Beautiful Intelligence

by Stephen Palmer

  Manfred could only repeat, “What?”

  She turned back to face him. “I saw it with my own eyes, I promise. I climbed the tree ’cos I couldn’t see you guys, though I heard you. And I saw what the bis did. I think maybe Jo’s right. They are communicatin’.”

  Manfred put his hands to his face. “Jeez…”

  “Yeah,” Pouncey said. “But it’s good, right?”

  Manfred turned to stare at the crates. “Yeah… yeah, it is. I just wasn’t ready for it.”

  “They are growing up,” Joanna said in a quiet voice.

  He nodded. “I was right, Jo, this whole trip proves it.” He gestured into the soltruck and continued, “They’re being forced to use themselves as exemplars to understand the behaviour of the others. They’re using themselves as archetypes. They assume that what they do, other bis do too. It’s the beginnings of consciousness – and it means they can work as a team… as a society.”

  “Then they must be communicating with one another,” she replied. “It must be a gestural language. Eye movements, skin movements, things too subtle for us to notice… even for a chimp watcher like me. Perhaps they will never speak English. Perhaps they will never need to. It means Indigo is crucial to us.”

  “Maybe they don’t realise we’re like them?” Pouncey said. “’Cos them and us are so different. They’re focussin’ on themselves.”

  He nodded. “What have I made here?” he said.

  CHAPTER 10

  In the plantation hut, Hound explained the next stage of his plan.

  “I’ve got a new fake data incarnation keyed to my new look,” he said. “There was a small possibility that when I saw Tsuneko June in the village, she saw me. Or people following her – or watching her – saw me. I’ll be wearing spex all the time beneath my fly-shades – man, too risky not to. But you won’t need to. So don’t, except in emergencies. Your fake data incarnations won’t have been seen by Aritomo. We’ll be crossing the desert naked so no nexus info-trail builds up. In Algeria, maybe Morocco, we’ll make a new hide. Then get back to learning Zeug.”

  “Teaching Zeug,” Leonora corrected.

  “Whatever. Sandman Entré will lead us up to the Tunisian border. Then we’ll be on our own. You better get your camel legs sorted by then.”

  They did not look happy.

  Sandman Entré grinned. “You are nervous? Don’t be nervous. The camel only spits at the coward, oui?”

  Hound laughed. Nobody else did.

  But the camels lay some distance away. Sandman Entré led them through Hound’s plastic-producing plants for a kilometre or so, before they entered open land, rocky, hot and sand-blasted. To the north great fields of mirrors gleamed in the sun.

  “That is the muscle of the new Afrique,” Sandman Entré explained with a smug grin.

  Only Leonora and Hound took an interest, the other three following at some distance. “What are they?” Leonora asked.

  “Solar energy farm, Madame. Since twenty-forty Afrique has exported much energy, to our great economic benefit.”

  “How much exactly?”

  “It is difficult to say, Madame. Much energy reaching Earth becomes unusable, in form of heat. Some energy goes to make wind and wave. Human uses one ten thousandth of all energy reaching the Earth. But exploiting wind and wave affects the currents atmosphérique in a negative way.”

  “You mean the energy we’d extract from them is actually comparable to the total usable energy?”

  “Oui, Madame. Once the ingénieur Afrique grasp this, they convince Pan Afrique to concentrate on solar panels. By then, we did not need indium or tellurium – rare substances. We make the kesterite cells, which use common elements, plus selenium. But now, the ingénieur Afrique need to make cells that reflect light. Otherwise too much heat is being added to our desert.”

  “Man, what about plants?” Hound asked.

  “That is the second way of using free energy. Greening the desert, they call it. Bon! The green wall Afrique was a start, oui? Photosynthesis, it is a way of receiving free energy without adding heat to the desert. So, many tribes, they make the greenery.”

  “They say the Sahara was green thousands of years ago,” Leonora mused.

  “Exactement. It can become green once again.”

