The Pattern

by JT Kalnay

  “Why?”

  “Because I knew that you would be jealous for no reason,” Stacey said firmly. “So let’s not make this about Rakesh. Let’s make this about you fixing that computer and getting free from that damn code. We need to do everything we can to get this game out of our lives. Or I might not be able to stop thinking about the wreck, and how you were supposed to be on that plane. And that it probably knew that. It scares me. Who knows what the guy who wrote it might have hidden in there? Did you ever think there might be a reason he only sells 98% of it? And who says 98% is really 98%, maybe it’s only 50% and the other 50% is all worm and virus and Trojan horse and assassin. Who knows what kind of sick fuck wrote that stuff?”

  Craig said nothing.

  “What if he only meant it as a prank. A harmless virus. But then the artificial intelligence on the game self-actualized like Sky-net and got out? What if it tried to play for real instead of just inside the box? What if it became self-aware? Did you read Lasher, by Anne Rice? Or what about Pinocchio? What if the game decided it wanted to be human, or be physical?” Stacey asked. Her eyes were wide with fear.

  “You make it sound like a psychopath,” Craig said.

  “Like HAL in 2001? Didn’t that program go psycho?”

  “That was science fiction.”

  “Okay then. So what about your neural network programs back in grad school? What did you used to say about them when they taught themselves something new that you didn’t want them to learn and then they resisted when you tried to retrain them? You called them psychotic. And arrogant.”

  “I said they were having their period,” Craig corrected.

  t="3" w rNice,” Stacey said. “But back to your neural nets. What did you have to do?” Stacey asked.

  “I retrained them. Or threw them out and started over with new training parameters. No big deal,” Craig said.

  “Yeah, but you were watching them. You could walk them forwards and backwards as far as you wanted then start them over again with new goals, new instructions. But what if you hadn’t been there? And they learned something that wasn’t pointless? Like how to duplicate themselves? Or learned something dangerous? Like how to move from machine to machine. In some self taught way? How would you stop it? You wouldn’t know how. You’re the one person who should get this Craig. Maybe you don’t see it because you love that game. But you’re the one person who should get it. So get that fucking game out of here.” From a range of six inches her stare was electric, caustic, unbearable.

  Craig pursed his lips. He ran his tongue around his teeth then rolled his neck, it popped and then popped again. He eased Stacey from his lap and paced around the room, stopping to stare out the window, his back to Stacey. Slowly he turned back to her.

  “There was a guy I read about in college who tried to do something like that a couple of years ago. He tried to get a neural net to figure out a self-adapting routing algorithm for a client-server application. The Navy or the Air Force or somebody was interested in it. I think they wanted to have a system inside a ship or an aircraft that could reroute its processing and communications automatically, without human intervention, or pre-programming or without central control. I don’t know if they ever got it to work or not,” Craig said. “But I remember it scared the hell out of me. Because what if the system decided it wanted to be routed a certain way, and the humans wanted it re-routed. Who would win? And at what cost?” Craig said.

  “Then what if that stuff worked, and then got a virus in it?” Stacey asked.

  “Or a mistake? Just a simple mistake,” Craig pondered.

  “Wouldn’t a virus be worse?” Stacey asked.

  “No way. A mistake in a neural net would be much worse than a virus. With a virus you can find out who wrote it, and why, or even if you can’t find the guy you can detect patterns and goals and predictabilities. But a mistake, it’s like, random. Like a genetic mutation. There’s no reason for it. It probably wasn’t planned. It was probably just a mistake. And whoever made the mistake might not even know that they made a mistake. And then, if the mistake was in the neural net, one of the things the neural net does best is learn how to adapt. Like a Marine. Adapt. Overcome. Persevere. Nine hundred and ninety nine times out of a thousand the adaptation is harmful to the program and has to be unlearned or the program will die. But that one in a thousand time can make the program something completely different, something the programmer didn’t even think about, maybe can’t even conceive. If that got into a program like this game, I don’t even know what could happen.”

