by Andrew Busey
Jennifer asked him quietly, “Would you like a drink, Dr. Wilson?”
“Please call me Mike. Do you have Scotch?”
“Is Macallan 18 fine?”
“Wow. That would be great.”
“If you would, Dr. Wilson, while I fetch that drink for you, would you mind turning your seat fully forward and buckling in?”
He did, noticing only then that the chair even had a seatbelt, as if Jennifer had conjured one out of thin air with the words “buckling in.” She brought his Scotch, neat, and then disappeared around a panel in the forward area as the plane began to take off. The force pulled him deeper into the chair, the well-cushioned leather holding him in a firm embrace. Then the surface of his Scotch tilted toward him ever so slightly, and the airport sank from sight and was replaced with the bright-blue sky. Mike added to the Scotch’s tilt himself and took a sip, wondering what in the hell Tom had in store for him.
Chapter 23
Week 3: Thursday
In the struggle for survival, the fittest win out at the expense of their rivals because they succeed in adapting themselves best to their environment.
—Charles Darwin
As soon as the jet had stopped noticeably climbing, Jennifer returned to Mike’s seat with a sealed manila envelope.
She smiled as she handed it to him and said, “Dr. Wilson, Dr. Gray asked that I give you this once we were in the air.”
He tore open the envelope and pulled out a stapled set of papers. It looked like the typical academic-paper format.
Stamped on the first page was “Confidential Prior to Publication Date.” The second page was formatted like a magazine article’s opening page: headline, authors’ bylines, and a picture. The picture in this case looked to be an electron microscope image of a microbe of some kind, possibly a bacterium.
Mike looked at the opening page.
Evolution of Simple Life in a Computer Simulation
University of Texas at Austin
Institute for Advanced Computational Physics
Thomas Gray, Ajay Narula, Stephen Eggleton, Lisa Davis, Don Ward
He flipped to the next page and began to read,
The Institute for Advanced Computational Physics was founded to work on projects to advance the cutting edge of physics research. Our initial objective was to model the big bang in a computer simulation. The hope was that we could gain a deeper understanding of what was necessary for the big bang to occur and the specifics of how it happened and the moments that followed at the dawn of the universe.
Mike glanced back at the electron microscope image and said, “Oh shit. This couldn’t be where the language came from. Could it?”
To do this, we spent years modeling physics—including the codification of quantum mechanics—to make it possible to run the simulation.
Then we had to make key decisions about what the start-up values of our simulated universe would be. So we made the obvious and easy choice to use the same values as our own universe. We did this for two reasons:
1. Because our desire was that the outcome of our experiment would yield insight into the birth of our universe, it made sense for our model universe to resemble our own as closely as possible.
2. Since if our model ran long enough after the big bang, the results would closely resemble our universe (see point one above), this would likely prove the veracity of our model—i.e., if 100,000,000 years after our simulated big bang, the universe looked roughly like our best calculations for how our own universe looked at 100,000,000 years, it would be highly likely that our model was accurate.
The simulation faced many obstacles at the beginning, including limitations in computational power and storage. These obstacles slowed the process and often forced us to innovate. Some of our innovations, though, ultimately gave us the financial freedom to accomplish far more than we had originally expected.
In our fifth year
“Holy crap , holy shit,” Mike said, getting chills. “Five years. This is where the language came from.”
In our fifth year, we were already well over 100,000,000 years into a simulated universe’s development. This is when we made a major strategic decision that would impact all of our work going forward.
We decided that we would seek life in our simulated universe. Further, we decided to encourage it.
“Son of a bitch,” Mike said. “You did it, didn’t you? Fantastic!”
Jennifer reappeared, probably responding to him talking to himself, and walked toward Mike’s chair. “Do you need anything, Dr. Wilson?”
“No, thank you though,” Mike said, just now realizing he was raising his voice as he was getting excited.
Jennifer disappeared behind her panel again.
At this stage, our simulated universe—internally, we simply call it “SU”—was quite large, like our own universe. This made it impossible for us to watch all of it at any scale other than its largest. In our simulated universe, we are like gods and, as such, are effectively omniscient. However, a seemingly infinite amount of information exists at the smallest scale, and since we are only human, we cannot absorb the information contained in an entire simulated universe at once. The sheer amount of information was overwhelming.
So we developed subordinate programs that acted as scanners. They searched for two things: planetary systems similar to our own and anomalies. The reason for the first is obvious; the second is perhaps more opaque. Since we were not sure how life would develop, we thought incongruent activity in any star system might indicate something of interest.
This new scanning mechanism immediately identified several planetary systems with blueprints similar to our own. We investigated several of these systems and felt that they had reasonable potential of developing life, but they were still millions of years from such an event.
So we took the unusual step of cloning the SU universe (we have the computational and storage capabilities to run multiple simulated universes). With the cloned SU, we chose the Alpha system, the planetary system we had identified that had the most likelihood of developing life.
