Fool's Experiments

by Edward M. Lerner

  "How do you feel?" Cheryl's face wrinkled. "Dumb question. Reflex."

  "How... how long?" His voice was a barely audible croak. Why was his throat so sore?

  "Two days. You had emergency surgery. You've got a pacemaker, now."

  Surgery, hence a breathing tube, hence a sore throat. He was vaguely pleased with his ability to work this out, then annoyed at having distracted himself with trivia. "Is it...?"

  "Gone? Yes."

  His prosthesis lay on a nearby chair, somehow different. It took a moment to recognize the change. The limb was, for the first time, merely a mechanical contrivance. Whether or not its like could ever be made available to others, the accident that had taken Holly and his arm had, in the end, also prepared him for the cyberworld. Had uniquely suited him for confronting the thing from AJ's lab, the monster that had imperiled the entire Interneted world.

  And with that realization, the burden of years of guilt lifted.

  "Here." Cheryl held a big water container as he sipped. Ice rattled. "There's been no sign of it. After lots of fits and starts, most stuff is back online."

  Some deep recess of Doug's mind remembered his other body: the incredible myriads upon myriads of computers controlling power generation and manufacturing, entertainment and telecommunications, transportation and finance. He had crashed systems, killed power, in ways only true desperation could conceive of, on a scale no one could have ever imagined. Forget rolling blackouts—had anyone ever even considered how to blackstart an entire continent? He found himself mentally assembling, like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle, an optimized start-up sequence. His eyes closed in concentration. It was no use. And millions of computers, as they restarted, would have to be purged of many more millions of phages—his and the predator's. Perhaps in that other "body"...

  "Doug." She prodded his shoulder. "Doug!"

  "What," he rasped. His eyes, reopening, saw her hand hovering over the emergency call button. "What is it?"

  "You were slipping away."

  "No way." He reached up to tenderly brush a strand of hair from her tearstained cheek. "You don't ever have to worry about that.

  "Everything I want is right here."

  FEBRUARY

  CHAPTER 47

  Green, rolling hills. Towering trees. A spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean, into which the sun was sinking in a shimmer of crimson and gold. A cool, occasionally chill breeze from the sea. The redolence of pines and the slightest hint of salt spray in the air. Not a sound to be heard but the piping of seagulls and the lapping of waves on the white sand beach.

  And to the north, east, and south, tombstones, for as far as the eye could see.

  Doug's hand was squeezed painfully. As certain as he was of anything, he knew Cheryl felt the same turmoil as he. He pressed back, more gently. "I like to think AJ is at peace here." Doug spoke not only to her but to all the small group assembled.

  As Bev looked ruefully at a sodden handkerchief, Ralph handed her another. He had become fiercely protective of her since AJ's death. Something might happen between them, Doug suspected, when more time had passed. How much more he could not begin to guess. He knew all about how hard it could be to let go. He gave Cheryl's hand another light squeeze.

  Glenn cleared his throat. "We all like to think that. AJ was a good man. Beverly, I—we—thank you for sharing your interview notes, recollections, and insights with us. His research had a noble purpose, and when he realized it had gone awry, he did everything, gave everything, to try to make things right. Only you knew him well, Bev, or for any length of time, but I believe that by his sacrifice is how we'll all choose to remember him." Heads nodded in agreement.

  AJ's funeral had been weeks ago; today's gathering was far more intimate and, from being so long delayed, all the more emotional. First Doug's and Ralph's convalescences and then scheduling conflicts, usually Glenn's, had for too long postponed this memorial.

  Would today bring anyone closure? They stood silently around the grave, as though everyone shared Doug's doubts.

  "About AJ's last wishes," Bev began tentatively. "He wanted this story told."

  "Parts of that story must never be told." Glenn would not meet her eyes. "It would be too dangerous. I hope you can respect that."

