The Singularity Race

by Mark de Castrique

  “Meaning what?” Mullins asked.

  Brentwood jumped in, unable to restrain himself. “Meaning, Rusty, if Apollo determines on his own that the greatest threat to the earth is climate change brought about by greenhouse gases and a destroyed ozone layer, and the unbiased conclusion is that the greatest accelerant of these phenomena is humankind, what’s to stop this super intelligent computer from wiping our species off the face of the earth?”

  Peter stepped closer to Brentwood, his eyes wide. “Who’s Apollo?”

  Brentwood did a double take, blinking like the boy had materialized in front of him.

  “Apollo?”

  “You said Apollo,” Peter insisted.

  Brentwood colored slightly, and then shrugged. “It’s the name I made up.”

  “I’ve read the stories, Mr. Brentwood. Apollo brings the sun. He brings the light. I think it’s a good name.”

  Lisa Li draped her arm over Peter’s shoulders. “It is a good name, Robert. And you’ll need one.” She looked at Mullins. “I believe if we create an artificial intelligence with imagination and wisdom we can’t avoid the development that logically follows—artificial consciousness. And like any conscious entity, he’ll have a desire for self-preservation.”

  “Forget climate change,” Mullins said. “What if Apollo feels even remotely threatened?”

  Brentwood and Li just looked at each other. Neither gave an answer.

  “Where will Aunt Li Li work?” Peter scanned the enormous room for signs of people.

  “All of the offices and labs are on the lower level,” Brentwood said.

  “Underground?” Mullins asked.

  “Yes. Environmentally more efficient. The greatest enemy of all these electronics isn’t a power loss. It’s heat. Heat generated by hundreds of thousands of components, each alone not creating a high level, but collectively turning out a thermal boost that would soon damage delicate circuitry.” Brentwood pointed straight over his head. “The ceiling is high and the roof peaked in upside-down troughs to channel that rising heat either outside or to the level below for warmth in winter. We replace the hot air with outside air that passes through chilled mist to lower its temperature without using full-scale air-conditioning. And the lower level is deeper than the frost line, which makes it easy to heat and cool.”

  Brentwood led them to a monolith on the side wall that was twice as big as the others. When he was about five feet away, the front panel slid up, revealing an empty chamber.

  “Elevator,” he explained.

  The inside was deep enough to serve as a freight elevator. Diffused lighting from an overhead panel illuminated the interior.

  “Where are the buttons for the floors?” Peter asked.

  “No buttons. With only two levels, you’re always going to the other one.”

  A low hum sounded as the elevator automatically descended. Mullins stepped farther back and noticed a small keypad installed in the side wall about four feet above the floor. Ten numerical buttons, zero to nine, were flush with the brushed metal surface and could easily be overlooked.

  “What’s the keypad for?” Mullins asked. “Firemen?”

  “Firemen? Oh, you mean like those special keys they carry to override the elevator controls? I have a waiver since we’re only two floors and there are adequate stairwells. The keypad disables this elevator and the other four. It can also secure access to the stairs.”

  “In other words, put you in lockdown,” Mullins said.

  “I guess you could call it that. The main function is to create a literal firewall that isolates any outbreak.”

  The door opened, catching Mullins by surprise. They stepped into a large reception area. Like the entry space above, the walls depicted virtual scenes, this time a rocky coastline that reminded Mullins of Maine. There was even the sound of surf and a breeze carried the faint taste of salt.

  A translucent white desk faced the elevator. Behind it, an attractive dark-skinned woman of around thirty was talking into a wireless headset. She wore a sunburst dashiki and held up a forefinger signaling them to wait. She spoke a few words and then slipped off the earpiece and microphone.

  “Welcome back, Robert. It looks like you’ve surrounded yourself with fine company.”

  “Felicia, meet Peter Wang and his aunt, Dr. Lisa Li. Dr. Li’s joining our team. And this is Rusty Mullins, perhaps the best security man and criminal investigator in the country.”

  “Hardly.” Mullins smiled despite the unwanted flattery.

  Brentwood pressed on. “This is Felicia Corazón. She knows everything about the place. If you have any questions, she’s the one to see.”

  Felicia stood and Mullins was surprised by her height. She had to be at least six-three, and with the close-cropped hair, she reminded him of a younger version of Ted Lewison’s wife, Elizabeth. She walked from behind the desk with the graceful motion of a gazelle. From her right hand dangled three ID badges on braided gold cords. She handed one to each of them.

  Mullins was stunned to see his passport photo between a barcode and the logo for Cumulus Cognitive Connections. “When did you get my passport?”

  Felicia smiled. “When Robert needs something, I find it for him. Wear these when you’re in the building. They’re electronic and programmed to grant you access to the areas you have clearance.”

  “Where don’t we have clearance?” Mullins asked.

  “You pretty much have the run of the place, Mr. Mullins. Not the private offices. You’ll have your own, of course, and I can give you access to Dr. Li’s with her permission.”

  “Yes,” Li said without hesitation.