And we nudged it.
We slightly altered the orbit of its second planet, which we’re calling “Alpha.” This planet was about the same size as and in an orbit reasonably similar to that of Earth, but it was slightly closer to its star. Adjusting the orbit was difficult. It required changes to the underlying physics, and we were not sure what ripple effect that might create in this simulated universe—which we called SU-N1, the N1 designating it as the first nudge.
After this step, we watched to see if our tinkering with the universe caused any serious breakdowns or anomalies. It did not.
After another million years, our Alpha planet had developed oceans similar to those of the primordial Earth. Substantial analysis of the Alpha planet’s surface revealed shallow coastal areas where the water had a reddish-brown tint. Chemical analysis showed that this color change was caused by an abundance of amino acids. We believe the appearance of amino acids was a result of an electrical charge of some type causing an atmospheric reaction similar to that of the Miller-Urey experiments conducted at the University of Chicago in 1953.
As a quick aside, it is important to note that it would be impossible to watch hundreds of millions of years of evolution, so we chose to check in at million-year intervals. Even if we know the time interval at a very granular level—say, ten years—it is impossible to observe for the entire duration hoping to catch the exact moment of a singular event. This is an area where we are developing new technical functionality to enable us to watch for specific events and observe the surrounding details as they happen. This gives enough time for things to happen but not so much that we miss important evolutionary steps.
We checked again after another million years. By this point, macromolecules had emerged, in concentrated form. We were able to isolate polypeptides, the precursors of proteins, and polynucleotides, the precursors of DNA. Thus the primordial stew necessary to create life was
in place.
Mike said quietly to himself, “And then you created life, didn’t you, Tom? Not only that, you created intelligent life, and now they’ve created a written language that you can’t decipher.” Mike smiled and grunted a one-huff laugh. “A god who doesn’t know what his creations are saying.”
At this point, we again took matters into our own hands and began a second nudge. This nudge actually consisted of several small steps, after further cloning SU-N1 to create SU-N2, a name we debated because in reality the second nudge is a derivative of the first, not the initial universe.
Over a period of two years, we carefully manipulated the macromolecules to…
Mike sighed. This was not his thing. He flipped through the rest of the paper, another four pages that droned on about RNA this and DNA that. He was sure a lot of people would find that deeply fascinating, but with his general aversion to scientific literature and two glasses of Scotch further slowing him down, he pulled the mystery-novel sneak: he skipped to the end and read the last paragraph.
In conclusion, although our simulated universe has seen the development of simple bacterial life, this does not necessarily mean that more-advanced life will develop. We will have to wait and see how evolution in our new universe progresses.
“Interesting,” Mike muttered under his breath. He knew IACP was far beyond bacteria, since Mike was pretty sure it took something substantially further up the evolutionary ladder to write. This article hadn’t even been published, and it was clearly out of date, presumably by design. Mike was excited to find out where this language came from but couldn’t help but wonder why they were keeping it a secret.
Chapter 24
Week 3: Thursday
The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.
—Marcel Proust
The jet landed with only the slightest hint of a bump. Mike wouldn’t have known the exact moment they touched down without the muffled dual squeal of the tires making first contact with the pavement. The jet slowed with more of an airy sound than the whine, rumble, and shake of commercial airliners, and it taxied down the runway.
Mike was still digesting what he had read. Clearly, there was a big leap from some simulation that resulted in the evolution of a simple, single-celled organism to something capable of the written language he had seen.
Jennifer opened the hatch and lowered the stairs. A black Lincoln Town Car waited at the bottom. The driver opened the door, and Mike, still in a daze, settled into the backseat and set his laptop case onto the cream-colored leather next to him. The driver closed Mike’s door, and then Mike felt a bump as his suitcase was put in the trunk and another lighter bump when the trunk was closed. Though Mike couldn’t hear or feel the engine, he figured it had to be running, because he felt the comforting waft of air conditioning.
The driver got in and closed his own door.
“Welcome to Austin, Dr. Wilson,” he said with a smile. “I’m Bob. I’ll be driving you over to IACP.”
The ride passed through downtown with the Frost Bank building’s odd glassy peaks that looked like batwings, the Texas state capital, and the University of Texas’s own mark in the skyline—its landmark tower. The car did not appear to be heading that way.
“Aren’t we going to UT?” Mike asked.
“No, sir. IACP’s offices are to the west of the city. They aren’t on campus anymore; haven’t been for several years.”
So the drive continued through the rolling hill country, steep ravines draped with a billowing blanket of cedar, pecan, and oak. The surroundings were far lusher than Mike had ever imagined existing in Texas.
What seemed only moments later but had to have been at least a half hour, the car stopped at a guardhouse and a gate. The gate was a substantial, double-iron-poled one that looked like only a tank could smash through, and beyond the gate was a larger, more-modern-looking group of buildings than Mike had expected. The landscaping seemed new—no old-growth trees—but pristine.
