Pandora's Brain

by Calum Chace

  It was an extraordinary achievement. The global community of neuroscientists and artificial intelligence researchers had been stunned by its brilliance and its audacity. The great majority of them had assumed that such a development was still decades away, and most lay people had not even begun to contemplate the possibility.

  VNI had done its work in secret, and in a hurry because of the need to capture the structural information in young Matt’s brain before the organ deteriorated and the data was lost. VNI – and Matt’s parents – had hoped to announce what they had done in a controlled manner, at a time of their own choosing. They had hoped that their achievement would be accepted – even applauded – because of the public groundswell of affection for Matt, who had been murdered by a religious extremist just as he was becoming a popular celebrity.

  But the news was leaked, and the public debate which followed quickly spiralled out of control. Despite the genuine widespread affection for Matt, there were huge concerns about what he had become, and what sort of danger he represented. Religious commentators complained that uploading Matt was a presumptuous attempt to usurp the role of their deities, and denied that Matt could be accorded the status of human, or even a conscious entity. That sort of argument was demolished for most people by a televised interview between Matt and a respected BBC journalist: it was clear that Matt was a living, thinking creature, with profound emotional responses, and a wry and engaging sense of humour.

  The concern about whether he was a danger was less easily dismissed. Scientists and bar-room philosophers warned that Matt seemed to be expanding his cognitive abilities rapidly, achieving what some called a ‘hard take-off’ towards super-intelligence. They argued that this was a threat to the rest of humanity. Matt was hosted and also imprisoned inside a supercomputer in London, England, with no access to the internet, and no way to affect the material world. But people feared that if he achieved super-intelligence be could become thousands of times smarter than any human – perhaps millions of times smarter – and he might find a way to escape. Sharing our only planet with a creature many times more intelligent than ourselves was a perilous prospect. After considerable soul-searching, the decision was taken to shut Matt down.

  What happened next was unclear. The official story – the story told by VNI and Matt’s parents – was that Matt realised what was going to happen and shut his own processing down – suddenly and without warning. Even though the people involved stuck rigidly to this account, it seemed so implausible that a thousand conspiracy stories grew up round the events. Some claimed that the US government had taken control of the supercomputer that hosted Matt, and was using him to develop a race of super-soldiers. Others argued that Matt was not the sort of person to commit suicide, so he must have escaped. Perhaps he was lurking in some dark corner of the internet, drawing up plans for revenge on a species which had killed him not once, but twice.

  Matt’s story affected everyone on the planet, but it affected the scientist more than most. Despite a flurry of international agreements brokered by the UN binding all nations to forbear from developing AGIs, the scientist’s superiors declared that his project was now an absolute priority. His budget became, for practical purposes, unlimited. He could hire whoever he wanted, buy whatever equipment he needed, so long as he could keep it secret. He started attending meetings with the country’s most senior politicians, business people and officials. He couldn’t tell anyone else about it, but he was now effectively South Korea’s most important scientist.

  He was roused from this reverie as the car arrived at Seoul Air Base. Located in Seongnam, a satellite of Seoul and home to about a million people, the airfield was used by senior government officials as well as being home to a wing of South Korea’s air force and a helicopter-borne battalion of the US Army. The airfield was also the venue for Seoul’s annual airshow, and the drive in brought a smile to the scientist’s face as he recalled how his daughter had wrinkled up her nose in protest at the loud noises when he and his wife had taken her to last year’s show. The smile lingered as he allowed himself a few moments of pride in the VIP status which afforded him the frictionless luxury of travelling by chartered jet from Seoul Air Base instead of enduring the queues and long walks at Incheon, Seoul’s international airport used by less fortunate folk.

  Hiro drove right up to the small VIP lounge building which crouched in the south-west corner of the airfield, holding itself separate from the military buildings which populated the rest of the site. The scientist presented his papers to a profoundly respectful member of the jet charter company staff, who directed him immediately to his aircraft, which she said was already serviced and fuelled and waiting for him. He indulged himself with a final speculation about whether he would ever rise to the position where Hiro would be allowed to drive him directly up to the aircraft, like the President and other really senior VIPs. Then he chastised himself, and turned his thoughts to the meeting ahead.

  As he followed Hiro towards the jet, the scientist looked up at the cockpit window and noticed that the pilot was a Westerner. This was unusual but not unprecedented, and he wondered briefly whether the pilot was moonlighting member of the US battalion. Even at a brief glimpse, he looked military: thick-set and powerful. With that, the scientist wrenched his attention to the forthcoming meeting: the other people attending, and what their agendas were. The pretty face of the flight attendant hardly registered as he climbed the steps into the aircraft and took his usual seat, towards the rear of the cabin.

  TWO

  Ten minutes into the flight the scientist was pleased with the progress he had made in his mental preparation for the day ahead. He had gone down the list of attendees at the forthcoming meeting and he thought he had a good fix on what each of them wanted – officially and unofficially. He had his laptop open and was starting to review his usual presentation slides, making some last-minute tweaks to account for the particular prejudices and knowledge levels of the most important people at the meeting, and incorporating the latest snippets of news from his area.