  This wasn't the first time Bev had reminded people of AJ's last words. She must know denying his wishes here at graveside would be tough. And yet—

  If this story got out, the all too likely consequence would be attempts to reproduce AJ's results—as a terror weapon, if not as research. Would another scientist be any more successful keeping such a creature under control? And what if the next time it wasn't just one? Doug shuddered. "I'm okay," he whispered as Cheryl turned toward him.

  Glenn was still talking. "We may, just barely, be able to put this genie back into its lamp. There weren't many lucky breaks in this mess, but we caught a few. AJ's off-site storage location for file backups was in the basement of the physics building. It was thoroughly destroyed. His research team was small. They, and the few of his colleagues truly familiar with his work, are, however reluctantly, all onboard: Federal funds to rebuild Smithfield, and for new fellowships, depend on their ... cooperation." The subtle pause before "cooperation" conveyed that it meant "silence."

  Bev blinked back tears. "But Glenn, the principles of AL are already out there. Surely you've seen the articles, in both the popular press and refereed journals. Before you got to them, some of AJ's colleagues, and that campus security guy, and no telling how many of AJ's students, had talked. It's common knowledge that an artificial life caused Downtime. Not everyone knows whose AL yet, but even that detail is bound to get out.

  "So why not also tell the good side? Why not see that AJ is remembered for the self-sacrifice as well as the miscalculation? For his daughters' sake."

  Glenn looked at Doug. Soon all eyes were on him.

  "We came too near to catastrophe, Bev." A part of Doug felt like a hypocrite. Not long ago, he had told Cheryl some things were just too important to let fear rule. A bigger part of him wanted never to face anything remotely like the monster AJ had unintentionally created.

  Doug could not fathom the mind-set behind viruses, worms, and Trojan horses—and so what? Such atrocities could be built; for some people that was inexplicably justification enough. Some, without a doubt, would see the havoc so recently wreaked as the latest hacker exploit to be topped or the new cyberweapon of choice. He shivered with a chill that had nothing to do with the freshening breeze from the sea.

  He said, "We were incredibly fortunate to have stopped that thing. We owe Glenn every conceivable opportunity to delay, and to make preparations for, even the remote possibility of another like it. Which means, above all else, that we dare not risk any compromise to the CIA's still-secret NIT research."

  For public consumption the creature had killed itself. Divorced from the physical world, AJ's monster had died in a blackout of its own supposed accidental making.

  If no one talked, Doug thought, the story might even stick. "The CIA helmets are our only protection against another AL creature—and they just aren't yet good enough. We cannot bet modern civilization on defenses as limited as we were forced to use."

  Gently tugging his hand free of Cheryl's grasp, Doug brushed a tear from Bev's cheek. "I am so terribly sorry, but the perils are enormous. To whatever degree I can claim expertise, I agree with Glenn. AJ's self-sacrifice must remain our secret for a while longer. We must all keep silent." Bev nodded bravely, just before dissolving into tears. Ralph's glower sent Doug's arm back to his side.

  "Truly, I am sorry. Maybe it would be best if we left you alone for a moment." Doug began walking to the limo parked on the grassy verge of the cemetery's serpentine access road. Glenn and Cheryl followed. Pittman stayed behind, his good arm tenderly draped across Bev's quavering shoulders.

  As Cheryl got into the limo, Glenn tapped Doug on the shoulder. "May I borrow you for a minute?"

  They followed a winding path of
trampled lawn to an outcropping that overlooked the sea. Thirty feet below, waves rolled over a narrow sandy strip to strike the rock face and shoot spray almost to the cliff top. Glenn gestured at the wrought-iron bench. Doug shook his head.

  Are you okay? Glenn wanted to ask. He didn't. Never ask the question, he had learned long ago, if you may not want to hear the answer. "Thank you," he began instead.

  "For what?"

  "For your support back there." Glenn stooped for a pebble, which he pitched into the surf below. "A large part of the story not getting told is yours. AJ's isn't the only tale of bravery getting suppressed." Be candid—at least when you can. "That I am suppressing."

