SOPHIA - Age of Intelligence

by Mike Donoghue

CHAPTER SIX

  Near Tilden Park, north of Berkeley, CA

  SIMON’S SELF-DRIVEN RENTAL CAR rolled to a stop. He was accustomed to handing over driving duties to his vehicle’s self-navigation system. It allowed him to listen to his favourite tenor quartet, attend to a backlog of electronic correspondence, but as the CEO of a highly valued corporation, freed-up time was most often allocated to business matters.

  Simon’s custom cell phone had a specialized application that displayed a real-time threat assessment of Sophia’s operational integrity. The standard colour bar of red through green, and shades thereof, kept him abreast of the threat level with which his cyber protection specialists were presently dealing. He could also scroll through Sophia’s task register in order to see how her time was being allocated. With few exceptions, resource management fell under the responsibility of Simon’s Director of Operations, Derrick Landry.

  While looking at his hand-held device, Simon was happy to see that his daughter had finally activated her Halo account. He would have preferred that she go to a private, more secure university, but negotiations with Jennifer’s mother were fruitless. Jennifer and her friend, Stacie, were both adamant about attending Berkeley.

  Grizzly Peak Boulevard had just taken Simon north into the Berkeley Hills. Rising some two thousand feet during the unfamiliar drive, the region’s favourable vistas would have unreservedly offered themselves along the way, had he not made the trip in the dark. San Francisco Bay and the Pacific lay to the west while the snow-capped Sierra Mountains unfolded to the east. The stunning reveal would have to wait until another visit. Simon had something more personal on his mind.

  Turning off his electric vehicle’s headlights, Simon gave the tranquility of the rural setting a moment to sink in. He did, in fact, make his meeting with Professor Nielson on time. And yes, the professor did confess to being, as Simon’s father suggested, a disciple of Hawking. The educator, Simon found, was nothing if not a typical prof.

  Notwithstanding the stereotypes driven home by his own experiences, the erudite aura, the immodest demeanour, sometimes framed by the blazer, loose-fitting pants and loafers, what Simon enjoyed most about their evening meeting was that the tables had been turned. If during his university life Simon felt compelled to re-gift a reaffirming version of what his lecturers dispensed to him ˗ tonight, he was the one presiding over any possible derision of the norm, any speculation not within the framework of anything meticulously tutored.

  Simon knew of the item that formed the basis of their meeting. The James Ossuary, as it was known, rose to a measure of fame several decades ago. He actually came face to face with it at the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto. A young man at the time, Simon attended with his mother. Sadly, it was the last outing the pair enjoyed together. When the item was raised during his meeting with Professor Nielson, a distraction arrived in the form of a related memory. The prof – student dynamic, Simon reflected, was difficult to unlearn.

  He remembered his mother’s enthusiastic smile throughout the long queue to glimpse the historic relic. Seeing her as more spiritual than religious, he knew she would be fascinated by the assertion that James in the James Ossuary referred to James, Disciple of Jesus; the same James who, by Biblical Scripture, was named as being the brother of Jesus. When the artifact burst onto the scene in 2002, authorities in the fields of antiquities and entertainment competed vociferously to brand the find.

  It’s most contentious feature was contained in a simple phrase, a

  collection of words and names adding up to seven. They were inscribed into the 2000 year old limestone box by a hand well invested by the period, but the reverberations caused by the chiseller were nothing compared to the chiselled; ‘James, son of Joseph, brother of Jesus.’

  Indeed, ossuaries were used by Jews of the first century; that unique period in human history which framed the life and death of Christianity’s Saviour. A closer approximation of their usage was further reduced to the years: 20 BC to 70 AD. They were employed as a cost-saving way of entombing remains of the deceased. First interred in sepulchers, the bodies were allowed to decompose before being laid to rest one last time. This ossuary’s bones had been removed, possibly by its original founder, unknown ages ago.

  While the undiscovered bones, and any residue thereof, remained the focus of Professor Nielson’s interest, it was the inscription on the James Ossuary, which mobilized the doubtful in addition to the faithful.

  Scholars on both sides of the argument advanced compelling conclusions. The ossuary itself was deemed genuine, but its Aramaic engraving lacked similar consensus. When the Royal Ontario Museum used ultra violet light to conclude they found ‘nothing suspicious’ with the inscription, Simon gave greater credence to, what else, the mathematical part of the equation.

  While the names James, Jesus and Joseph were very common during the relevant period, advancers of the item’s authenticity suggested that, of the thousands of ossuaries discovered, only one has been found with a reference to a brother. This fact forms the basis of the ossuary’s importance. Further statistical evidence, which Simon confirmed himself as being ninety-five percent accurate, suggested that only 1.71 men in ancient Jerusalem could have met this unique criterion.

  Whether this ossuary really belonged to James, brother of Jesus, Simon knew the facts would remain immaterial to the converted. Yes, the James Ossuary was viewed by many as archaeological evidence that Jesus actually existed, but others saw it as a convincing example of how the faithful wandered senselessly in the dark, eager to embrace anything remotely relevant. Professor Nielson, being a member of the latter camp, saw the artifact as an opportunity to take it one-step further.