  He had a good feeling about the meeting. He was not looking for more funding; his only goal for the session was to ward off any threat to open up any aspects of his project to South Korea’s wider scientific community. No-one at the meeting would be foolish enough to suggest that the true purpose of his work should be made more widely known. Indeed several of the people at the meeting were unaware of the full scope of his project. But there had been a suggestion that some of the technology breakthroughs his group had made should be shared with the research arms of the country’s chaebols, the giant conglomerates responsible for so much of South Korea’s formidable industrial might. The suggestion was understandable. It could generate significant revenues, which would help defray the enormous costs of the overall project. But the scientist knew – and he reckoned most of the people at the meeting knew – that this was a dangerous road that they should not go down.

  Engrossed in these thoughts and looking down at his slides, it took the scientist a couple of seconds to register the odd fact that the pilot had left the cockpit and come through to the cabin. The flight attendant had turned towards the pilot with an enquiring smile, but it was Hiro – faithful, reliable Hiro – whose instincts hit the mark. He was rising quickly to his feet, hand moving to his holster, aware that something was wrong.

  Hiro’s instincts were his undoing, although in truth they only brought his death forward by a few minutes. The bullet that ended his life was expertly aimed, tapping a neat hole in his forehead and stopping time within the cabin for a few seconds.

  Hiro’s head jerked back under the impact of the bullet, and his eyes rolled upwards to the cabin ceiling, looking for an answer to a question his brain had not had the time to frame. His legs buckled, and his body collapsed in slow motion to the floor.

  As the scientist stared down at his companion’s newly lifeless form, his gaping mouth expressed the frozen horror that had exerted a firm grip on his mind. Denial, ange
r and fear would shortly follow, but for the moment an immobilising terror held sway and deprived him of the power of speech or thought.

  The pilot watched the scientist and the flight attendant dispassionately for a moment, assessing their reactions. Confident in his own marksmanship, he already knew that Hiro posed no threat. Satisfied with the scientist’s temporary immobility, he turned his attention to the flight attendant.

  ‘I don’t like shooting women,’ he declared matter-of-factly, watching intently for her reaction. Finding comprehension in her features, he continued. ‘You speak English – good. I hoped you would.’ Pointing his gun steadily at the attendant with his right hand, he reached behind him with his left hand and produced a parachute pack. ‘Here, put this on,’ he ordered, throwing the pack at her with a force that made her stagger backward a couple of steps.

  The scientist was returning to full consciousness, and had turned his face to the pilot. What he saw terrified him. The pilot was a big man. He looked oddly uncomfortable in his uniform, but he had a physical presence that commanded attention – and fear. He looked like a special forces soldier, with a very powerful physique, short haircut, broken nose and cauliflower ears. He looked like he could snap a normal person in two with his bare hands, and wouldn’t particularly mind doing it. He made the scientist want to sit very still, and if possible shrink back and disappear into his seat.

  The pilot didn’t look at the scientist but calmly shifted the gun to point in his direction. ‘Put it on,’ he said again to the flight attendant, keeping his eyes on her. ‘Quickly!’

  She hastened to do as he commanded, fumbling incompetently with the straps and buckles as confusion and fear interfered with the muscle memory which should have made this much-practised activity a smooth and efficient process. ‘Please, sir . . . please . . .’ she began.

  ‘Don’t!’ His voice was slightly louder than before, but its authority came from his evident experience of command in violent situations. He lowered his tone again, not reassuring, but matter-of-fact again. ‘There’s no need for you to say anything. You’re going to exit the aircraft unharmed. I told you, I don’t like shooting women.’

  Keeping the gun steady on the scientist, the pilot flicked a glance in his direction, just to ensure that the scientist’s attention was focused on the weapon.

  The attendant was making progress with the parachute, but it was painfully slow. ‘Make sure it is on correctly,’ the pilot said. ‘We are over water, but your pack has a buoyancy aid and you have an automatic distress signaller.’

  Finally she was ready. The pilot nodded at the safety exit, and the attendant made her way in that direction. She looked over at the scientist, mutely expressing her regret and looking for absolution, not expecting to find it. Looking back at the pilot to make sure he still wanted her to go ahead, she lifted a lever and pressed a button underneath it. The door hissed open, and swung slowly into the cabin. A gale came with it, scattering papers and small objects around the cabin, and the temperature plummeted. The attendant stood in the doorway, waiting for the final instruction, feeling the pull cord in her right hand as she steadied herself against the doorframe with her left. Stray locks of her jet black hair jerked randomly, licking and slapping her terrified face.

  The pilot nodded, saying nothing, his dark eyes expressionless.

