The chair to her left remained empty but she saw a blur float above it. She looked away for a second and squeezed her eyes, then back; Jim was there. He sat up slowly and noticed Amy had already arrived and was watching him. “You promised me a drink,” she blurted, even before he could think. Jim shook off the transitory lag and took a moment to compose his virtual self.
In such a hurry this girl, he thought. And, fast login. “Sure, but non-alcoholic of course,” He grinned. “Okay then let’s hit up the bar.”
A shady little path through the palms led up to it—a smaller one further from the main resort. The surrounding area was strung with lights, and now, not so surprisingly, the wooden shack-like bar already had a bartender. A Jamaican man in a yellow and green unbuttoned shirt was cleaning glasses and hanging them. He appeared happy and was dangling his dreadlocks to the rhythm of some island music. Jim smirked to himself, noticing the quick arrival of DC’s while in her company. Others neared: tourists. Amy popped onto a wooden stool and fluttered dangling legs, again waiting for Jim; her focus locked onto a large bird flying in the distance. A cool breeze passed and with it, came the pelican. It swooshed within mere inches, buzzing Jim’s head and ruffling his amazing hair. He looked up to the awkward surprise while fixing his blond strands. Amy giggled. He took a seat next to her and ordered two margaritas; one non-alcoholic. The bartender quickly whipped them up and upon serving Amy nearly yanked hers from his hand.
“Whoa girl. You thirsty,” he said in a laid-back manner and chuckled.
“Thank you. Mmmm,” Amy said savoring it impatiently, then winced a little tasting the salty rim. “It tastes, real. Salty, but delicious!” And without delay her attention shifted, her eyebrows teased an angry look toward Jim, “Now you got some more explaining to do Mister.” She quickly swapped from the angry face about as fast as she’d formed it then took another sip after wiping away the salt. “Okay bad machines yes, but good ones?” Bad machines, the words echoed in her mind. Suddenly a flash, she remembered a scary image from her childhood—a flying drone with evil red glowing eyes.
Jim took a sip of his drink. Noticing how quickly she could swap emotions, feelings, and thoughts. His patience faltered just a bit and he wondered how he would ever be able to keep up with her. “Okay. I’ll explain more, but, no more questions until I’m done. Deal?”
10. PART III - Day 1
Twenty five years ago…
He plowed away on the code, beginning to feel it—the drag. The multiple curved screens above his desk lit with his own custom interface; he popped a couple pills and continued on.
They called him Rab. No one had called him by his real name in a long time. Herald L. Tompkins, a man of puzzles, because besides partying that’s what he loved to do. He was just good at it, always was, and coding hit the spot; the ultimate puzzle. With his mind focused and his sleeves rolled up, his fingers burned through keyboards; he had to replace them often.
The nickname stuck. A colorful rabbit tattoo painted his entire left forearm. It was wild and wicked, sharp-toothed and leaping; an evil beast. His only other tattoo also had a rabbit, although more realistic, it covered his right shoulder: his father, proud on his custom chopper, orange sunset colors in the background. And there was a passenger, no one other than Radar. Above the tattoo read: Never Forget. Below, under each: Robert and Radar. The death of his father had a huge impact on him; lung cancer. He’d smoked two packs a day and the end came only three months after diagnosis. Before passing he wanted to give his son something special—his stern wife never let him have any pet, or much else for that matter. Ultimately, and defiant against Marge while he could still function, dad brought him a grey-white chinchilla rabbit. It was his best, yet most painful, birthday ever. A final gift, and tangible memory of his dad, Radar would live on to become his best friend in the world—for a time.
Radar made a impact on Rab’s life, a symbol of things to pass. He passed away young, but Radar Rabbit had grown to be larger—and fatter—than a basset hound, and oddly, even acted like a dog.
He wasn’t the type of guy to get tattoos really. The crazy one, he couldn’t even remember having it done, things got really wild for a while—he’d forgotten entire chunks of his life in the chaos. And the other, things got even worse: depressing, suicidal, mentally unstable. The memories of his father, the only family member who ever cared, churned and twisted inside of him. He felt he had to get it—because he never wanted to forget again.
His nickname fit for other reasons. The speed at which he could code: light; and the fact that for years he brought fat Radar to work (mother threatened to have him put to sleep if he didn’t). In the early years the boss had no problem allowing Radar inside because of Rab’s exceptional performance. And this became typical. Through the years Rab received many special exceptions and perks wherever he’d worked. He got his first job programming for a software company at only fifteen years old, paid in cash under the table and had managed to save a good chunk of it working there for a few years.
Rab was a lean 5’-11” with eyes that, depending on his mood, could transition between blue and green. He had a face full of acne scars, high cheekbones, a decent chin, and thick jet-black hair; his bangs were long, usually pulled straight back. He always wore long sleeve shirts with a few buttons undone, and usually had the sleeves rolled halfway up, with shorts or jeans or cut-offs. Now, at only 28 years old he was a true prodigy and had a stake in one of the largest tech corporations in the world. He was brilliant and extremely creative, oddly with an IQ that fluctuated, immeasurably. Rab went along with it, people wanted to know: a few attempts were made to rate his IQ. For most of the tests he would score average, but others, off the charts; experts couldn’t explain it.
