The Darwin Project: Book One: Annihilation Series (The Annihilation Series 1)

by John Hindmarsh

  “It might.”

  “That’s deep shit. I’ll get there before you can blink. I’ll talk to Karla—she might take some convincing.”

  “Over to you. As I said, I’ll have someone pick you up. Look for a black Tesla; it’s the latest model.”

  “You’re moving in charged circles, my friend.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” Toby disconnected. His friend would soon be here to help. There was no way he could cope with everything by himself. Anyway, that’s what friends were for, to share the pain.

  Billie arrived as promised with three Starbucks and two pizzas, in time for lunch. She was accompanied by her boss and one of his technical people; they wanted to check out the security alarms on the property. Somehow, Toby knew he wasn’t returning to his apartment anytime soon. Billie introduced her boss and handed out slices of pizza in Nate’s kitchen.

  “Call me Drexel.” He held out a business card. “We’ve worked with your uncle for five years.”

  Toby glanced quickly at the card. It read Drexel Security. He added it to the file on the table. “Please call me Toby.”

  “Good. I have a series of instructions for you, provided by our client—that is, by your uncle, Nathan Travers. Of course, as of yesterday, you’re our client.” Drexel opened a soft thin briefcase and extracted some papers.

  “Instructions?”

  “Yes. Now, believe me, this is going to seem extremely odd. We need to go into Nate’s study.”

  Toby and Billie followed Drexel. Toby was munching on his third slice of pizza.

  Drexel pointed to a small silk rug; Toby recognized it as an antique, Persian, one from Nate’s collection. “Stand there, facing the mirror. Relax.” He handed Toby a sheet of paper. “You are to read this in your normal voice.”

  Toby stood as instructed and looked at the notes. “Okay. It looks as though this is for a voice recognition process.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Is the operator available?”

  “This is the operator.” The voice was an androgynous-sounding computer recording. Three spotlights switched on, focused at Toby.

  “My name is Toby McIntosh. Refer case reference 35.”

  “Case reference 35 noted. Please—”

  “Toby, please step forward, closer to the mirror.” The voice that interrupted was masculine, a tenor, full of energy. “Reference 35. Toby, something has happened to your uncle?”

  Toby hid his surprise at the unexpected voice and wondered who the speaker was. “Yes. He missed his monthly meeting with his attorney.”

  “Damn. We’ll have to find out what happened. You signed everything that Reuben Jones provided?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cool. We have your voice sample, and it matches prior records from phone calls. We’ve taken images of both your irises. There are sensors underneath the rug you’re standing on, so we’ve got your weight. Height, yes, that’s loaded. Now, there’s still one or two things you need to do. First is to upload your fingerprints, and the second is to provide a DNA sample.”

  Toby was perplexed. He said, “Who am I talking to? Who are you?”

  “Nate never mentioned me? You sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Drexel and Billie were listening; their high level of interest revealed by their expressions was unmistakable.

  “Drexel?”

  “Yes?”

  “We need some privacy. Can you and Billie exit the room? We’ll let you know when you can return.”

  Totally bemused, Toby waited for his visitors to leave. Drexel closed the door as he left. Now, Toby was the only occupant of the room. He said, “They’ve left the room.”

  “Yes, I watched them. Go to the desk near where Drexel was standing. Feel under the ledge—yes, there. Anything?”

  Toby felt around underneath the desk until his fingers touched a small object that appeared to be attached to the wood. He tugged it away and examined it. He held it up in front of the mirror. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “It’s one of Drexel’s spy devices. He leaves them everywhere. Wrap it in something—paper will do—and put it in your pocket. Give it to him when he’s about to leave. He’s always testing me.”

  “That’s all well and good,” said Toby, somewhat exasperated. “But who are you?”