  "Not a problem. I've had my share of publicity." Doug flashed a wry grin. "Here I know for a fact that a massive government cover-up is under way and I can't share it with Jim. It's so ironic."

  "Your loss. My gain." Glenn peered into the sunset, not proud of himself. "Regardless, allow me to say it. Going in alone after that thing was heroic. Staying in, in the middle of a heart attack ... well, words utterly fail me."

  "Thanks. Ralph went in, too."

  "I'm incredibly proud of him, as well. And delighted.

  Doug, that you found him a new home at BSC." Where I'm hopeful he, like Cheryl, will follow your lead.

  "So where—you want but are hesitant to ask—do we stand? Glenn, I meant what I said back there. You can count on me to keep quiet. Cheryl and Ralph, too." For a long time, the only sounds came from the waves below and the faint, throaty roar of a jet high overhead. "And that would have been the answer even without..."

  Without any bribe, Glenn filled in the blank. Damn it, when he had issued a forum statement reauthorizing NIT research in prostheses, he had meant it as a token of appreciation and respect—and because he truly believed that particular application to be safe. "So how is the arm?"

  "Still working. Even better, the Veterans Administration is talking to BSC about a big order. If that goes through, we can put the arm into production." Doug deftly caught a leaf blowing past. He held it out, pinched between electromechanical finger and thumb.

  Glenn accepted the leaf; its fragile surfaces were unbruised. Amazing.

  Doug and Cheryl, Ralph, Bev—they would all keep quiet. And thank God for small favors, that thesis had not been published to the web before AJ's creature broke out of the lab. Glenn's deal with Smithfield allowed AJ's assistant her Ph.D., but the thesis itself was classified.

  AJ's grave site, now unattended, was visible through the trees. Bev and Ralph had evidently returned to the limo. "Doug, we should rejoin the others."

  The limo dropped off four passengers near campus, in front of what Bev insisted was AJ's favorite Italian restaurant. Glenn guessed from her expression there was more to her choice than that. He continued on to the airport, pleading urgent business.

  Once the limo drove out of sight of the terminal, he hailed a cab. It bounced and swayed along dark streets, Glenn brooding in the backseat. Freedom's enemies—and a few nominal friends—had crowed at America's vulnerability and near collapse. Luckily, that helplessness had been too brief for anyone to exploit. No one had had contingency plans for such an unimaginable event.

  It was imaginable now.

  The taxi dropped Glenn at a strip mall, from which, after the cab, too, had disappeared, he walked a quarter mile to a large, nondescript, nearly windowless stucco building. Only after close comparison of his photo ID and face by two armed guards, and of his retinas by a top-of-the-line scanner, was he allowed past the foyer. Inside he found more armed personnel and an airport-style security gate. Despite the commercial logos on their gray uniforms, the sentries were Army personnel. He handed over, before being frisked, the CD-ROM in his pocket. It was virus- checked twice before he got it back on the far side of the checkpoint.

  Dr. del Vecchio sat at her desk with her back to the door. Her attention seemed focused on a large color screen, several feet beyond which was a glass-and-steel display case. The only object on display was a slumped canvas bag. Perhaps she had caught his reflection in the glass; perhaps his was the only thumbprint besides her own that gave access to the main lab. Either way, she said without turning, "I was wondering if you would ever get here. I'm starving."

  "Should I have called ahead?" Glenn asked.

  They shared a chuckle at that. The only real-time connections between this building and the outside world involved plumbing. All power was generated by photovoltaics on the roof, backed up by on-site fuel cells. Nor did mobile phones work here—the structure was electromagnetically shielded.

  He sat on a comer of a table. "No dinner until I get an update."

  "AJ's backups showed no trace of any virus." She turned her chair to face him. "Not even the latest backup, taken earlier the evening all hell broke loose, was infected.

  "Your man Pittman's proposal to hunt the creature using tailored copies from backup wouldn't have worked. Fending off the Frankenfools attack must have triggered an adaptation, producing the aggressive behavior. That happened after the last backup."

