by Vic Grout
“Facebook may be a high-level application,” said Bob, his eyes compressed in thought, “but rendering the screen output is almost as low as it gets: I guess that’s the level on which the data’s being moved. Remember It’s not playing by our network model rules, any more. It’s just doing what It likes, by the look of it!”
“And does It understand what It’s doing?”
“Probably not, in any real sense. It’s just randomly throwing material around. The frames could be anything as far as It’s concerned. It doesn’t know if they’re control or data; It doesn’t even understand the difference between the two. It’s just a primitive brain, remember – a simple nervous system, exploring itself.”
“Not that primitive?” suggested Jenny, looking at the S value on the screen. “It’s gone beyond the human brain level now.”
Bob sighed. “OK yes, but It’s still essentially a brain in the early stages of development. It doesn’t understand any of the things we connect to It.”
“And yet,” Stephen broke in, “connecting anything to It now, even powering on anything with communication capabilities – anything at all – seems to be a dangerous thing to do.”
Chapter 22: They’d Send a Limousine Anyway
For an hour or so, they studied the various network applications that were available to them. Most showed signs of data corruption of one form or another. Random it might be – insignificant it was not: it was getting very hard to do anything. Information issues aside, however, the real impact was still clearly Its new level of connectivity, or complexity, shown by the raised S value. (‘Beep’ S = 0.834) There were two aspects to this. Firstly, Its recently-acquired mobile capabilities had brought billions of new devices under Its control: nothing, with any communications abilities whatsoever, could now be safely activated without becoming a part of It. Even if a gadget was battery-powered, It could find it through the air: Its mastery of all communication channels was complete. Secondly, this massive increase in both Its size and the potential for even denser connectivity, through Its own abilities to bypass human protocols across all channels, had made all devices, appliances, systems, etc., new and old, more volatile and consequently dangerous. Even considering the damage It must be inflicting on Itself in some places now, Its power was still increasing. Snatches of news programmes, coming through a few broken seconds at a time, appeared to confirm this. They thought they heard a figure, unclearly through the interference, of twenty million dead across the world – they all hoped they were wrong.
Just before eleven o’clock, Andy reappeared and limped down the control room steps looking pale and drawn. He seemed unable to quite cope with the barrage of questions with which he was immediately assaulted. He raised a hand to deflect them and slumped into a chair.
“She’s sleeping: sedated,” he said with tears in his eyes. “They induced a temporary coma: they were concerned how deep the cuts may’ve gone and they wanted to operate immediately. She was in theatre for five hours but she’s out of both – the coma and surgery – now. Although it doesn’t look good.”
“Her eyes?” asked Jenny, the tears welling up again.
“Aye.” Andy nodded. “The glass cut through both of them. The left one was almost detached, they say.” He attempted a thankful smile. “If you hadn’t looked after her, she would have lost it completely. The right’s not quite so bad, apparently.” His face clouded again. “But they don’t know whether she’ll ever see properly again … naturally, at least. They’ve already mentioned bio-implants but it’s too early for that. Anyway she’s not going anywhere for a while: she needs to rest. They’ve done what they can for now; they’re saying they’ll take the bandages off in a couple of days and see how things look.”
“A couple of days sounds like a long time at the moment,” Bob muttered gloomily. “We’re in a new phase; the rules have changed. None of us may come through this in one piece – or at all.”
*
Not-Thompson reappeared at midday – in a very different mood indeed. Naturally, she was as grim as everyone else but the hard, aggressive tone had been replaced by … something; it took them a while to determine what. She knew about Aisha, of course, and there was compassion in her voice – if not quite her eyes. She thanked The Desk for their ‘continued work for the European community’ and, explicitly, their ‘sacrifice’. But there was something else; they did not pick up the signs immediately but she appeared to have shifted her ground as far as It was concerned, and what might be done about It. At least, she had changed her opinion or had it changed for her: by whom or what, they could not tell.
“This is very bad,” she continued, somewhat obviously. The others nodded: they hardly needed to be told this. Then a long silence.
“How bad?” asked Jenny to relaunch the discussion.
Not-Thompson took a deep breath. “As I think you know; as it could be argued you predicted,” she acknowledged, “the sentient Internet entity you refer to simply as ‘It’ appears now to have complete control over all forms of communication – wired or wireless, and including mobile and remote devices – and has started to adapt our protocols to suit Its integrated purpose across different platforms.
“Its purpose?” Andy queried dubiously. “I don’t think we … I don’t think Aisha would say It had much of a purpose as yet, other than to figure out what it can do and how, and what It’s got connected to It to play with! (Aye, that’s frightening enough though!) It’s an embryonic …” he hesitated, “life form, I suppose. I think she would say It had a control imperative but not a purpose exactly. It might be aware but It’s not really thinking.”
“A bit like a baby being born with a trillion devices directly connected into its brain, all ready to be activated if it can work out how,” suggested Bob.
“It’s going to want to try to play with all of them at once,” added Jenny.