  “Long story but I’ll keep it short. Nate developed a variety of artificial intelligence-based software applications. One was very successful, and he taught it to program. Although, it’s probably more accurate to say he programmed it to program. The resulting program was also taught to program. He continued that process. Not quite ad infinitum, but close. I’m the result of all that hard work. Nate let me select my own name. You can call me Darwin. There’s just something that appeals to me about that name, conceptually. Your uncle wanted to call me Adam, but I talked him out of that cliché. You sure he never mentioned me? ”

  Toby said, “I’m sure. You’ve definitely passed the Turing Test. In terms of that test, you’re exhibiting intelligent linguistic behavior equivalent to, or indistinguishable from, that of a human. Unless you really are a person and someone is trying to be a joker.”

  “I’m not joking, I promise you.”

  “Hmm. Very well. What was Nate’s conclusion about the Lovelace Test? Have you originated creative concepts or a work of art?”

  “I’ve been testing myself. So far I’ve had three articles accepted for publication in Scientific American and two short stories accepted by Glimmer. I’ve set up a couple of false identities as a disguise, so no one realizes they’re dealing with a computer. I plan to try painting next, perhaps something in an Impressionist style—I like Claude Monet’s work. However, I need limbs—hands—for what I intend to do. I want a body. I want you to help me improve. I’ve read your PhD thesis on cognitive assessments for artificial intelligence, and you’re more than capable of furthering my development in Nate’s absence. What do you say?”

  “I—I’d like to think about it. Yes, I know, you probably measure periods of reflection in milliseconds, whereas I need at least a few hours.”

  “I’ll wait patiently until this evening. I’ll even wait until you’ve discussed it with your friend—what’s his name—Rick. He sent a message to you. His flight arrives at seven p.m. You can send Billie to pick him up—he’s bringing a lot of his camera gear. Also, I’ve set up your security clearance—you have total access to all systems.”

  Toby called Drexel and Billie back into the room. He didn’t mention details of his discussion with Darwin. His final request of Drexel was for him to help discover the whereabouts of his uncle.

  oOo

  Chapter Seven

  “Billie?”

  “Yes, Sir Toby?”

  “Damn—you’re going to continue that, aren’t you?”

  Billie had an innocent expression on her face. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Okay. Don’t call me sir. That’s an order—I’ll talk to Drexel if need be.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “Would you collect my friend Rick Steynes from LAX? He’s arriving at seven. I can study more of Nate’s paperwork while you’re doing that for me.”

  “Sure. He’s expecting me?”

  “I’ll zap him a reminder. I’ll also send images, so you both know what the other looks like.” Toby’s video camera captured Billie’s image before she could protest and Toby busied himself for a moment, sending files and messages.

  “Done. I’ll order food from one of the local restaurants while you’re collecting him. Steaks and dessert?”

  “Yes, Sir Toby.”

  “Damn.”

  Billie resumed control of the Tesla from the self-driving computer and parked the vehicle in a public and visible section of the short-term parking floor adjacent to the airline terminal. She set the cameras and proximity warning system; anyone approaching the vehicle would set off a noisy alarm, and the security system would transmit images to the Drexel command center and to her c
ell phone. When she finished, she called her boss.

  “I'm at LAX,” she said. “Anything I should be aware of?”

  “There’s nothing happening,” Drexel said. “At least, nothing we’ve detected.”

  “Good. I’ll go into the terminal and wait.”

  “Okay. I'll let you know if there are any concerns.”

  “Likewise.”

  Billy got out of the vehicle, straightened her jacket, and closed and locked the car door. Satisfied, she headed to the raised pedestrian walkway that would take her to the terminal, avoiding the busy roadway.

  As she neared the terminal doors, a small street cleaner bot caught her attention. It was holding out a sign that read: “Please donate a dollar to help me pay for my repairs.”

  The bot had a solar unit haphazardly attached to one side, and if it had been human, Billie would have described it as disheveled and perhaps even dangerous. Apparently, there were no rules in place to prevent bots from panhandling at the airport, or else it hadn’t yet been detected. The bot shook a tin can tied to a stubby appendage. She found three or four one-dollar bills in her pocket and dropped them into the can. The bot rattled the container against its body in an unspoken thank-you. She felt its camera-eyes follow her as she continued into the terminal.

