“So what are the odds this experiment will succeed?” he asked.
“In achieving AGI?” said Melanie.
Strausser nodded.
“Impossible to say,” she replied. “Over the years there have been hundreds, maybe thousands, of what I would call credible attempts around the globe. So far they’ve all failed.”
“To our knowledge,” said the president.
Guerrero shook his head. “No. Believe me, we’d know it if one had succeeded.”
“I’d like to think this is thousands of times more likely to work than anything that’s ever been tried,” said Melanie. “But a thousand times zero is still zero. So there is no way to handicap it. As I’ve said, there are those who think we’ll never get there. Those who think we’re looking at consciousness entirely the wrong way. Those who say it’s a quantum phenomenon, and Lord knows we may never understand what goes on at the quantum realm.”
“T minus four minutes,” said the president. “I guess we’ll know soon enough.” Strausser paused. “Thanks for putting up with me,” he said in a way that seemed sincere. “I’ll shut up now and leave you alone with your thoughts as we approach the final countdown.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Melanie, and Gustavo Guerrero nodded beside her. “Perhaps it’s fitting—”
A massive explosion erupted in the bunker below, blinding and deafening the three observers for several seconds. The building and the priceless computer hardware inside were turned into rubble in the blink of an eye. A shock wave that propagated faster than the speed of sound shook the room they were in and threw all three inhabitants to the ground before they could even register what had happened.
The temperature of the room rose to sauna levels, but quickly spiked and then receded, and the earth became still once again. Somehow, miraculously, the structure held.
To their great credit, three Secret Service agents, suffering blistering second-degree burns on all exposed skin, managed to stumble inside and use their bodies to protect the fallen and still-disoriented president, just in case further explosions were forthcoming.
While the aftereffects of the blast had subsided, Melanie Yoder and Gustavo Guerrero remained on the floor, reeling. Not from the knowledge that they could have been killed, but from the instant and devastating loss of a project that had been the culmination of their life’s work.
11
Naval Lieutenant Cameron Carr wolfed down the hot dog he had bought at the courtyard café and leaned back against the trunk of one of several trees that inhabited the Pentagon’s five-acre open-air central plaza. He glanced up at the sky and the hint of a smile crossed his face.
The plaza had long been nicknamed Ground Zero, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the gallows humor of those who had given it this name many decades before. The name was an unblinking acknowledgment that if nuclear war ever did break out, the center of the Pentagon wasn’t a bad bet for the location of the first enemy strike, wiping out America’s military bureaucracy in one fell swoop.
Carr continued to watch the sky, deciding to clear his mind and stay in the moment. Why he had been summoned here by Troy Dwyer, the recently sworn-in Secretary of Defense, was a mystery that no amount of analysis could solve. While the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was America’s highest ranking military officer, he only served in an advisory role. Troy Dwyer, on the other hand, commanded the greatest military the world had ever seen, outranked only by the president himself.
Carr had no idea what Dwyer wanted with him, but it was bound to be interesting. Best to just relax and wait until he learned what it was. The meeting was less than fifteen minutes away.
Carr had always preferred to work alone, to rely on no one but himself. He wondered how Dwyer felt, to sit in his massive office in the Pentagon and know that he was absolute king of this ridiculously large castle, ruling over the thirty thousand people who worked here.
And this endless building was only DoD’s headquarters. In total, Troy Dwyer was the CEO of the world’s largest employer, boasting a workforce numbering over a million, about a quarter of them civilian and the rest military. While China’s military was larger, its military bureaucracy was smaller, so it ranked as only the world’s second largest employer, followed by the world’s next two military powerhouses, Walmart and McDonald’s.
Cameron Carr shuddered. He enjoyed his visits to the Pentagon because he hated them so much. These visits served as a cautionary tale, a way to scare him straight. The ultimate horror show, but one he could escape by leaving the theater. A reminder of how happy he was that he’d repeatedly refused a promotion to Commander so he could continue doing what he loved most and did best.
He routinely put his life on the line, but far better to face death on a daily basis than enter a Pentagon hell of red tape and bureaucracy.
No one who had ever visited the Pentagon had failed to look up its specs, to appreciate its true immensity. The building consisted of five nested pentagons, five floors high, the outer five walls each longer than three football fields. It boasted over five million square feet of office space, more than twice as much as the Empire State Building. And all of this was built in only sixteen months in the early 1940s as the US braced itself for a world war, with Nazi Germany having metastasized across Europe and just having attacked the Soviet Union.
Because of a steel shortage brought about by war preparations, the Pentagon had been built primarily with reinforced concrete, over four hundred thousand cubic yards of it, prepared using over a half million tons of sand and gravel dredged from the nearby Potomac River.
The stat that Carr reacted to the most viscerally, the one that filled him with dread, was that this single office complex held over seventeen miles of corridors within. Seventeen miles! The fact that he could practically run a marathon here and never run out of new office doors to pass was horrific to him. He was sure that if he ever spent any time inside this endless structure, he would be waking up in the middle of the night screaming, plagued by nightmares of being trapped behind a desk, in the center of an inescapable ocean of desks.