  “So you’re telling me this Marauder virus could be a mistake?” Stacey asked.

  “Could be. But I haven’t found any really big programming errors in the source code. I found one little probl em. The programmer didn’t close his sockets and files when he exits. Normally it doesn’t matter. Like, on standalones and single tasking machines it doesn’t matter. But it could matter on true multi-tasking machines, especially ones with big delays through firewalls and the like. He’s also got a network searching and loading module that sits apart from the game and tries to find a game server. But those are just little design errors, remnants of his programming era, no doubt. Stupid little oversights.”

  “What about the AI in the program?” Stacey asked.

  “There isn’t much in there, and it’s all procedural. It isn’t neural net based or self-adapting or anything. It’s not nearly as sophisticated as the AI we have in our auto-pilot software. Not even one percent as sophisticated. It’s pretty straight forward really. There’s some clever stuff about how it hides in your game space and figures out what you think about but I’m really surprised how few people beat this thing. Jean’s the only one I know who can beat it regularly.”

  “Could it have merged with our software?” Stacey said.

  “No way. I don’t think so.”

  “’No way’ sounded alright. ‘I don’t think so’ doesn’t sound so convincing. Which is it?

  “I don’t know. But I doubt it.”

  “So are you scared enough yet? Will you get rid of it all?” Stacey asked.

  “Done,” Craig answered. He returned to the computer desk, grabbed his collection of floppies and tossed them in the trash. He unplugged the computer, gathered up the CPU, and carried it to the dumpster behind the house. Stacey watched, and kissed him lightly on the top of his head when he re-entered the house.

  “So where did you learn that stuff about genetics anyway?” Stacey asked.

  “Jean.”

  “Should I be jealous about her? You’ve been seeing a lot of her lately.”

  “Stacey. She’s my friend.”

  “And I should believe that a man can just be friends with a woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “So then it’s possible that Rakesh can just be my friend?”

  “Um. Uh.”

  “That’s right. Then that’s the end of that then?”

  “Yes. Alright. I’m sorry.”

  “Show me,” Stacey said. Craig took her hand, lifted her gently, and slowly carried her to the bedroom.

  June 26, 1994

  Fairchild Air Force Base

  Spokane, Washington

  Assembled From Wire News Reports

  The U.S. Air Force today confirmed pilot error as the reason for the crash of a B-52 bomber on June 24, 1994, at Fairchild Air Force Base. Data recovered from the flight recorder and ground based telemetry systems indicated no malfunctions of any control systems. Witnesses described the flight of the B-52 up until the crash as consisting of a series of low level, high risk aerobatics more commonly associated with fighter planes. Memorial services for the ten deceased servicemen are planned for June 28 on the base.

  Chapter

  June 26, 1994

  San Francisco, California

  Thick dense fog hung around the APSoft building. Rufus the guard watched Craig and Stacey emerge from the gloom and cross the lobby.

  “Good morning Mr. Walsh,” Rufus
said. “Miss Horner,” he added, tipping his head. “Bright and early for you two today?” Rufus asked.

  “Morning Rufus,” they replied together. “It’s early, but not too bright,” Craig added.

  After they passed the guard, Craig looked around, then pecked her on the cheek. Rufus suppressed a chuckle as he watched on the monitor.

  “Okay. I’ll go sanitize my stuff and you get QA to wipe their machines. If we have to we’ll get Stan to shut down every machine in the place and disconnect from every network and wipe everybody’s machine,” Craig said.

  “Alright. Be careful Craig. Just get rid of it as fast and as completely as you can,” Stacey said.

  Craig walked into his office like a man on a mission. He flicked on the lights and the first thing he saw was his poster of the Marauder. He looked at it one last time and thought he saw it smirking at him. He ripped it from the wall, crumpled and crushed it, then tossed it in the trash. There was a light spot on the wall where the poster had been.

  #

  “How’s it going?” Stacey asked.

  “Almost done,” Craig answered.

