Infinity Born Read online

  She should have known the test wasn’t real, even with her memory gone. How could she just waltz onto a spaceship bound for Mars, uninvited, and make herself at home in a hibernation pod? The entrance would be safeguarded. And if the powers that be on the Moon base had measured the contents of the ship and crew down to the ounce, there was no way the computer would fail to alert the authorities that an intruder had boarded.

  She should have smelled the unreality of the situation, the impossibility, all the way from Pluto.

  Only she hadn’t. Because the VR technology really was that good. Because she had been disoriented, and distracted by a breathtakingly gorgeous male claiming to be her fiancé. It had been so utterly, absolutely real.

  Which raised another question in her mind. Given how extraordinary this VR tech really was, why not introduce it to the world? The inventors could make billions of dollars overnight. Since this would be her last day at the institute, this would be her last chance to ask this and other questions, which she vowed she would do. She had signed the most iron-clad non-disclosure agreement ever devised, but just because she could never share anything she learned didn’t mean she couldn’t satisfy her own curiosity.

  Now that her memories had reasserted themselves, it was time to get this over with. She glared at Dr. John Brennan, the man in the lab coat who continued to wait patiently for her to assimilate her past.

  “You son of a bitch!” she spat icily.

  8

  Trish Casner was about to continue raging against the man who had just put her through psychological hell, but stopped abruptly as she noticed the broad smile that had come over John Brennan’s face. Not the reaction she had expected after her venomous insult.

  “You’re consistent,” he said in amusement. “I’ll give you that.”

  “What?” she said in confusion.

  “These are always your first words after we pull you out of a tough virtual scenario. The kind you just went through, and also the scenarios that explore lust and sex, since you see these as the ultimate invasion of your privacy.”

  Brennan had a huge unfair advantage, Trish realized, since he could recall the content of numerous conversations they had had, but she could only recall that these conversations had taken place, nothing more. Still, while she had obviously experienced other horror-shows, none could have come close to this latest.

  “I know Dr. Willis promised brutal,” she said in disgust, “but what you just put me through was as cruel a test as has ever been devised.”

  The doctor winced. “Actually, not even close,” he said, but his eyes were on his tablet instead of Trish Casner, and she had a strange feeling his words were somehow scripted. “Good thing you can’t remember. Hell, we even have a more treacherous version of the stowaway scenario. In that one, there’s a third crew member, not critical to the mission, who remains in hibernation. If we had run that one, the Burt Dalton character would have tried to convince you to let him end this man’s life so the two of you could be together.”

  He paused to let her ponder this new scenario for several seconds. “This is an even tougher call,” he continued. “The colonists would still be saved. And you’d get to remain alive and marry your fantasy mate. You’d just need to let an already unconscious man, a stranger, go on to a painless, eternal sleep, to spare your own life.”

  She shook her head in disgust. He was right, this scenario was even more horrific than what she had just been through.

  “You’d be surprised at how many subjects are willing to go along with this,” said Brennan. “But then again, the purpose of our research is to truly understand the human condition, warts and all. It’s easy for a man to say he’d rather die of starvation than resort to cannibalism. It’s harder for him to take this lofty moral stance when he’s actually starving to death and his dead friend’s fresh carcass is beside him.”

  Bile rose in Trish’s throat as she realized this was likely a scenario they had forced her to face. “You are one sick bastard!” she snapped.

  Surprisingly, Dr. Brennan nodded. “Believe me, I know the torture we’re putting people through,” he said, continuing to glance at his tablet as though it were a teleprompter. “But sometimes tests have to be cruel to illuminate the human condition. And at least these are all virtual. No flesh is actually torn, no deaths actually occur. And your memory is erased when it’s all over, so you don’t even suffer any permanent emotional scars. And it’s all in service to a much greater purpose. If not for all of this, I could never bring myself to be a part of it.”

  Trish wasn’t convinced this was true, but decided not to argue the point. “So who dreams this stuff up?”