He shifted his gaze from the sky as a petite woman in her forties approached him, her gait and demeanor purposeful. A receptionist had informed Dwyer’s administrative assistant that he had arrived and would be waiting at Ground Zero until the SecDef was ready for him. Apparently, rather than text Carr to tell him her boss was ready, Dwyer’s admin had come to escort him herself. A nice gesture, albeit unnecessary.
She stopped before him and held out her hand. “Lieutenant Carr, I presume?”
He smiled and shook the offered hand. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m Dr. Melanie Yoder,” she said. “But please call me Melanie.”
Carr’s eyes narrowed. Dwyer was a big shot, no doubt, but there was no way he rated an administrative assistant with a PhD or MD. Her name didn’t ring a bell. “And you are?” he prompted.
“The Director of DARPA,” she replied as she began walking, motioning for him to follow.
He nodded slowly. “I see. The new SecDef wants to make sure I’m fully intimidated before I meet him. I’m afraid that science is my fatal weakness.”
She shook her head. “What is it with you guys?” she said in amusement. “You do know that excelling at science doesn’t take anything away from your warrior skills, right? So if by fatal weakness you mean finishing college level calculus in the tenth grade, acing every one of your advanced chemistry and physics courses at the Naval Academy, and finishing first in your class, then I’m sure science is your kryptonite.”
Carr flashed a smile. “I should have known you’d have done your homework.”
“I recently met the president,” she said, “and I realized that his ‘aw-shucks’ approach was covering up a razor-sharp intellect. Two of you within a week? Did I miss a memo? Is trying to be underestimated some new strategy going around?”
“I don’t know about the president,” he replied, “but as for me, I was called a cocky a
sshole so many times growing up that I decided to go the other way.” He arched an eyebrow. “I can now say that I’m greater at being humble than I am at any of the other multitude of things I’m great at. In fact, I have no doubt I now possess a greater level of humility than any man who ever lived.”
Melanie Yoder laughed out loud. “Did you ever hear of a song called, Lord, it’s hard to be humble?”
He shook his head.
“I’ll spare you any singing, but I got such a kick out of the lyrics that I memorized them. It goes like this:
‘Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble,
When you’re perfect in every way.
I can’t wait to look in the mirror,
Cause I get better looking each day.
To know me is to love me.
I must be a hell of a man.
Oh Lord it’s hard to be humble,
But I’m doing the best that I can.’”
Carr laughed as her recital ended. “I feel that guy’s pain,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Few appreciate the struggles of the truly superior.”
Melanie’s grin was now a fixture on her face as they walked through the minotaur maze that was the Pentagon.
They arrived at Dwyer’s office minutes later, and after shaking hands and seating themselves, The SecDef’s assistant brought in a pitcher of cold water and several glasses, along with a plate of assorted fruit.
Dwyer looked Carr up and down and nodded. “Thanks for coming,” he said.
Carr glanced at Melanie beside him and then turned his attention back to Dwyer. “Not at all,” he said with a hint of a smile. “I wasn’t under the impression it was optional.”
“It wasn’t.”
12
Cameron Carr took in the Secretary of Defense’s office in a few glances. It was neatly organized, with a 3D-capable touch screen filling an entire wall at a right angle to his desk. There were a few small plants, but little sign he had put any additional effort into personalizing the space. He looked out over the Potomac and DC.
The one characteristic that stood out beyond all others was the sheer size of the office, the opposite of cramped and claustrophobic. If you had to be behind a desk, this was the one to be behind.
It was good to be king.
“Why am I here?” said Carr, not one to beat around the bush. He had been affable and full of humor on his way here with the head of DARPA, but his demeanor was now all business, ice cold and serious as death.
“I’ve been told you’re one of the best operatives we’ve ever had,” replied Dwyer. “Eight years with SEAL Team Six, and now four years in the clandestine services, with a record of accomplishment and heroism that is truly extraordinary. You’re also off the charts when it comes to psychological stability, ethics, and loyalty to America.”
“With all due respect, Secretary Dwyer—”
“Call me Troy,” he interrupted.
“With all due respect, Troy, this walk down résumé lane is gratifying, but there is a downside to being successful, as I’m sure you’re aware. Success brings the toughest, most challenging assignments along for the ride. I can live with that. But never before have I been given an assignment by the SecDef himself. So I’d really like to leave the preliminaries behind and get right to the bad news. Just how screwed are we?”
Dwyer sighed deeply. “Before we begin,” he said, “you should know that what we discuss, and your assignment, goes beyond any level of classification currently on the books. Other than the three of us in this room and the president,” continued Dwyer, “no one else knows about this, or will know about it.”
He paused to let this sink in. “I’m afraid I can’t even let you pray for success,” he added with a wry smile.
“I understand,” said Carr in amusement.
“I don’t,” said Melanie. “Is that some kind of inside military joke?”
“No, it’s literal,” replied Carr with a straight face. “He can’t let me pray because even God isn’t on the need-to-know list.”
Melanie Yoder groaned while Dwyer moved on. “So let me get down to business,” he said, holding Carr’s gaze. “It’s probably no surprise to you that DARPA is working on Artificial Intelligence.”