  “I made printouts of the Marauder code and my Auto Pilot modules. I’ll go over them by hand, one line of code at a time if I have to,” Craig said.

  “I’ll help,” Stacey added.

  A warm smile spread across Craig’s face as he realized once again exactly how lucky he was, and exactly how much he loved this young beauty.

  “Thanks. How’d it go down in QA?” Craig asked.

  “They didn’t need that much convincing,” Stacey said. “They’d been having some problems that were similar to what I had in London so they were very receptive to any solution.”

  “So I guess we go tell Stan now?” Craig asked.

  “Yes. And I’ll go with you as moral support. But don’t forget who the video game player is in this relationship.”

  The couple walked towards Stan Maxwell’s office.

  “Stan? Got a minute?” Craig asked.

  They immense leader looked up from a box of donuts, wiped his sugar covered lips and gestured for the two to sit down. “Sure. Come on in. Glad to see you’re alright,” Stan said. “So how can I help you two? What can I do for you?”

  “I think our systems were infected, or at least affected by a program called the Morphing Marauder,” Craig said.

  “Do you think or do you know?” Stan asked.

  “I think,” Craig said.

  “Well come back and tell me when you’re sure,” Stan said. He waived a beefy paw in a gesture of dismissal.

  “But sir.”

  “But nothing. Right now you’ve got to get up to Seattle for a hearing about the B-52 crash. So get up there and then get back down here as soon as you can,” Stan said.

  “We’ve undertaken some security measures just in case we were infected,” Craig added.

  “Fine. Whatever. Now get.”

  “Yessir,” Craig said as he left the room. Stacey followed immediately behind him.

  After they were gone, Stan quickly dialed four numbers on his phone, leaving glaze marks on each of the push buttons. “Hayes? Get up here now,” he barked.

  June 27, 1994

  Seattle, Washington

  Assembled From Wire News Reports

  APSoft officials today denied reports that software problems may have contributed to the crash of a Boeing B-52 on June 24th at Fairchild Air Force Base. A company spokesman called the reports “misleading and inaccurate.” Officials refused to confirm or deny that data recovered from the flight recorder had any similarity to data from the 1991 crash of a Boeing 737 which also banked sharply to the left before crashing in Colorado Springs.

  Chapter

  June 27, 1994

  Seattle, Washington

  Craig and Jean walked slowly away from the hearing room. Muffled voices followed them down the long, dim hallway.

  “You did fine in there,” Jean Bennett said, her hand resting lightly on Craig’s shoulder.

  “Thanks. That was tough,” Craig answered.

  “Yeah it was. I still have nightmares about it. Let alone having to talk about it and see the videos again,” Jean said.

  “Well, I have a morning flight. So that means we can stay up all night watching baseball from Japan to ward off the nightmares, at least for tonight.”

  “You don’t want to play a game?” Jean asked

  “No. Actually Stacey had me wipe it from all my systems. She’s scared that it’s after me or something.”

  “Craig. It’s funny that you should mention that.” Jean smiled as if remembering something. She wore a sort of “I know something you don’t” smile.

  “What’s funny?” Craig asked.

  “Remember after the ball game? In Frisco?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tim and I went out for dinner. A nice little neighborhood place. Anyway, during supper we talk and it comes out he knows about the Marauder.”

  “He’s a pretty smart guy. Did I tell you…”

  Jean cut him off. “He knows the Marauder so we decide to go to his place to play for a while before my flight.”

  “By ‘play’ you mean ‘play Marauder’, right?”

  “Craig? You’re a good friend, but I think, no, I’m certain that’s none of your business.”

  “Okay. Whatever,” Craig said, trying not to let his voice betray the slight hurt and tiny jealousy he felt.

  “So we get to his place and Tim has got the most amazing computer library you’ve ever seen. He’s got every computer book and program known to man.”

  “Really?”

  “Not much of a hardware set up though,” Jean said.

  “So you’re saying his equipment was lacking?” Craig teased.