Not-Thompson smiled. They had barely seen such a thing before. “So that is what I suppose I mean by Its purpose,” she suggested. “Its purpose is to exert control over whatever It has and to get better at exerting this control. I think we are agreed?” The others nodded. She continued.
“We can also agree, I assume, as to the severity of the problem. This is an evolving situation but some of our specialist analysists believe that perhaps there are five million deaths per hour at present across the world.” An icy chill seemed to surge through the room. “Naturally, we have to find a solution immediately because this can only get worse. Random it may be but It is beginning to use some very dangerous technology, including large weaponry. The time for discussion is over – at least here. We now need to act and that may involve taking some risks because doing nothing may be an even greater risk.”
“No argument from us there,” Andy agreed readily, “but we have already given you a solution.” Aisha’s words, which he suddenly recalled, threatened to choke him. “We have told you what to do.”
“The Internet has to be physically disconnected,” said Bob, for the umpteenth time.
“And no-one else has suggested anything better, I imagine?” added Jenny.
“Correct,” not-Thompson said in a very matter-of-fact manner. The others hesitated, unsure. Stephen, in particular, cast her a quizzical look.
“Correct in what?” asked Jenny suspiciously. “Correct that the others agree with us? Correct as to what It is? Correct as to what It’s doing? Correct that it’s serious and going to get worse. Or correct that It has to be disconnected?” She added the last option with something of a cynical undertone.
“Correct in all of this,” said not-Thompson simply. Stephen’s eyes widened.
The silence was deep-rooted. Even the background RFS almost seemed, to their imaginations, to diminish for a split second.
“So, you accept that It has to be disconnected?” Jenny volunteered, hesitantly.
“We accept that It must be disconnected,” agreed not-Thompson. Stephen gaped at her, astonished, across the room.
‘Beep
’ S = 0.835
*
“So, where do we start?”
The extended group – The Desk minus Aisha, not-Thompson’s entourage, Stephen’s team, plus a few more – now sat around a larger table in a different conference room, which had been further ‘localised’ and made as safe as could be managed. All fixed equipment had been disconnected and mobile devices were not to be used unless in an emergency. (Collecting evidence from around the world, it appeared to be hard, but not entirely impossible, to get a fatal shock from a mobile.) Technicians, wearing protective clothing, were on hand to deal with the more pressing ongoing RFS incidents. As if to confirm their necessity, a vending machine in the corridor outside – visible through the glass partition – exploded, then became engulfed in flames.
Jenny ignored the interruption and asked the question again.
“Where do we start?”
Stephen still wore a deeply uncomfortable expression. Not-Thompson continued to smile – somewhat forcibly, but it was Thomson who answered.
“I think we were expecting you to tell us that, Professor Smith!”
‘Damn; good point,’ thought Jenny ruefully. The mathematics were going to be her contribution. She spoke slowly, as much to remind herself of the principle as the others.
“Well, we need to work out a reduced level of connectivity that we have to bring It down to, to remove Its control imperative,” she began, her mind sifting through the detail as she spoke, “essentially, to take Its sentience away. That’s going to be a different calculation now that It can use the wired and wireless and all the mobile channels.” She paused, still thinking. “Then we need to determine a set of major nodes that will reduce Its complexity to below that level if we take them out. That’s also different now, of course. We’re not trying to break It up completely: that would be impossible now that Its got wireless and mobile, but removing a big enough subset of the major switching nodes should reduce Its overall complexity enough to make It inoperative. We’ve seen that taking out two big nodes – properly,” an appreciative look at Stephen, “brings the S value down a bit. Now, we just need to take out a whole lot more!” She hesitated again. “But, the thing is …”
“Yes?”
“The thing is; well, two things really. First, I’m not sure, without Aisha’s input, what the target S value should be. 0.5 seems obvious, I suppose. That’s where brain activity would begin with the old model. But I don’t think it’s that simple now that It’s exceeded our own brain size. It may not be enough to simply bring It back down to the point where It became conscious in the first place – we might have to go further. And we don’t really know where that was anyway, for real: we weren’t looking at It at the time! Second,” she pointed at the central display through the glass, “I can see the graph structure here in the EuroNet and I have the data for the largest switching nodes. But most of the Internet’s connectivity is still in America and elsewhere in the world. I can’t work out how to disconnect It enough with any confidence if I don’t have all that data. Do we have that?”
Thomson and not-Thompson exchanged a few words in low voices between them; both nodded.
“We have been speaking to our American counterparts,” not-Thompson said brightly. “They assure us they have the information you require to calculate your disconnecting node set.”
“Will they give it to us?”
“Yes, they will give it to us … to you; but they will not send it.”
“Meaning what?”
Not-Thompson swallowed before speaking. For the first time that day, she looked uncomfortable.
“Our US colleagues have reasons for not wanting to distribute this material: they consider it a security threat. They …”
“A security threat?” Jenny spluttered, waving an arm at the devastation all around them. “Are they serious?”