“I assume you mean Artificial General Intelligence?” said Carr, noting a small grin coming across Melanie’s face as he did.
“Correct,” she said approvingly. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you about the explosion of AI, the specific kind, and how huge this has been, both for world economies and quality of life. Self-driving cars, computers that can out-diagnose the best doctors, pattern recognition, systems that can anticipate human needs with eerie precision, predict our interests in entertainment, news, product offerings, and so on, with great accuracy.”
“It’s been an ongoing revolution for decades,” said Carr. “You’d have to be living under a rock to miss it,” he added dryly. “Computers, algorithms, the Internet—they’re not just the biggest component of our lives and economy. They’ve become our lives and economy.”
Melanie nodded. “Well said.”
“Last Tuesday Dr. Yoder and her team reached a critical point in DARPA’s AGI initiative,” said Dwyer, “which is the agency’s most important and well-funded effort. Her advanced computer system, located in a mostly buried bunker inside Area 51, was finally ready. It was scheduled to be, ah . . . introduced to her advanced evolution and learning algorithms. President Strausser was there as an observer.”
Dwyer went on to explain what had happened, how the multibillion-dollar computer system was taken out in an instant, almost taking the president out along with it.
“We have no idea who was responsible,” he concluded, “or how they managed to pull it off. I’ll brief you more fully on what we’ve discovered in a little while, and answer your questions, but for now I’d like to move on.”
“Of course,” said Carr.
“I’d like to go back to AI, and the quest for AGI,” said the Secretary of Defense. “You’ve made it clear you’re aware of what a gold rush this is. But however much effort, money, and resources you think are going into these programs, the true numbers are probably twenty times greater.”
Melanie nodded. “The truth is that hundreds of billions of dollars around the world are being pumped into these technologies,” she said. “And the supply of relevant PhDs isn’t nearly enough to match the demand. If you’re talented enough to get a PhD in software architecture or artificial systems from MIT, or Harvard, or Carnegie Mellon, you’re able to attract millions in venture capital to start a company before the ink on your diploma dries. Or you can join a major player and write your own ticket. If you do choose to start a company, it will likely be snapped up a few years later by a tech giant.
“The list of potential acquirers, players that are extremely active in this space, is endless,” she continued. “You’ve got Apple, Google, Facebook, Sony. . .” she began, ticking off each company with her fingers. “And these are just off the top of my head, by the way. Samsung, Netflix, Amazon, Intel, Nvidia—and dozens of other behemoths. Since 2011, these major players have averaged more than forty acquisitions of companies working on advanced AI and AGI annually. Last year alone, a hundred and eight were gobbled up.”
Melanie paused to let this sink in. “The competition for top talent is fierce beyond any historical precedent,” she continued. “In my view, this is the principal reason AGI has yet to be solved—the best people are splintered around the world. Another key reason is that with the financial stakes involved,” she added, “scientists aren’t inclined to share their insights and results with others. This sharing and cross-fertilization is typically critical in achieving major scientific breakthroughs.”
Carr nodded thoughtfully. Dwyer was right. He had imagined AI and AGI receiving incredible amounts of attention, but not this much attention. “So how can DARPA compete with the likes of Google?” he asked her. “No offense, but it’s hard to imagine you could entice top talent
to join a Black government project instead of a rich tech giant. Or out-innovate these multinationals.”
Melanie smiled. “Under normal circumstances, this is absolutely true. But I argued these exact points and got authorization to pay ridiculous salaries and provide ridiculous benefits to get good people. The fifteen highest paid government employees in America are all on DARPA’s AGI team. Second, while AGI scientists aren’t sharing these days, we’ve been able to strong-arm the Facebooks and Googles of the world to share certain data and advances with us.”
“Strong-arm isn’t really the right term,” said Dwyer. “Let’s say that we’ve been able to appeal to their patriotism in the name of national security. And to entice them with certain carrots that only the government can provide. We’ve also agreed to license any breakthrough tech we come up with to those who share with us—as soon as it’s declassified.”
“I wouldn’t think that a chance to get at DARPA’s leftovers would be appealing to them,” said Carr.
“You’d be surprised,” said Melanie. “GPS came out of DARPA. For many years it was government owned and run. And while the military hogged the highest quality signal for itself during this time, they eventually released it all free of charge to the public. But what if, instead, they had made deals with a handful of companies to give them semi-exclusive licenses to provide GPS to the public? How much money would this little DARPA leftover be worth?”
“You used this exact example with these companies to help them see the wisdom of sharing, didn’t you?”
Melanie smiled. “It’s a persuasive argument,” she said. “But let me get back to the point at hand. We’re the only project getting data from multiple other players, which is immensely helpful, and does more than even the playing field. Think about the advantage Google’s AIs have when it comes to something like pattern recognition. Every day, untold millions of users train these AIs without knowing it. Every time a user searches Google Images for ‘abstract cat,’ or ‘cozy cabin,’ and then clicks on their favorite result, Google AIs get that much better at learning what people mean when they use these terms. Think about the data a company like this can generate in a single day. Or a company like Facebook. Or Amazon.”
[2016] Infinity Born Page 8