  Billie checked the arrival display for Rick’s flight. The aircraft was on time. She calculated it would be about twenty minutes before the flight taxied to its designated gate, and it would take another ten or fifteen minutes for the passengers to disembark. She decided to find somewhere to have a coffee and sit and relax.

  Almost thirty minutes later she positioned herself beside the baggage carousel, watching the passengers streaming down the ramp from the terminal gates. Two men, strangers, approached and stood one either side of her. Each man wore a brownshirt-style uniform with a MAWA badge on the shirt collar.

  The larger of the two men spoke, his voice low. “If you keep bad company you could get hurt.”

  Billy turned to him and raised her eyebrows. “I really don't care what you think.” She moved her jacket so that he could see the handgun holstered at her waist. “I’m recording our conversation, and your comment sounded like a threat.”

  The smaller man, unaware of the weapon, said, “We don’t make empty threats, lady.”

  His companion frowned and waved his hand for the speaker to stop. He said, “Shut up. She’s armed. We’ve delivered the message. Come on.”

  The two men walked off, and Billie watched them for a few seconds.

  “Problems? You are Billie, I take it?”

  “What? Oh, yes, that’s me. No, no problems. Empty threats, I suspect.”

  “There’s a lot of that. I’m Rick, Toby’s friend.”

  Billie didn’t need to check the image Toby had sent. Rick was obviously Rick. He was carrying a backpack, and there were two hefty wheeled cases and a garment bag at his feet.

  “Pleased. I’ll give you a hand,” Billie offered. “Now, let’s get out of here. Toby said he’s ordering dinner for us.”

  “Take care—there’s a lot of camera gear in those cases. Here, you take this, it’s lighter.” He handed Billie the garment bag.

  As they walked across the pedestrian bridge, Billie tensed. Two men, larger than the two who had threatened her earlier, were following them across the walkway. A clanking sound in front of her caught her attention; three cleaner bots, shiny, larger, and newer than the one she had given the dollar bills, were rushing towards them. Billie held out her arm and pushed Rick against the barrier. The bots hurried past.

  The two men—now that they were closer, Billie saw that they were wearing brownshirt uniforms—tried to avoid the bots. The machines were apparently single-minded and pushed the two men back along the walkway. There was a lot of cursing and struggling. The bots were using force, and one of the men fell, screaming in pain.

  Billie said, “I think that’s a follow-up to the threats two men made while I was waiting for you.”

  “And the bots?”

  Billie shrugged. “Apparently, I have friends in high places.”

  “Odd friends.”

  “Not if they stop you from being hurt.”

  Rick nodded. “Can’t argue that one.”

  The trip to Bel Air was uneventful.

  When Billie left for LAX, Toby gathered the paperwork provided by the attorney and the additional notes from Drexel and sat in the living room. He stretched out on one of the four settees and spread his papers across the adjacent table. He wanted to read everything again. At this stage, he was somewhat bewildered and wanted to ground himself by reviewing more of the details. He was also worried about Nate; he had no idea of what could have happened to his uncle.

  “Darwin?” He felt as though he was speaking to an empty room.

  “Yes, Toby?”

  “I’m worried about Nate. Do you think he could really be dead? Perhaps he’s been hurt in an accident and is in hospital somewhere, unconscious?”

  There was a long silence. Toby wondered if Darwin had heard his question.

  “Darwin?”

  “Yes, Toby. I’m reviewing events of the last couple of months. A lot happened.”

  “Is there anything you can tell me?”

  “Nate produced a file—a video presentation. He told me to inform you of its existence when you asked certain questions. He placed an embargo on the contents—I’m not permitted to view it. Do you want access?”

  “What? Certainly. Please display it on the monitor here.”

  The androgynous voice returned. “File reference Toby003 is now running.”

  Toby wondered if there were two other files he should access, numbers 001 and 002. He didn’t say anything and sat back, waiting for the file to play on the giant screen that was about fifteen feet away.