  “Dr. Li, you’ll have a lab identical to the one you had in California, but with a newer generation of hardware. Both of you will have access to the canteen, gym, and game room.”

  “Game room?” Peter reached for his badge. “What kind of games?”

  “Billiards, ping-pong, pinball, video games, and a TV the width of a wall. The room’s mostly used by our younger techs, but I have seen a take-no-prisoners ping-pong match between the senior scientists now and then.”

  “Can we see the Nats games?”

  Felicia looked confused. “Gnats? Like bugs?”

  “It’s Washington’s baseball team,” Brentwood said. “And I’m sure that will be no problem.”

  “Any other restricted areas other than private offices?” Mullins asked.

  “Not really,” Brentwood said. “Only the processing cores. That’s where the neuromorphic chips are physically clustered into connected patterns mimicking the human brain. You wouldn’t want some untrained person poking around in your head, would you, Rusty?”

  “I guess not,” he conceded.

  Brentwood patted Peter on the shoulder. “And I forgot to mention that we have a library. That’s where you’ll meet Miss Collier tomorrow.”

  “Who’s Miss Collier?” Peter asked.

  Brentwood looked at Lisa Li. “Actually, it’s Dr. Collier. I took the liberty of engaging a tutor who will be here onsite. She has a PhD in elementary education for gifted students. But if she doesn’t work out, we’ll find someone else.”

  Li shook her head in amazement at all that Brentwood had orchestrated. “Fine. But Peter needs some outdoor exercise as well.” She gestured to the Maine coast. “Walking on a treadmill in front of a landscape image isn’t enough.”

  “I agree,” Brentwood said. “We’ll have swimming at the lake, hiking at Chimney Rock Park, and whatever other activities you’d like. Just say the word. Now I suggest we take our tour and then call it an afternoon.”

  Felicia took her cue and walked to a section of the wall directly behind her desk. She tripped some sensor and a panel slid to the left. Instead of a clear doorway, a metal frame filled the opening. Mullins recognized a sophisticated body scanner.

  “We’ll
pass through one at a time,” Felicia said. “A precaution to make sure we don’t carry in anything that could create a magnetic field, no matter how faint. That means no cell phones, pagers, or other electronic devices.”

  Mullins inadvertently patted his pants pocket where he’d kept his burner phone. Thanks to his fear that he’d have to go through some sort of security clearance, it now lay under his mattress back at the cottage.

  “You don’t need to worry about your change, Mr. Mullins,” Felicia said. “We’re only concerned about electronics.”

  Mullins lifted his arm in the sling enough to reveal the holstered pistol under his coat. “And weapons?”

  Brentwood laughed. “As long as it doesn’t have an electronic guidance system, you could bring in a bazooka. You’re welcome to carry whatever arsenal you think you need.”

  Mullins didn’t need an arsenal. He needed a suspect, and unless Lisa Li could get this alleged super brain to focus on his case, all the guns in the world were useless. He’d be better off pushing the action in Washington with Allen instead of cloistered in some glorified cave. How ironic, he thought. Terrorists lived in caves. That is until they set off a bomb beside you or flew a jet into your building.

  Suddenly, he wondered if Brentwood had placed his staff and his beloved Apollo beneath the ground because of environmental efficiency or because they were housed in a fortified bomb shelter.

  One thing was clear. Robert Brentwood was not a man to be underestimated. Not by a long shot.

  Chapter Sixteen

  While Lisa Li put Peter to bed in the rollaway in her room, Mullins brought two fingers of Scotch out to the front porch of the cottage to one of its three wooden rockers and took a deep breath of mountain air. The day had been a long one and he found the starry sky and night sounds to be calming. A breeze blew off the water and its chill settled first into his injured shoulder. He wondered if the wound would turn him into one of those old codgers who predicted rain based upon some aching muscle or joint.

  Mullins took a sip of his drink to warm himself from the inside out, and then set the glass on the floor. Somewhere an owl hooted, one of the creatures whose nocturnal vision enabled it to seek its prey where others saw only darkness. Mullins wasn’t so much troubled by the darkness of his investigation as by his ignorance of what tools Brentwood’s facility offered that could shed light onto his case. He’d been impressed with what he’d seen in its sheer size and scope, and he thought Lisa Li seemed pleased by the extent of the resources. She would throw herself into her work, of that he was positive, but he needed her as an ally willing to carry out his research as well.

  The screen door squealed as Li stepped outside. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Please. Can I fix you a drink?”

  Li looked at Mullins’ glass on the floor. “What are you having?”

  “Scotch.” Mullins stood. “But there’s a full bar in one of the upper kitchen cabinets.”

  “Scotch is fine. I can get it.”

  “No. Sit. I know where everything is.” He gestured for her to take the chair beside him. “On the rocks?”

  “Neat.”

  Mullins nodded his approval. “Back in a few minutes. Enjoy the quiet.”