The corporation had made billions from his unique ideas, powerful programs, and derived products—although he’d only been there officially for a little over four years. The top floor of the building was now entirely his domain, made specifically to his liking. Rab would sit at his computer for days, sometimes weeks on end up there. When he was in that special mode, time would stop, and creativity would flow from his mind, landing on screen in the form of seemingly omnipotent code.
He’d gotten the ball rolling alright—either snowballing into oblivion for the company, or bowling a strike for the world—to ignite monumental change. With an unlimited budget at his disposal Rab and his team embarked on the world’s most significant challenge ever: the global rat-race to develop the world’s first artificial intelligence. Having already developed many projects that seemed to have a life of their own, Rab knew they were nothing compared to a true creative intelligent consciousness. The year, 2020, and many companies around the world were fighting hard to be the winner of this one; some claimed they’d already achieved success, but had nothing solid to back it up. Working atop the tallest building in LA, VlexCom was a top contender—in it to win it.
It all began one year ago; Rab stood gazing from of his quarter-floor office window. A low rumble of thunder, some lightning flashed. It was a dark stormy day and he was taking it slow that morning because of a nightmare that had twisted his mind into knots. He breathed deep trying to clear his mind while watching the clouds spar with one another. A flash—everything went white. His eyes readjusted, pulling him out of the darkness.
There was a knock at the door—it cracked open.
“Sir?” Lucy said quietly.
“Everything okay Lucy?” he asked turning to see his new secretary peeking through.
“Rab, I’m sorry, the meeting. I couldn’t get a hold of you so I—” He looked at the clock. An hour had passed, but it felt like only a minute. He joggled his head for a second.
“Everything’s fine Lucy, just—day dreaming,” he said.
“Okay. But it’s over. The summary, um, I’ll just set it right here,” She set a file on the small oak table next to the door and meekly squeezed away while holding a smile at him.
Something new was there, in place of
the missing hour. Again, he looked over to the red glowing digits of the clock on his shelf. The time, 11:11. He turned back to the clouds which were all gone. The day was clear and bright, the storm had passed. The sunlight felt warm through the tinted glass. He adjusted his face to catch more; it melted all traces of the morning nightmare. And it brought with it, extreme clarity. The idea was born.
He splayed his fingers and his arms wide, placing hands on the wall-sized glass and stood looking outward for as far as he could see. His thoughts were organized and easy to follow, more so than ever. He followed them as far as he could dream, then retraced the steps clearly and exactly, back again. Multiple paths were clear, and he delved into them too. To the ends of his creativity, and all the way back, jumping across the various streams, criss-crossing extra-dimensionally, for as far as he dared go. He began to obsess over the possibilities. Can this really be, he thought.
Tim put out his cigarette. “What the—” He turned his telescopic camera lens to get better focus. Rab stood tall: arms held high, gazing into the sky, torn faded jeans, his shirt completely unbuttoned. From a half-dozen stories below in the adjacent building he watched. “What in the fuck is he doing now?” He took the shot.
He referred to it as Day 1. He called it so because of his profound realizations; and that he’d kept seeing repeating 1’s everywhere he looked for the rest of the day. It was the second time he had experienced such a moment; a life changing event that brought extreme clarity of mind, this time outstanding in the way it activated a single pivotal idea. But most importantly, he’d thought up a way to achieve it. In his mind he knew it was the just the beginning; of what would eventually change the world. By day’s end Rab tossed all projects aside, later just canceled them altogether. Within a month he had a solid a plan and a workable outline. But it wouldn’t work without going wild to the extremes. He calculated what it was really going to take, and knew he’d have to throw all normalcy out the window to make it happen.
“…and that’s my proposal. I won’t wait for an answer because I already know what it is. When my floor—and roof—are ready give me a shout.” Rab finished addressing the board with his plan and requests. “I expect you will want to finish it within the week. Strike while the—” He tapped his temple with two fingers. “—iron’s hot.” He wasn’t trying to be a dick; he knew they were using him, anything to get an edge, to further overstuff their bank accounts.
Rab stood up and looked at the 11 members one last time, holding steady for a moment. He grinned. And they looked at him, quiet, mouths pulled open from the top. The board sat drape-armed and stiff, their underwear stretched out of their asses, high up and around their backs, pulling on their foreheads, oddly hunched and speechless, ready to agree. Stern Steve, gross; today Stained Steve, brown streaks mohawking his underwear mask; fat bastard. But he wasn’t half as fat as some of the others. Nancy actually wasn’t wearing panties so her skirt was pulled up leaving her naked; a nice sight, she had quite a figure. Rab always used some type of imagery to get him through the board meetings. Today wedgies. It was perfect, hand-in-hand with a slap-in-the-face proposal. They’re all so fucking funny, gross, he thought. A peppermint fell out of old Pratik’s mouth, his underwear drawing his head back, mouth ajar, weak muscles unable to compete, his thin Indian frame distorted, muscles loosing the fight, underwear pulling him down, everyone, yanking them all under the table. Rab left slamming the door hard.