What the hell? Mike thought. I thought this was supposed to be part of the university.
The concertina-wire-topped, twelve-foot-high chain-link fence around the treeless, brushless perimeter made the group of buildings appear more like a military base than an academic research facility.
A minefield, Mike thought when he glanced at the perimeter again. That’s what that flat break of land looks like all the way around the outside of the fence. He snickered. Yeah, right. Tom’s put in a minefield.
Bob tapped a small panel with his access card, and the gate opened. Then Bob drove them directly toward the tallest building, an eight-story smoked-glass and ash-bricked office building with pleasant, concealing angles that made Mike think of large top-floor, landscaped balconies and rooftop tennis courts. The Town Car swung into the covered circle at the front doors and stopped with Mike’s door only six feet from the building’s double front doors.
Bob immediately got out, circled behind the car, and opened Mike’s door.
“Do you need your larger bag, Dr. Wilson, or should we leave it in back? I’ll be taking you to your hotel after you chat with Dr. Gray.”
“It’s OK to just leave it for now. Thanks.”
Mike grabbed his laptop case and got out.
“I’ll be waiting here when you’re finished, Dr. Wilson.”
“Thanks,” Mike said and stepped toward the building.
Bob opened the glass door for him, and Mike stepped into an opulent lobby with a polished granite tile floor. In the center, the tiles formed the IACP logo.
A well-dressed woman with a clipboard in her left hand walked up to Mike and extended her right hand.
“Hi. You must be Mike. I’m Jules, Thomas’s assistant.”
He shook her hand.
She said, “Please follow me,” and immediately started toward the elevators. “Would you like some water or a drink?” she asked.
“No, I’m fine for now. Thanks.”
Mike stared with awe at the large, plasma-screened monitor mounted high on one wall that depicted roiling lava.
As they waited at the elevators, Jules handed Mike the clipboard, which held but a single page.
“This is a standard NDA,” she said.
He furrowed his brows and blinked.
She said, “A nondisclosure agreement. Pretty standard in the tech world.” She leaned toward him in mock conspiracy, lowering her voice. “We wouldn’t want you telling anyone all the secrets you learn, now would we?”
“OK,” he said and read the document.
The language was intimidating, but he didn’t seem to have anything to lose. And it wasn’t like anything he had seen so far or expected to see could possibly conflict with his own research. And if his guesses about Tom’s work were accurate…His heart beat faster, and his mouth grew dry. If his guesses were right, he could very well be embarking on a linguist’s dream.
He signed the NDA and handed the clipboard back to Jules. The elevator dinged and swung its doors wide. Mike tried to swallow the dry lump that seemed to have lodged itself just behind his epiglottis, and he wished he had asked Jules for a drink after all.
Jules swiped her ID badge across an electronic sensor on the elevator’s button panel and pushed the button for the eighth floor. When the doors opened again, Mike was struck with an even more panoramic view of the rolling green hills, all these dipping deep down toward a single snaking line that had to conceal a creek or small river. At the farthest end of what seemed a shallow valley was the Austin skyline.
The vertical lines that separated the panes of window glass made the scene almost seem like an artist’s series of mural-sized photographs, but the boughs of the nearer trees swayed loosely in a light breeze and two vultures slowly circled far out over the creek.
Jules led Mike through an open set of wooden double doors and a large outer office with a desk adorned with a nameplate that read “Julie Sanderson.” They then passed through another pair of doors in
the back of that office and into an office with almost the same panoramic view of the hills, where Thomas stood gazing out over the greenery, his hands clasped behind his back.
Jules left and closed the doors behind her.
Thomas turned and smiled broadly. “Hello, Mike. What’s up? Been a while, huh?”
He stepped forward and reached out for a handshake.
“Wow,” Mike said as they shook hands. “You’re doing well.”
“Yeah. Things are going extraordinarily well. Sit down.” He swept a hand toward the set of chairs and small table in the corner of the office.
“What did you think of the language?” Thomas asked and sat after Mike chose his seat.
“It’s fascinating.” Mike set his laptop case on the floor, leaning it against the side of his chair. “Where did it come from? The simulated universe?”
“We’ll get to that. Do you think you can decipher it?”
“Not very likely, not with only what you’ve sent me, or with nothing but other documents like that.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t that your specialty?”
“Thomas, this isn’t like cracking codes—which, by the way, is not what I do, anyway. But let’s say you are trying to crack codes, say, like the NSA; you can force or finesse a code into revealing itself for two reasons: you can at least guess at what it means, and you understand the underlying language—even then, it can be exceptionally difficult. But in the rare cases where the underlying language is not known, it’s virtually impossible to crack. Take, for example, the United States’ use of Navajo in World War II. The Windtalkers spoke their own language, which they further encoded. This code was never broken, because for the Japanese, there was no foundation—a known language to be used as a base to begin the process of deciphering.”