  “Stop it,” Jean scolded playfully.

  “What? Did he only have a floppy?” Craig prodded.

  “That’s enough!”

  “How big was his joystick?” Craig persisted.

  “Craig! Enough already,” Jean said. Her cheeks flushed slightly and she stood with her hands on her hips challenging him to make another crack.

  “Sorry. Never mind. Sorry I interrupted,” Craig said.

  Jean looked at him sideways before going on with her story. “So we’re playing Marauder and he is good. I mean he is really good. You thought I was good but Tim was amazing.”

  “I tried to tell you he’s a pretty smart guy,” Craig said.

  “I guess he is,” Jean answered.

  “So what kind of hardware setup did he have?” Craig asked.

  Jean looked at him deciding if he was serious or teasing her again. “Since I guess that you’re serious, I’ll tell you,” Jean said.

  “Thanks.”

  “He had several systems. One was an old 486 DX 66 running Mush Dos and Windows. Another was an original MAC and there was something that looked like he wired together himself. It was just kind of sitting in a corner, but it wasn’t dusty or anything. Then he had a brand new SUN SPARC 20 all decked out with the latest stuff. The boxes were still laying around.”

  “Four systems?”

  “At least. He said he wrote a program that they just found some bugs in because it didn’t scale to the faster hardware. So he bought some faster hardware to try to figure it out.”

  “Well he might solve one problem, but he’s going to create another,” Craig said.

  “How so?”

  “He may have gone from a slower machine to a faster one, and that may either help or exacerbate his timing problems, but he also went from a single tasking operating system to a multi-tasking, more Internet ready operating system. Mush DOS is single-tasking, even with Windows. The SPARC runs UNIX, which is a true multi-tasking operating system. He’ll probably be okay, but I’ve seen some weird stuff happen when you go from one to the other.”

  “He said you were a pretty good software guy,” Jean said.

  “Really? Tim said I was good?”

  Jean nodded. As the two friends l
eft the building Jean put her hand on his shoulder.

  “So now what are we going to do?” Craig asked.

  “I thought we’d go over to the faculty club at UW for an early dinner,” Jean said.

  “How can you get in there?” Craig asked.

  “Actually, Dr. Brady invited me. You were supposed to meet her last time, remember? But, the crash. So she heard you were coming back to town and wanted to meet you.”

  Craig shot Jean a look laced with reproach.

  “Hey I’m not trying to set you up or anything. It’s just that I’ve mentioned you to her a couple of times before, and we had it set up last time, and she really is interested in your neural network research. Believe me Craig, no offense, but she’s way out of your league. She’s only interested in research right now anyway.”

  “Okay. But she knows about Stacey right?”

  “Umm…”

  “Jean! You work it into the conversation first thing. I don’t want any misunderstandings. Alright?”

  “Alright Craig. And her name is Jane. Dr. Jane Brady.” “Jane. Got it.

  #

  Cut crystal and polished silver sat on crisply starched linen on a square table that was intimate for four.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you Dr. Brady. I’ve heard so much about you,” Craig said. He offered his hand.

  “Nice to meet you too Mr. Walsh. Jean has told me so much about you. And your research speaks for itself. May I call you Craig?”

  “Sure.”

  “And please, call me Jane.”

  “Jane. Sure. I don’t mean to rude, but can we order? I’m starved.”

  “Jean said that about you.”

  “What? That I get hungry?” Craig raised an annoyed eyebrow.

  “No. That you were very direct. I believe she phrased it, ‘without deceit’.”

  “So is that good or bad?” Craig asked.

  The two women simply looked at each other and shared a females only laugh. Craig shook his head and picked up a menu.

  “So I’m interested in one of your earlier papers,” Jane said.

  “Which one?” Craig asked as he perused the menu.

  “The one where you programmed the self-mutating sequence into the training program portion of a neural net. The structure it produces is very similar to a virus I’m studying that causes some cancers to form in animals.”