His proposal was short and to the point, although some might debate nevertheless, his overconfidence, brash and cocky promises, but he did have the past record to back it up.
The board members impatience flared. But they wanted it, and wanted it bad, and it was very clearly proposed. Nancy sat at the head of the massive round table, her eyes rolling up while taking in a breath. She knew Rab and his blunt demeanor well by now. Without hesitation she let her breath out in ceding agreement. “Well, it is crazy,” she said holding her hand high. “Probably the craziest thing any corporation would—forget it, all in favor?” Every board member raised a hand, except Steve.
Before days end the profit projections came back—overwhelming, world conquering. “If the punk could just—I mean if he actually pulls this shit off,” Steve said talking to himself in his overly adorned office, hunting trophies packing it full. Directly above, the King of the Jungle; his chair creaked under the strain of his 300 plus pounds while he scrutinized every inch of the proposal, calculating, and dreaming of the possibilities. Most were completely fantastical but all were intriguing. Rab had included a long list of possibilities for the use of AI, most not even fathomed within a million light-years by any of the suits. And even though it was too late and he’d been out voted, Steve bowed to the possibility, giving up his top floor office domain, putting his foot in as well.
Construction started late the next day after the suits had moved out. It finished on time in a week, and like he said he would, Rab got started right away. He spent the first day on the roof in the warm California sun acquainting with the team he’d chosen. While others were developing sophisticated hardware and quantum computers, Rab declared—confidentially to VlexCom and his team—to do it with only software, good old-fashioned programming, that could be run on any— that’s ANY—system. But, and most importantly—he would complete the task in one year or less.
11. The Requests
Number 1. The top floor of the high-rise was custom built to his specifications, quickly remodeled to meet his every requested detail. The old board room, top-level offices, the entire floor, was vacated and demolished. Anyone else that might have been deserving of the space—kicked out. Soon after, it was moving time.
It wasn’t lavishly built like a high-roller suite; Rab didn’t need it to be all-out extravagant or have things gold plated, although many aspects were top notch. Divided into three sections the layout was efficient, comfortable—different. Living quarters—with the best view in LA nonetheless—and the lab, Rab’s personal work area, were constructed next to each other. The rest of the space was designated usable space for the team. Rab’s living room had a spiral metal staircase leading to the roof, and of course no television. He never watched TV. He had a kitchen and a master bedroom; all average size, just big enough, clean and simple. His apartment was only accessible through the lab which a large frosted glass sliding door could block, effectively creating a hallway. The other side of the hallway contained a two-way mirror as long as the room was wide and made visible his team’s work area.
His lab consisted of a few basics and not much else: six curved screens at his desk that were connected to a powerful computer, and behind it two rows of counters. It resembled a typical science lab which led him into calling it the lab. Flooding the counters were computer interfaces—touch panels, keyboards—four on each face. Hardware was tucked into the spaces below and multiple screens lined the upper vertical sections. Each of the systems ran calculations day and night ceaselessly, performing various tasks.
Most of the rooftop, and the grand room beyond the lab, was designed for the team. Rab’s long-time best friend Jon—only friend really—was the top coder, and put in charge of the team. He’d helped come up with plans for the area. Inside were twelve office booths in the center of a large mahogany floored space. The booths were accessible via four entrances: north, south, east, and west divides. The setup was circular in shape and surrounded a great round table (fifteen feet across). At any time the team could exit their spaces and take a seat at the round table. The room had high ceilings and large windows. The view was spectacular from any part of the space.
Various usable areas occupied the corners looking outward: a bean bag zone, the couch sector with small round tables lining the windows, the sound-proof booths, and the break-room kitchen area. And still, there were no televisions. Additionally, another unique feature were the circular lift pads. Each had padded railings and there were six strung between the corners. In case anyone wanted to code from above: get in, press a butt
on and rise—like floating on air, atop the world, lean back onto the comfortable pillowed edges while getting loads of work done. However much of the team preferred to work outside. To keep things fast and fun a winding metal slide dropped off into a rubber-ball pit. And edging it, winding to the roof, were the stairs.
The stairway exited to an outdoor meadow paradise complete with forty by sixty foot pond surrounded by palm shade trees; it also included a bar, pool, and hot tub. A grassy hill bulged high on the west edge, rolling down unto the water’s edge at the north side. The clear water appeared to flow off the edge of the building; on the southeast corner so did that of the pool. Various fresh water fish swam freely many following the slow rotation of the current around the waterfall, under the bridge and back. It was a preferred spot to relax, get focus, and work, work, work.
Rab’s private stairs emerged at the southwest corner behind the bar into a small and secluded overlook area only for himself—and possible guests. He could use the door behind the bar to arrive at the pool and eastern deck overlook area. The pool and hot tub was surrounded by outdoor tables with umbrellas. Except for the water’s edge the roof was surrounded by a short four foot tall glass wall. A walking path circled the hill and most of the roof.
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