  Although Simon believed statistical vulnerability should never form the basis of further analytical pursuit, he decided some time ago that he would place only a handful of restrictions on the universities to which Sophia’s time was periodically donated. While listening to the professor’s pitch, Simon wondered how he would explain this one to his mother. He saw himself in line with her again and imagined how sad he would be to see the smile evaporate from her face.

  The Professor was obviously hoping for sensational results; that the so-called ‘James Genome’ would be found to be blandly typical of the human species. Either way, the subject would be further hashed out during tomorrow’s lecture. Professor Nielson had invited Simon to audit his class of second year anthropology students. Simon agreed, offering the caveat: Would his daughter, Jennifer, feel comfortable with the idea? A moment of explanation revealed an uncomfortable fact; they hadn’t seen each other for several years.

  Simon opened the car door, stepped out onto a gravel surface, and found a large illuminated dome dominating the night sky. The fabric-type structure was part of the Blackstone Ranch. Simon recognized the family-owned brand on the horse-riding enclosure as the same that appeared on the invoices that Samantha processed. It was late in the evening now, but this journey began several hours ago, after placing a call to his daughter’s mother.

  Although married a lifetime ago, the pair’s conversation was surprisingly respectful, even cordial. Each could detect in the other’s voice a yearning for their relationship to evolve. Further inquiries at the university village led Simon to the Ranch’s home/office. It was obvious the small business understood the ten percent rule that he mentioned during his Carnegie Award Ceremony, and with what Jennifer meant to the family-run organization, the ranch’s owner was more than happy to point her father in the right direction.

  Simon’s attention was drawn first to what was being silhouetted against the semi-transparent dome. Some fanciful trick of lighting must be generating those clever images, he thought. A minor distraction then arrived in the form of a car slowing to a crawl on the country road adjacent to the ranch. After coming to a stop on the shoulder, two people emerged, a mother and her young daughter. Simon glanced back to the horse-riding enclosure, realizing what had captured the pair’s attention. It was the perform
ance of a pony-tailed rider being projected against the luminous material from the inside. At times the image filled the length and height of the dome.

  Walking closer, Simon recalled taking his daughter to a Broadway play, one that utilized full-size horse puppets on stage. Jennifer loved the way their puppeteers made them prance around. Simon easily envisaged two silhouettes of the same effortlessly holding young Jenny’s attention. After looking back toward the road he could see the mother and girl pointing toward the grand-scale theatre. With the company’s domain name emblazoned across the top of the dome, Simon saw if for what it was, a brilliant bit of marketing.

  When Simon opened the nearest door and entered the enclosure, the mother-daughter pair at the road noticed an image of a man likewise projected larger than life. The horse and rider came to an abrupt stop right in front of him.

  From her elevated perspective, Jennifer just stared at her unexpected visitor. Simon’s visual embrace longed to make up for years of missed opportunities. He wanted his daughter to glimpse in him some small measure of the parental blessings bestowed on the young girl outside. His soul yearned for forgiveness, for a chance at redemption. “I’m sorry it’s been so long,” Simon offered. He squinted slightly and tilted his head away from the bright lights on the opposite side of the dome.

  Jennifer thought to ask how he had found her tonight, but decided against it, remembering the resources at her father’s disposal. Her blonde hair was held back in her black helmet, her medium length ponytail descending just passed her shoulders. She glanced down at her riding attire. Her loose fitting long-sleeved shirt matched the well-worn appearance of her light coloured slacks. They were tucked into tall boots of a similar usage, brownish in tone. A look of resignation offered an air of having already come to grips with the inevitable, that her father would eventually try to re-establish contact. When Jennifer’s eyes finally connected with those of her father’s, she knew in her heart it was time to put the past behind them. It was time to move on.

  Seeing an extended interruption in the horse-choreography, the mother at the roadside guided her daughter back into their nearby car. While rounding the front of the vehicle, she noticed the horse’s rider had dismounted. Three objects remained motionless. She opened her driver’s side door and took one final look. “Let’s go, Mommy,” her daughter said, now seated in the back. “Just a minute, Dear,” she responded. Her smile became warm-hearted after noticing the silhouetted horse stood alone. Its rider took two steps forward before accepting the full embrace of the person in front of her.

  Soon thereafter, Jennifer shut off a heavy switch, extinguishing all but the dome’s overhead lighting. She then removed the blinders, which reduced her steed’s sensitivity to the floor-level floodlights. While cooling her mount, father and daughter walked and talked. Simon did his best to keep his demeanour in check during their conversation. He was cautious not to indulge any expectations beyond what the moment provided. When Jennifer told him the marketing idea was hers, he couldn’t help indulging a small laugh. I should have known, he chuckled to himself. Recovering quickly to a smile, he struggled to contain a renewed sense of happiness; a pleasant mix of joy and contentment had been successfully spliced together as one.