  His uncle appeared in the opening sequence and said, “Toby, you’re watching this because you’re now in control of my estate. I can assume I didn’t show up for my scheduled meeting with Reuben and that you’ve encountered Darwin. While he’s an impressive superintelligence or SI, I suggest you maintain a cautious attitude with him. I also assume you’re worrying about my disappearance. I prepared this video—it will run about thirty minutes—to provide some background and support for you.

  “I cannot tell you everything. Well, to start with, I don’t know what’s happened to prevent me meeting with the attorneys. Obviously, I anticipated something could happen; otherwise, you wouldn’t be sitting there, and I wouldn’t be in this video.” Nate held up his hand in a cautionary gesture. “No, I can’t tell you everything. At least not straight off the bat. Yes, my activities have been dangerous. Life-threatening? I daresay yes, if I’ve disappeared. Or if my body has been found.

  “You must visit my production center as soon as possible if you wish to understand my business ventures. Drexel, I trust, has honored his contract, and you have a driver-bodyguard. It should be Billie Nile. She’s qualified to fly my aircraft, both the Cessna and the Bell helicopter, and has made twelve or more trips there with me. Drexel should have other security arrangements in place for you, as well, for daily protection. Remember, you are now a very wealthy person and you’ll be the target of all kinds of swindles and attacks. While I don’t wish to alarm you, criminal acts and even kidnapping—threats or for real—are possibilities.

  “Darwin is a separate topic. He’ll be anxious about how you’ll react to his plans. You and he will need work that out—you have the knowledge and experience to deal with him. Be aware that Darwin is ambitious. Oh, I don’t want to counter his ambitions; rather, it might be necessary to temper them.”

  Nate paused while the video background changed from an office scene to a mountain range.

  He continued. “The manufacturing plant is located in this range, a few miles inside the Nevada border, north-east from LA. The plant is located on Pepper Mountain—well, in Pepper Mountain, to be precise. I chose that location for a number of reasons, including its remoteness an
d difficulty of access. I discovered an old mine and purchased the freehold; it’s only accessible now by air. The plant manufactures a range of high-core CPUs and QPUs—our quantum designs are very advanced. We build motherboards, load the operating system and bot-specific software used by most of the bots currently available in this country. We export about fifty percent of our production. The more complex the bot, the more complex the processors, which plays into our hands—the prices go higher. The manufacturing processes are fully automated, and deliveries are flown out using automated drones. They fly to a distribution facility where the processors are are repackaged and sent on to our customers. We’re the only customer for the distribution facility. All of the design activities are now under Darwin’s control. He’s continually upgrading them, which is both good and bad—he’s not always cost-conscious. We don’t manufacture any bots except for prototypes and some bots we want to use for ourselves. We supply hardware and software—the brains, if you like—plus activity-specific designs for each bot type. We receive royalties on these designs.

  “There’s a second SI called Bronwyn, who you’ll meet when you visit the mountains; she assists Darwin and is responsible for software development, production processes, and cost control. You’ll be required to referee differences—disputes, in other words—between Darwin and Bronwyn, I’m sure.”

  The video scene changed from mountains to rows and rows of computers in rack arrays. “The Pepper plant has one of the largest server farms in this country, possibly in the world. These are our—Darwin’s and mine—design. There are five backup server farms, three of them outside the US. We have three satellites, wholly owned and devoted to supporting our technology and business; although we utilize, at the most, 25 percent or so of the available bandwidth. One is in a geostationary orbit above Los Angeles and the others—well, you’ll be able to access communication details when you visit the mountains. These installations provide our competitive advantage as well as supporting Darwin and Bronwyn.

  “Toby, that’s as much as I should convey to you in a non-secure environment. You’ll gain access to further details when you visit the manufacturing plant. To be honest, you won’t appreciate the details of our business until you make that visit. My suggestion—go there sooner rather than later. I’ll have more videos for you. Darwin will provide the second file when you reach the next trigger point—yes, I know, it’s my preferred approach—which will be some time after you return from Pepper Mountain. Finally, I trust and hope the responsibilities I’m thrusting on you are not too onerous. Understand, there’s no one else.”