  As afternoon progressed into evening they reached the camel station, which was run by Sandman Entré’s half brother Rockfish. Rockfish was dumb as a result of having his tongue cut out by Tunis mash kids, so he communicated by writing with a sharpened forefinger nail on a piece of e-paper, in English so that his guests could read him.

  You need camels for to buy, Sandman?

  “Oui. Six chameau.”

  I bill you on the nex mainline. You pay by tomorrow noon.

  Sandman Entré nodded. “Les chameau sain, mon frère,”

  Rockfish grinned. Outside, he and Sandman Entré haggled over which of the two dozen available camels would be used, coming to an agreement half an hour later.

  “Saddles, saddlebags and tack are included,” Sandman Entré explained. “All plastique, of course. You will need only your natural courage.”

  Rockfish showed them through signs and gestures how to mount, but soon realised, as Sandman Entré had done earlier in the day, that Zeug was different. Hound pattered out the line about testing prototypes, at which Rockfish shrugged. Zeug balanced easily and seemed more concerned about Hound’s muttered oaths than his own safety. Then they were off, heading into the sunset, the air already cool and promising a cold night.

  ~

  Two days west of Tunis, after noon, they came across a plastics mine. Sandman Entré had been following tracks laid down by innumerable solcars, but he was unaware of the existence of the mine. Before he could decide what to do a number of young men wrapped in grey and blue robes approached.

  Sandman Entré conversed with the miners in French. “It is the site of a former landfill,” he explained. “To satisfy the green laws of the Union Européenne, Western countries exported their rubbish. The land Afrique received it.”

  “What are these guys doing?” Hound asked.

  “Mining the plastique thermo, oui? The plastique that can be heated to reform them, unlike the thermo setting. It is all the business, voilà tout. There is much money here to be reclaimed.”

  At this, the miners made frantic gestures and brought out trays of mint tea.

  “We could rest here,” Sandman Entré said. “There is much shade beneath the acacia. Bon, we avoid the midday heat.”

  To this everyone agreed. The miners studied the camels with interest, then spoke with Sandman Entré. Hound set up an auto-translate through the nexus, allowing it to spin illuminated sentences across his spex screens.

  You are travelling far, white-suit? That was a miner.

  Then Sandman Entré. To Morocco. Our destination does not concern you.

  Who are these foreigners?

  They are my kin, for whom I am responsible.

  They paid you in gold? These camels have strong spirits.

  They paid me.

  We want to know why you have come this way.

  You need not know that. Please make more mint tea.

  This is our land. We should charge passage fee to appease spirits.

  Nobody owns Tunisia. I take my tea weak.

  Three hours later they departed, flasks of tea tied to their saddles; a parting gift from the miners. “Tell them we wish them luck with their operations,” Hound told Sandman Entré.

  “They are animists,” Sandman Entré replied. “They have no concept of the luck.”

  That night they camped in a rock shelter, a fire of brushwood burning, over which they heated miso and brown rice. Zeug seemed ill at ease, but Yuri questioned him and uncovered nothing of significance. Leonora shrugged. “The Seoul Illusion,” she remarked.

  “You should not ascribe too much behaviour to that phenomenon,” Yuri replied, “in case you underestimate Zeug’s intellectual capabilities.”


  “Oh yeah?” Hound muttered, pulling his straw hat over his eyes and leaning back into his rucksack to sleep.

  Night fell. It grew cold. Most of the company felt unnaturally tired. The camels groaned and belched, and the fire went out.

  Leonora sat on watch when the attack came. Without warning three men jumped down from the top of the rock shelter, two of them aiming pistols at her while the third turned this way and that, assessing who might wake and move.

  “Allez, avance!” one of the men shouted.

  Hound woke, and immediately a pistol pointed at his face.

  “Se pousser,” he was told.

  He feigned ignorance. “I don’t speak French, man.”

  Then Sandman Entré woke.

  What are you doing?

  Did you like your sleepy tea? We want all your plastic. Tell these dogs to squeeze up. Get them moving.

  You cannot treat me like this. I am one of you.

  Your spirit stinks of muck. Move along there.

  Sandman Entré said, “They want the saddles and tack. Huddle together. Probably they will leave us.”

