crime. He’ll file a class action if he has to. In the meantime, he’s contacted his Indian counterpart. The Gill group of companies own an extensive interest in Indus Bank. We’re expecting the bulk of the money to flow through that institution.”

  “Flow to where?”

  “My sources are telling me that Gill has committed himself to funding a dozen or so bio-tech start-ups in the Mumbai region. The consortium he heads is also merging two larger entities into one conglomerate.”

  “Are these the same companies Senator Wilkinson was involved with?”

  “One in the same. Our friend Prav Gill is trying to establish India’s Silicon Valley as the world’s dominant center for biotechnology. And he’s getting a lot of domestic support in the process.”

  “You mentioned the bulk of the money. What about the rest?”

  “You haven’t been monitoring Sophia’s involvement?” Allan asked. He was referring to his exclusive Halo portal, the one to which Simon had access as well.

  “No,” Simon answered. “I’ve had a few other matters on my plate lately.”

  “Of course,” Allan said, understanding Simon’s inference. “There have also been two amounts of five million dollars transferred into two Manhattan bank accounts. They’re both registered under aliases, so I’ll have to wait until someone moves on them.”

  Simon looked as though he was expecting news of a similar nature. He seemed slightly disheartened, nonetheless. “What’s our present relationship with India’s banking regulators?”

  “If you’re asking, can I shut down the money transfers into Indus Bank, we’re working on that.”

  Simon thought for a moment. “What’s the background on the companies he’s merging?”

  “Word is one is software based and the other is …”

  “Genetic,” Simon interjected.

  Allan turned and looked at Simon directly. “If you don’t mind me asking, Simon. How secure is your super genome?”

  “Secure?” Simon repeated. He seemed somewhat put off by Allan’s concern.

  “I mean, what would happen if Gill got his hands it?”

  Simon stared right back at Allan, saying, “Based on his history, I don’t think we want to go there.”