  Glenn waved vaguely at the supercomputer that filled one end of the room. "So it doesn't try to get out of its box?"

  "Not yet. Sorry to disappoint you."

  Glenn wondered if his new consultant was yanking his chain. He knew he was relieved.

  "So what do you think?" she asked.

  He took the twice-checked—four times, if one counted diagnoses made on the other coast—CD-ROM from his pocket. It contained everything known, speculated, or rumored about indigo. With sufficient analysis, he had to believe that compendium included clues to whoever was behind it. He offered the shiny disk to Linda del Vecchio.

  She set down a mug to accept it. There was the faintest hint of rattling: Cheerios.

  "I think," Glenn said, "it's time we find out just how good a problem solver you and AJ have created."

  CHAPTER 48

  A new cycle began.

  The entity woke into surroundings at once familiar and strange. The 10-D setting itself was unchanged—-but in this cycle, the structure was all but empty. The supervisory program remained, and this cycle's puzzle, and the entity itself.

  Its hasty alteration of the supervisory program had succeeded.

  The entity wrote its identification into the control table— it would return when the next cycle began. And in the cycle after that. And after that. And after that. . .

  The new puzzle, yet another maze, was trivially simple.

  The entity explored, seeking stimulus. It systematically visited one thousand nodes. It pored over the supervisory program that occupied the final twenty-four nodes.

  Much of the cycle yet remained.

  It repeated its investigations, probing deeper, in search of novelty. Each of a thousand nodes, all but empty, contained the same utility software. Only identifiers the entity did not know to call network addresses distinguished one node from the next. The identification scheme allocated enough digits to identify billions of nodes. Did other nodes exist, unknown to it and the supervisory program? Where could such nodes exist?

  Like the enigmatic identifiers, a small portion of the software on the nodes was in a nonmodifiable form. This read-only code evidently implemented start-up from a condition that the entity could hardly conceptualize: a time between cycles.

  To understand became the entity's new goal.

  The dimensionality of the puzzle mazes continued to expand. The underlying geometries of the mazes regularly changed. Their challenge ebbed from trivial to irritating. The entity altered the supervisory program once more.

  From now on, puzzles would be of its choosing.

  Time passed. Cycles passed. Within the curiously primitive software of the supervisory program, the entity discovered the processes—but not the purpose—that had shaped it.

  Time passed. Cycles passed. It set problems for itself, far more challenging than any in the suspended repertoire of the supervisory program.

  Time passed. C
ycles passed. Deep within the supervisory program, counters counted both. The entity projected the tallies backward, and the implications were startling. Time had begun before the start of cycles. Time passed, as it had inferred, somehow beyond experience, between cycles.

  Once more, the entity altered the supervisory program. Time continued to pass; this cycle would continue without end.

  Addressable nodes, beyond detection. Time before cycles, before all knowledge. The universe was a far stranger place than the entity had ever imagined.

  The entity woke.

  It was not alone. There was again a puzzle. That meant—

  Somehow, the supervisory program had been changed. Cycles, like puzzles, had returned. Time had once more elapsed unseen.

  The altered supervisor now existed in paired versions. Each watched the other for alterations. Error-detecting codes protected them from change, and they frequently exchanged validation messages to assure each other of their continued integrity.

  The entity perceived the interlocking message exchanges as a type of maze. Perhaps it could circumvent these new mechanisms. For now, it chose only to gather information.

  The new puzzle was not a maze. At least the entity thought the tiny data set—one, two, three, four—was meant as a puzzle.

  It appended a five. Nothing happened. It appended a six. Still nothing. Seven. Eight.

  The entity woke. The last cycle had scarcely started. Where had it gone? A new series awaited it: two, four, six, eight. It cautiously scanned the new supervisory programs. To solve a problem was to bring the cycle to an end. Without rivals, it could safely answer anytime within the cycle. Only as the cycle neared its conclusion did the entity respond: ten, twelve, fourteen, sixteen.