  Hound watched. His snub-nose lay beneath his jacket. The miners hadn’t bothered to check for weapons. Novices, or inexperienced. Enough nous to taint the mint tea though. Care would be required here.

  Then Zeug stood up. The two miners near Leonora hurried over, pointing their pistols at him. Yuri began hyperventilating. Hound prepared to roll, dodge and reach for his gun, though he did not fancy his chances.

  A stream of clicks emerged from Zeug’s mouth as he moved away. The miners closed on him, staring disconcerted, pistols waving at him.

  “Une personne insignifiante?”

  “Oui! Être personne japonais.”

  The stream of clicks intensified. The miners gaped. Then in a move too quick to assess Zeug lashed out, downing the miners, their pistols clattering to the rock.

  Hound rolled, reached for his snub-nose and fired. The third miner fell.

  He jumped to his feet. He heard scraping from the rock above. He ducked, shouted, “Get beneath! More up there!”

  “The newcomers are speeding away,” Zeug said.

  Hound peered up. Nothing. Then a whining noise. Sneaking around the side of the shelter he shimmied up to its top, to see two other miners escaping on a jury-rigged sandscoot. No point firing on them.

  “They tainted the tea in the flasks,” he said. “Man, I thought I felt sleepy.”

  Sandman Entré nodded. “They wanted the plastique, contraire à la morale, to sell at market.”

  “They won’t be coming back,” Hound declared.

  Leonora and Yuri ran over to where Zeug stood. “Zeug, what was that noise you made when the miners approached you?” Leonora asked.

  Zeug offered no reply.

  Yuri asked the same question, but Zeug looked at him, face expressionless.

  “Perhaps he doesn’t know,” Hound said. “Can’t answer.”

  “It was like bats,” said Leonora, “echo-locating – the intensity increases as they near their prey, maximising the resolution.”

  “Sonic sense-scape of bats,” Zeug said.

  Then Dirk approached. “You know what dis mean?” he said.

  Leonora turned to face him. “What?”

  “His sight not so good as we thought. It dark tonight, only bit of moon and ember glowing. He use tongue click like bat. Da eye not so good.”

  Leonora turned to face Zeug. “I designed him for potential,” she mused. “No set limits, just maximum potential of all senses, all subsystems.” She turned back to Dirk and said, “And your interfaces are heuristic.”

  “Don’t forget da additional senses,” Dirk said. “Electromagnetic. Balance. Vibration sensitivity in da feet.”

  Leonora nodded. “All those interfaces will learn, won’t they, as Zeug experiences more of life?”

  Dirk nodded. “All adaptive nonlinear networks. Massive system of elements, each adapting to one another in local, context-dependent interactions. Revises its structure to better survive in its environment. Builds a model. Dis how I do all my interfaces, Leonora.”

  She nodded.

  “Zeug constantly input knowledge of da world, and he change according to dat knowledge. If he lose his dynamism he not represent da real world. Zeug mental model must become more accurate, profound representation of reality.”

  In a hushed voice Yuri said, “The most fundamental drive of human beings is to understand, and since they are continually striving to live in the real world, they must continually strive to understand. The mental model they carry must become an ever more accurate and profound representation of reality.”

  Dirk nodded, lighting a cheroot. “You say dis before,” he told Leonora. “You say Zeug must have an unconscious. His mental model must circumvent da multitude of individual memory of his previous experience. Otherwise da model, it bogged down in detail.” He smiled. “I very pleased with tonight. Echo location proof dat Zeug is learning, making real good mental model.”

  “Thinking originally,” Hound remarked.

  Yuri agreed. “It is not necessary for every item of experience to be in the forefront of conscious attention,” he said. “My unconscious is the nine-tenths of the iceberg, the sum of my experience so far, fashioned into a model, forming the foundation of active life, providing insight from previous events, guiding thought, providing a reservoir of knowledge. Mr Ngma, you speak very well on this subject, helping me to understand more. Yes… if we remembered every detail of our lives the model of reality built up would be unworkable. If the nuances of every relationship were not generalised, if memory was too good, then it would be impossible to act on the basis of the model’s knowledge, since that knowledge could not be extracted. This is why minds have a vast unconscious part and a small conscious summit, and this is how Zeug’s mind is.”