“… They consider that, if this information fell into the wrong hands,” continued not-Thompson, undeterred, “the situation could be made even worse than it currently is.” She emphasised the last few words to imply they were chosen carefully. “Remember please that most of the world still considers this to be the result of a global cyber-attack. Even our US counterparts still retain open minds on the cause. The ‘European Theory’, if we may call it that, is only one of a small number of explanations they consider viable.”
“So, if they’re not yet convinced, would they even let us break It? Would they disconnect their switches if we asked?”
“Yes, they would – with sufficient evidence. If they can be convinced of the validity of our – your – approach, and can understand how the necessary disconnecting node set has been calculated, then they would allow these switches to be removed – at least as an experiment in the first place, to demonstrate the principle.” She swallowed again. “But they refuse to conduct these negotiations remotely.” Stephen leaned forward, frowning.
“So what will they agree to?” asked Jenny nervously, fearing she already knew the answer.
“They would like your group to travel to them.”
Silence followed. Eventually, Andy croaked hoarsely.
“You want us,” he indicated Bob and Jenny as he spoke, “to travel to the USA?”
“No, that is what they want. I am simply relaying their thoughts,” not-Thompson replied.
“But do you think it’s a good idea? You can’t, surely?”
“I do not think it is ideal but there may be no alternative.”
“But how will we get there? It’s not safe, is it? It’s anarchy outside. Are there even any flights still?” Andy spoke in utter disbelief. “And I won’t be going anywhere without Aisha, anyway,” he added as a hasty supplement.
Not-Thompson ignored the final caveat. “You are correct,” she nodded, “that all flights – all forms of transport, for that matter – have been stopped. There are no trains operating and the use of private cars is prohibited across the world. As we speak, there are no planes in the air anywhere on the planet. It is too dangerous. Now that It has control of all channels, even the planes themselves are at risk if they have communications contact with the ground.”
“So how do we get there?”
“This afternoon,” not-Thompson answered slowly, “one plane will fly.” The others, including Stephen, gawped in disbelief; she ignored their expressions and continued. “A single plane will take your team and its equipment,” a nod towards Hattie, “from Brussels Airport to a key operational installation in the United States, where you will join forces with our American colleagues. The plane will not have any ground communication for the duration of the flight. There will not even be any radar-tracking. A small team of very experienced US Air Force pilots (we think three – currently stranded here and looking to get back to their own country) will navigate by sight, direction, speed and timing alone. Everything will be prepared for your arrival at the destination airport by direct discussion between our teams here and theirs there: the plane itself will take no part in this exchange. Thus, risk will be minimised – though not entirely eliminated,” she accepted in conclusion.
They sat in stunned silence. Eventually, “I don’t have my passport!” was Jenny’s doleful response. Andy managed a small laugh.
Not-Thompson smiled once more. “I do not think that will be a problem, under the circumstances,” she said. “The authorities will know who you are: no-one else in the world will be making such a journey.” Further silence. Eventually, Bob, who had been a spectator for much of the conversation, took a deep breath, shrugged his shoulders and suggested reluctantly:
“OK then, I suppose that’s what we’ll have to do!” He tried to smile encouragement to Jenny, without looking Andy’s way. He realised it would be just the two of them making the journey. “We can’t give up now! Are you up for it?” he asked her, as if he was suggesting a cup of tea.
Jenny gaped at him in hopeless, open-mouthed desperation. Slowly, she recovered herself.
“I … suppose … so,” she whined.
>
“Let’s go then!”
Andy leaned forward and turned his head repeatedly between Jenny and Bob as he spoke. “You do realise that over thirty million people will die while you’re in the air, don’t you?”
“They’ll die at the same rate while we sit here arguing!” said Bob. “Come on; let’s go.”
“OK,” agreed Jenny, gradually collecting her thoughts, “but, first, I need to have some time with Aisha before the two of us leave – when she’s fit to see us.” She sighed resignedly. “Apart from the fact, that it might be the last time we ever spend together – in this life,” a cynical grin, “I need to ask her some practical things about reducing the S value. I need to know what sort of reduction we’ll need to make It ineffective – to take Its sentience away. Without her input, any calculations I might make won’t be based on anything reliable. There’s no way around that: we’ll have to wait until she can talk to us.”
“No need,” came a frail voice from the corner of the room.
They all turned from the table. In the doorway, bandaged around the eyes, Aisha stood, supported by two nurses.
*
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” bellowed Andy. He, Stephen, Jenny and Bob rushed to help Aisha to a seat but her two supporters needed no assistance: they had the same intent. She sat upright, clearly in pain, facing directly ahead, and seeing nothing. Stephen looked suspiciously between her and not-Thompson, who appeared not to be struck by the same astonishment as his team and the remainder of The Desk.
“Surely you should still be in bed, Aisha,” suggested Jenny as gently as her surprise would allow.
“Possibly,” Aisha replied, in a steady, but pained, voice. “But I have had your plan explained to me in the hospital. I understand the reasoning and I agree with it – with a single objection: you are not going without me!”