  The attendant stepped through the doorway into the void, and fell. She looked back at the plane and her immediate feeling was a rush of relief at escaping that dreadful scene, followed quickly by remorse and guilt at having left the scientist to the mercy of that terrible man. Realising that she had forgotten to count to five, she pulled the cord, bracing herself for the familiar mid-air arrest as the parachute opened and slowed her descent.

  It didn’t happen. She pulled the cord again, and again nothing happened. A terrible sense of dread spread a chill across her heart. She punched the bulge in the front of the pack to open the reserve ‘chute. Again nothing happened. The chill in her heart deepened as she realised that the pilot had murdered her – killed her as surely as if he had put a bullet in her head. She would land in water but she would not survive the impact. He had sent her out of the plane with a faulty parachute pack. Her mind shrieked in desperation, terror and rage, and her lungs responded with an extended scream that no-one could hear. She died of heart failure before she hit the water, and the weights placed in the pack by the pilot made sure that her lifeless body sank straight to the bottom of the sea, never to be seen again.

  Back inside the aircraft, the pilot walked over to the prone body of the bodyguard. He removed the pistol from his holster and frisked the dead body for additional weapons, finding none. He removed a belt from a bag and wrapped it round the body, fastening it tight with three separate buckles. He stood up and turning to the scientist, spoke in a soft voice freighted with menace.

  ‘Move this to the door, and wait till I get back.’ He strode into the cockpit and shut the door behind him.

  The scientist’s mind was racing. He was almost rigid with fear, but his analytical brain refused to stop working. The pilot had allowed the attendant to live, so maybe there was hope that he would also survive. He walked over to the dead body of his bodyguard and looked down at its face frozen in an expression of surprise. Poor Hiro, he didn’t deserve such a sudden and brutal end. He had been a reliable and faithful servant and companion. The scientist stepped round to stand above Hiro’s head and bent down to the shoulders to lift the body by the armpits and start dragging it towards the exit. Hiro was a big man, and with the belt of weights added, it took a lot of effort to drag the body just a few inches along the cabin floor.

  Why did the pilot want the body thrown out of the plane? Why did he allow the attendant to leave? Was he going to fly the plane – and the scientist – to a foreign country? Was this a kidnapping? For sure, what the scientist knew was worth a great deal of money in certain quarters.

  His thoughts were disturbed by a loud crashing noise from the cockpit. Metal equipment of some sort was being smashed into other metal with great force. The pilot was destroying something. The plane carried on its course as if nothing had happened, and the scientist realised that the pilot must be destroying the black box. He cursed himself for not knowing more about black boxes. Did they transmit flight data in real time these days, or were they just a record that had to be rescued from wrecked planes?

  He started to cast about for something – anything – he could do which would disrupt the pilot’s plans. There were no weapons available, and he wouldn’t know what to do with a gun if he had one. The weights on Hiro’s body. The pilot had been fastidious about fastening them, so they were important. On instinct, the scientist set to trying to unclasp them. He had made some progress when he heard the cabin door opening and the pilot returned. The scientist froze as he noticed the pilot was now wearing a parachute pack.

  ‘Get a move on. We haven’t got all day,’ the pilot growled at him. The scientist strained to pull the body towards the exit, and when he had achieved this he looked up at the pilot for further instructions. Why was the pilot going to jump? Was he going to give the scientist a parachute as well? Why abandon the plane?

  ‘What are you waiting for? Throw him out.’

  In a turmoil of fear and revulsion, the scientist did as he was told. He steadied himself against the frame of the door as he pushed and pulled, pushed and turned Hiro’s body until it was more outside the plane than inside, and then it toppled out of the exit and tumbled away into empty space. The weights belt was still attached, but the scientist hoped that it would come undone when they body hit the sea, so that at least some part of the pilot’s plans would come unstuck. He began to wonder again what lay in store for him, and the answer was quick in coming.

  ‘Come back inside and buckle up. It’s going to be a bumpy landing.’

  So he was staying in the plane after the pilot had jumped. The scientist gave an involuntary shudder. What did that mean? How could the plane land safely w
ithout a pilot? Why go to all the trouble of hi-jacking the plane, only to crash it into the sea?

  The pilot manhandled the scientist into a seat opposite the door, fastened his restraints and checked they were secure. He walked to the doorway, took out a remote control device and pressed a button. The nose of the plane started to dip and the scientist was thrown forwards against the seat restraints. His fear levels rose, blocking out any further speculation about his fate, or the pilot’s scheme. The engines began to scream and he joined in as he looked sideways towards the pilot, saw the pilot’s lips move but did not hear the words as he stepped through the doorway.

  The plane tipped further towards the vertical and the scientist screamed the whole time that it took for the plane to reach the sea.

  The impact was an explosion of noise as the aircraft’s metal surfaces complained and writhed. There were explosions inside the scientist too, as his neck broke and several of his internal organs ruptured, being thrown against his ribs and the seat restraints. Amazingly, he retained a level of consciousness, and layered on top of the pain and the fear was a final agonising thought: he wasn’t dead. But he soon would be – by drowning.