  “The scenario you just experienced was borrowed from a very old science fiction story,” replied Dr. Brennan. “The Cold Equations by Tom Godwin. Relatively short, but considered a classic. Different characters and relationships, but the same idea. A girl stows away on a starship, and the pilot, who doesn’t know her but is a compassionate man, has no other choice but to expel her into deep space. If he doesn’t, they’ll run out of fuel and both die. It’s quite a poignant story. Heart-wrenching.”

  “Tell me about it, you bastard!” growled Trish. “I just lived the damn thing!”

  “I know you did,” he replied. “But take heart. This was the last one. Are you ready to answer your final set of questions and cash in for the next eighteen years?”

  She nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Brennan looked startled by this response, as though he had expected something different. He glanced at his tablet as if deciding how to proceed.

  “Wait a minute,” said Trish. “I almost forgot. I wanted to ask you a few questions about the VR technology that you’ve been plugging into my mind. Sounds super sophisticated. So who developed it? Why hasn’t it been commercialized? Why doesn’t anyone know that something like this exists?”

  A flicker of a smile crossed Brennan’s face once again, and this time Trish could guess the reason for it.

  “I’ve asked these questions before, haven’t I?” she said. “How many times?” she demanded.

  “After every session,” he replied. “Most subjects do. If you brought a jet plane back in time to the seventeenth century and gave people rides, how many do you suppose would ask why they’ve never heard of jet technology?”

  Trish nodded. It was a good analogy. Of course everyone asked about the VR tech every time. No wonder Brennan had been surprised when she hadn’t. “Since this is my last session,” she said, “and I’ll actually be able to remember what you say, why don’t you answer one final time?”

  “Sure,” he said, continuing to consult his tablet on a regular basis. Perhaps he wasn’t looking to read from a script. Perhaps this was just a rude, annoying habit.

  “As you know,” he began, “the people behind this institute have tremendous financial and scientific resources. And their goals are far loftier than increasing their wealth. They have more money than they can ever spend already.”

  “Which explains why they’re so willing to give two million of it to me.”

  “Exactly. Right now they want to keep this tech to themselves. Use it for their stated goal of truly understanding what it means to be human. They’re also well aware of how addictive this VR tech would become. Who wouldn’t want to immerse themselves in a world that could be made perfect? Releasing this technology could have catastrophic consequences to society.”

  Brennan raised his eyebrows. “There’s also a theory that we’re living in a computer simulation already. If this VR tech was adopted as widely as we think it would be, humanity would risk being two levels removed from reality, a dream within a dream.”

  “There’s really a theory that we’re in a simulation?” said Trish skeptically. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I’m afraid it’s the opposite of ridiculous. Look how far we’ve come with video game technology. From none at all to online games with millions of simultaneous players, with graphics c
apabilities that keep getting more and more realistic. How long until we can model an entire world and all of its inhabitants? World of Warcraft times a billion. Given the age of the universe, which is more likely, that we’re really poised at the precipice of this capability? Or that humanity passed it long ago, and each of our far future descendants have the power to construct complex virtual universes on their tablet computers? Virtual universes that you and I inhabit.”

  “You can’t tell me people honestly believe there’s a chance our universe, our lives, are just simulations.”

  “I can. And not just people, but top scientists. And they don’t believe there’s just a chance, they believe it’s almost a certainty. Fifteen years ago, Elon Musk calculated that the probability we’re living our lives in base reality, rather than a simulation, was infinitesimally small.”

  Trish opened her mouth to ask another question, but Dr. Brennan cut her off. “I’m afraid I have to insist we stop here. We need to get this final interview concluded and get you back to Columbus, Ohio.”

  He proceeded to ask her seventeen questions that he read one by one from his tablet. Since he didn’t bother to take any notes, Trish was convinced his computer was recording her every word, probably producing a written transcript also.