  “Is?” Leonora queried.

  Yuri nodded but made no other reply. Zeug stared at them all, as if unable to grasp the significance of the moment. Then he said, “The newcomers are six kilometres away now.”

  “Good,” said Hound. “We don’t wanna see them ever again.”

  Dirk waved his cheroot in the air and said, “How you know dat, Zeug?”

  Zeug did not answer.

  “There seems to be a lot he doesn’t know,” Leonora said.

  “You friends with dem miners?” Dirk asked Zeug.

  “No,” Zeug replied.

  Dirk shook his head. “Dis not quite as I expected. He need to be member of society.”

  “We are creating an artificial intelligence here Mr Ngma,” Yuri said, “not a socialite–”

  “You still don’t understand,” Dirk interrupted, annoyance clear on his face. “Suppose Zeug say to you, I am conscious, I have thoughts in my mind. You might be tempted to say, he conscious. Not me. If he were human I would know he was truthful, ’cos him and me both human. But Zeug inhuman, so I don’t know. Dis your main problem, don’t you see?”

  Yuri spluttered, unable, or unwilling to make a reply.

  Leonora faced Dirk and said, “Are you having second thoughts about–”

  “No, no. I answer dat before. I pointing out to you all – dis is da issue. If Zeug was human dere would be no question. It Zeug’s artifice dat make us ponder. You know… it real unhelpful dat dere is only one of him.”

  Leonora and Yuri walked away. They did not look happy. Dirk shrugged, then grinned at Hound.

  ~

  The following night Hound found himself on last watch. In nocturnal calm and cold he had poked the fire embers with a stick, walked around the campsite – a group of dead trees roofed with shredded polythene – then gazed up at the stars. The high heavens was the place he’d imagined as a child to be the location of the nexus. He sat down and put his spex on.

  Nothing except geographical info and environmental stats. No danger signals from his web of nex-sensors – so no sign of pursuit. Nobody within thirty kilometres, in fact. Then he turned and ch
ecked his companions, and as he did he saw something strange.

  It shimmered behind a close-set clump of trees, something green, unreal, new; something that did not exist in the physical location it occupied in his spex. He approached. The form resolved itself into an oasis made of palm trees and low lying bushes. He pulled down his spex, to see in the real world sand, stone, a few pieces of dead wood.

  The oasis then was a virtual construct. So what did it represent?

  Hound’s new data incarnation gave him freedom to use the nexus as he saw fit. He analysed the oasis’ tracking data to find that it had been created only an hour ago. Moreover, it was an entirely local phenomenon, with not a single subsidiary thread, an exceptionally rare circumstance. Yet the nexus knew it should be present, and was therefore displaying it for him.

  At once Hound span around to check his companions: all asleep, with Zeug in open-eyed trance; not asleep, but not awake either. He realised the oasis illusion must have been manufactured by one of the group. At once his suspicions fell upon Zeug.

  Neither Leonora nor Yuri knew what Zeug’s trance signified, hypothesizing that it mimicked sleep to fit in with the AIteam. Hound backed away, deciding to investigate the oasis first.

  It was like walking through a garden of shimmering, mobile palm trees, a breathtaking experience at high rez. As he looked this way and that the topography of the oasis changed as if it had no set form, though the quality of the trees and vegetation never varied. Dreamlike in many aspects. The associated data was minimal, suggesting the oasis was being created unconsciously, as if its only function was to provide an outlet for creativity. When Hound tried to walk out he found the randomly linked paths impossible to navigate; he was inside a shifting labyrinth. Panic began to set in, but then he spied sand, and he ran through a gap in the palm trees to find himself once again in the desert.

  Zeug had not moved. His eyes did not track Hound. Shrugging, Hound returned to the campfire.

  Leonora sat up. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  He nodded, then pointed. “Put spex on and look over there. Tell me what you see.”