  He pulled the bottle of Glenfiddich off an upper shelf and then a clean glass from an adjacent cabinet. He noticed a dirty glass on the counter with traces of milk coating the inside. Li had evidently given Peter a drink right before bed. Making a spur of the moment decision, Mullins found an identical glass, rinsed it, and set it in the sink as if he’d washed out the milk glass. Using a clean handkerchief, he quickly took Peter’s glass to his room and tucked it in his suitcase. Then he poured Li’s Scotch and took it out on the porch.

  “Here you go.”

  She took the drink and raised it to him. “To my knight in shining armor.”

  Mullins sat, picked up his glass, and clinked hers. “I think you mean your knight in Rusty armor.”

  “Then I’ll just have to keep you well-oiled, Rusty.”

  Her comment threw him. Was it simply a second pun or was she proposing something else? Their age difference was less than ten years. He was definitely attracted to her. They both had lost their spouses. His pulse quickened but his brain reeled at any response that could be embarrassingly misread. She was his charge, not his bedmate.

  “Then oil me with knowledge. There are some things I need to know.”

  Li sighed, as if disappointed by the turn in the conversation. “Ask me.”

  “Did anything surprise you about what you saw today?”

  “Surprise me?” She took a healthy sip and thought a second. “No, not surprise. Stun and shock are more appropriate verbs. He’s at least a year ahead of where we were at Jué Dé. I don’t know who his researchers are but the configurations they’ve created are the closest mimics of the human brain I’ve ever seen. Thousands of interconnections and cross-processing neuromorphic chips. I was amazed by some of their system schematics and I’ve barely scratched the surface of what they’ve done.”

  “That must have been while Peter and I were hanging out in the game room.”

  “Yes. Sorry to turn you into a babysitter but he would have been bored.”

  Not half as much as I would have been, Mullins thought. “So, are you familiar with anyone on his team?”

  Li cocked her head and stared at Mullins over her glass. “That’s the peculiar thing. I didn’t meet them.”

  Mullins rocked forward. “What? Brentwood said he was going to introduce you to them.”

  “He did. Virtually. They’re offsite in other locations and we spoke through an audio connection.”

  “If they’re not onsite, why do you have to be?”

  “They were at one time, but they’re far enough along that they can do their programming work remotely. Robert says I’ll go through the same stages and eventually we’ll go back to D.C.”

  “So, you didn’t actually see anybody?”

  Li laughed. “Oh, yes, it’s not like we’re all alone. I met the team of technicians and assistants. Some do physical installations, some run tests and diagnostics. I meant the scientists who conceptualized the whole thing. They’re offsite.”

  “How many did you speak with?”

  “Two. A Roger Stanovich and Luther Cathcart. One came through Cal Tech and the other’s worked for Robert since he started his company.”

  “I’d have thought you’d be in one of those elite circles where everybody knows everybody.”

  “In some ways it’s the opposite,” Li said. “People come to AI research from a variety of backgrounds—neuroscientists, engineers, programmers. There are no gatekeepers declaring ‘here’s the academic degree you have to have.’ It’s who has the best ideas. That’s why I like it.”

  Mullins raised his glass. “I’ll sure as hell drink to that. I’ve seen enough posturing and turf-guarding in the government.”

  “And Stanovich and Cathcart have to be tops in their fields. It will be a challenge to keep up with them.”

  Mullins started rocking slowly, sensing the time was right to pursue his real agenda with her. “Indulge me in a few more layman’s questions.”

  “Whatever you need to know.”

  “Who is supervising your work?”

  “Robert.”

  “Not Cathcart or Stanovich?”

  “No. Especially not them.”

  “I don’t understand. Aren’t they your colleagues?”

  Li ran her finger around the rim of her glass, generating a faintly ringing note. “Look, Rusty, we’re colleagues, but we aren’t to collaborate. Those men have done an unbelievable job of creating Apollo’s brain. So much so that it feels only right to call it Apollo. My function is to create a mini-brain within.”

  “Apollo’s subconscious?” Mullins ventured.

  “Yes. An
d right now, this moment, are you aware of your subconscious?”

  “I know I have one.”

  “Yes, but do you know what it’s thinking?”

  “If I did, it wouldn’t be subconscious.”

  “Give the man a prize. So, if Apollo became aware that he had a subconscious, what do you think he’d try to do?”

  “Control it?”

  Li laughed. “I don’t know. That’s why my work is kept isolated from the others. They’ve given me a part of the brain. In effect, I have to encase it behind a two-way mirror. Imagine light, in this case visual, aural, empirical, and any other form of information coming in through all Apollo’s sensory and data inputs. The subconscious has access to everything including Apollo’s own analyses. But, the subconscious processes the information in a different way for a different goal—not to problem-solve but to learn for learning’s sake. This is the ultimate achievement of the deep learning field—let him follow his curiosity, and when an idea reaches a certain threshold, it surfaces, masked as if Apollo consciously conceived it.”

  “Okay, I understand the subconscious works in isolation, but can that brain within a brain you’re devising give you any output that won’t go through Apollo?”

  Li stared out over the lake and contemplated the question. Mullins studied her profile. The moonlight cast a soft bluish glow over her face, removing a decade of time and stretching the gap between them to such an extent that Mullins cringed at the idea she’d be interested in him.