  The questions, which Trish answered as truthfully as she could, were all about her thoughts during different aspects of her experience, as well as her feelings and motivations. Why did she say and do what she had said and done? What had she thought about as the needle was coming toward her arm? Had she considered having sex with her perfect man one last time before he killed her? Why or why not?

  Even though she couldn’t remember any previous interviews, she had the feeling that her sex drive had been explored more than any other element of her personality, at least based on these questions and everything Brennan had said.

  Finally, at long last, it was over.

  “Trish, it’s been an honor to study you,” he finished, and he sounded sincere. “You don’t remember the results, but trust me, you are truly special. You embody what is best in humanity. You’ve shown yourself to be bright, creative, and compassionate. Some of the choices you’ve made have been incredibly heroic.”

  “I’m sure you say that to all test subjects with no memory,” she replied, borrowing a line she had said to Burt Dalton during the simulation.

  Brennan laughed, but it was forced, and there was a strong undercurrent of despair in his demeanor.

  “I’m really going to miss you, Trish,” he said. He blew out a long breath. “But it’s time to put you out one last time. We’ll erase your memory of having to walk the plank out in space. One I doubt you’re eager to hold onto, anyway. But you’ll remember your stay here, and you’ll remember the non-disclosure agreement you signed. And we’ll put the money into your account going forward as promised.”

  “Thanks,” she said simply, not knowing what else to say. She remained silent as Dr. Brennan prepared an injection, his eyes beginning to glisten. Was he tearing up? Wow, maybe he really was going to miss her as much as he said.

  What she didn’t know was that this time he wasn’t preparing an injection to put her into a temporary sleep. This time the injection would be as lethal as the one she thought she was receiving on the fictional Mars expedition.

  This time she would truly be visiting the final frontier. The experiment had run its course.

  And so had Trish Casner.

  9

  Dr. Melanie Yoder tried to size up President Strausser as best she could. This was the first time she had met him. But during a typically contentious and ever-lengthening presidential campaign, while Dillon Mattison was finishing up his second and final term, she and the world had seen enough of Strausser—and his challenger—to last a lifetime.

  He was in his early fifties, making him a veritable baby compared to the advanced ages of many of the country’s recent presidents. And he had the vitality Melanie expected from a man who had headlined rallies for eight hours a day during the last months of the election, shooting between different states like a supercharged pinball.

  Strausser was tall and had thick, black hair, probably dyed. And he was clean-cut, of course, since the last president to sport facial hair had been Taft, more than a hundred years earlier.

  “Great to be with you,” said the president. “It’s my first ever visit to Area 51,” he added with a grin. “I’m scheduled to get the full tour after I’m done visiting you. I’ve seen those famous signs around the base before, the ones warning that the use of deadly force is authorized, but only in UFO conspiracy documentaries. I have to admit, I got a charge out of actually seeing them in person.

  “Don’t tell anyone this,” he continued, lowering his voice as though he was about to disclose an actual secret, “but I didn’t want to become president so I could run the country. I wanted to become president so I could find out what really goes on in Area 51.”

  “Good plan,” said Melanie with a smile, this time one that was genuine. He was right. You pretty much did have to be president to learn of all the secrets here. DARPA ran half the programs taking place on site, but even she had been kept in the dark about the other half.

  Melanie was just as wary of politicians as Guerrero, and just as skeptical of their ethics and intelligence, but there was no denying the man’s magnetism. The best politicians managed to exude considerable charisma, but even so, the pull exerted by President Strausser was unexpectedly strong. His body language, the way he pretended to confide in her, his down-to-earth demeanor, all were disarming, and made it seem like they had been friends for years.

  “I’ve been given to understand that none of the Area-51 projects are as important as this one, though,” said Strausser. “The word is that this one has the potential to utterly transform the playing field like nothing that has come before.”

  Melanie simply nodded. This was very true. “Can I assume you’ve been fully briefed?”

  Strausser smiled once more. “Not so much. I like to get briefed on a just-in-time basis. I don’t clutter my mind until absolutely necessary. Hell, I’m still trying to memorize the names of all the world leaders. I’m pretty sure it’ll take me until a second term to do it. Who knew there were so many countries in the world?” he said, rolling his eyes.

  This time even Guerrero smiled. If Strausser could reach him, as anxious as he was, and as outraged as he was by the president’s intrusion, then he could reach anyone.

  “Also,” continued Strausser, “why would I want to be briefed by Troy Dwyer when I can be briefed by the likes of Melanie Yoder and Gustavo Guerrero? Why ask the owner of an orchard the profound significance of a falling apple when I can ask Isaac Newton instead?”

  Comparing them to perhaps the greatest scientist of all time was a nice touch, Melanie decided. He certainly knew how to ingratiate himself. “Good point,” she replied with a wry smile.

  “What I do know,” said the president, “is that you’ve put together the most powerful computer system ever built. With the goal of finally achieving Artificial Intelligence.”

  A look of distaste flashed across Guerrero’s face, which Melanie caught out of the corner of her eye. To purists like her and Guerrero, who had lived and breathed this field for as long as they could remember, using the term AI to describe their goal was almost the same as using the term horseless carriages to describe Ford’s new line of cars. But, to be fair to the president, most laymen still didn’t differentiate.

  She decided it was time to bring Guerrero into the mix. They needed the new president’s continued full support, after all, which meant the head of the project needed to participate. “Actually, our goal isn’t AI, Mr. President,” she told him, “but what has become known as Strong AI, or better yet, AGI.” She nodded at Guerrero. “Gustavo, could you explain the difference?”

  To his credit, her colleague managed to suppress the frown she knew he wanted to display, and even managed to force a smile. “Certainly,” he sa
id. He turned to face the president. “Using the term AI to describe what we’re attempting here would have once been perfectly fine, but the term has fallen out of favor. At one time AI was considered the ultimate achievement in computer intelligence. But researchers began to realize a few decades ago that in many ways, AI had already been achieved, at least in very specific areas. IBM’s Deep Blue, the computer that bested Garry Kasparov at chess, could be thought of as demonstrating Artificial Intelligence. An even better example would be the computer that finally bested a Go champion, many years later.”

  “Go?” said Strausser, blinking in confusion.

  “The oldest board game known to history. Invented by the Chinese over five thousand years ago. A strategy game, like chess, but with even more possible moves. Chess is played on an eight-by-eight board. Go on a nineteen-by-nineteen board. There are more possible moves in a game of Go than there are atoms in the known universe.”

  Strausser raised his eyebrows. “I could be wrong,” he said wryly, “but that sounds like a lot. I feel sorry for the guy who had to do the counting,” he added with a disarming grin, and despite himself, Guerrero smiled back once again.

  “Go was considered a game that a computer would never master,” continued Guerrero, “but a version of Google’s DeepMind called AlphaGo managed it as early as 2016, stunning the world.”

  “Now that you mention it, this does ring a bell,” said the president. “I just hadn’t memorized the name Go. Those impossible-to-pronounce Chinese names are a killer.”

  Melanie grinned. “Not to mention how much mental real estate the word Go takes up, which could be better used to memorize world leaders.”

  “Exactly,” said the president. “So I’m guessing Watson, the computer that won at Jeopardy!, is also considered AI,” he continued, serious once again.

  “That’s right,” confirmed Guerrero. “And other examples abound. Systems that diagnose human disease, Personal Digital Assistants that answer your spoken questions and schedule appointments, web search algorithms—the list goes on and on. These are all extremely impressive, but they don’t fit the definition scientists had in mind when the term AI was coined. They are anything but conscious, anything but sentient. Watson might be able to win at Jeopardy!, but it doesn’t know it won, or what this means. It doesn’t know it was playing a game. It doesn’t care. It’s a very sophisticated, glorified adding machine. As impressive as it is, it’s intelligent only in a narrow, limited sense. It can’t write an essay, play a video game, plan a wedding, or do a million other things a human can do.”