Dangerous Brains

by Erik Hamre

  “He had a standing line of credit at the casino. He was a big spender when he occasionally came in for a gamble. But he always placed sound bets. That twenty-five minutes is an act of pure desperation. Towards the end he keeps putting hundreds of thousands of dollars on green zero. Who bets on green zero?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Kevorkian would have known it was a losing strategy. The guy had a Ph. D. in Computer Science for God’s sake,” Vladimir said.

  “I’m well aware of that fact. And that’s why I believe he was suicidal. Betting everything on green is a typical all or nothing decision. Kevorkian didn’t go to the casino to gamble. He went there to blow away his last few dollars.”

  “So, what made Kevorkian suicidal those last few hours before we caught him?” Kraut asked.

  “The footage is from the day before the anniversary of his son Kevin’s abduction. As far as I understand Kevorkian adored his son more than anything. Yet he spent almost all his time working when Kevin grew up. Then Kevin disappears on what is supposed to be the biggest day in Kevorkian’s career, the day his company TrakTek goes public. And Kevin is never to be found again. Even though Kevorkian wasn’t to blame for his son’s disappearance he is likely to have blamed himself. He split up with his wife only a year later.”

  “That was because she wanted to move on,” Vladimir said.

  “It is more likely it was because he couldn’t stand to face Sarah anymore. How do you live life when you are reminded of your biggest loss every time you look at your wife’s face?”

  “I can’t even imagine how that would be,” Kraut said.

  “It wasn’t like that. Ask Sarah. She’s right out there,” Vladimir said, pointing to the room with the massive computer.

  “Both you and Sarah are too close to the case, Vladimir. Whatever you say will be biased.”

  “Kevorkian wasn’t suicidal. He didn’t create this thing, this Cronus bullshit, to destroy the world. We need to approach this more open minded. Perhaps Kevorkian had a plan? Perhaps it is something we haven’t even thought of.”

  “What could that be?” Mike Hanna asked.

  “Kevorkian knew about the dangers of artificial intelligence. I discussed it with him on several occasions over the last few years. What if he created Cronus to act as a gatekeeper?”

  “A gatekeeper?” Mike Hanna asked.

  “Yes, a gatekeeper. The reality is that whatever governments around the world do, eventually someone will create an Artificial General Intelligence. That fact is almost inevitable. What if you were concerned about it? What if you had all this money and wanted to make sure no one ever built an artificial intelligence that could pose a threat to humans? The only way you could ensure that result would be to build the first one.”

  “Build the first one?” Mike Hanna asked.

  “Yes the first one.”

  “First mover advantage?”

  “No, monopoly. Every company Kevorkian ever started went on to create monopolies in the industries they operated. Kevorkian didn’t believe true innovation could be achieved if you always had to look over your shoulder to see what your competitors were up to. He said that if you had a monopoly then you could afford to think about the long term, you could afford to be disruptive, you could afford to invent the things that would eventually destroy your own business.”

  “That mirrors my experience,” Kraut said. “DARPA and the military have probably invented most of the ground-breaking technology used in the US today. We didn’t get there by thinking about our next quarterly result, that’s for sure.”

  “So Kevorkian could have created Cronus to ensure that he would always have a monopoly on Artificial Super Intelligence?”

  “It could explain why Cronus is breaking into virtually every computer network around the world. It wants to get an overview. To make sure that no one ever creates something like itself.”

  “It’s an interesting hypothesis. But I still believe Kevorkian was suicidal, and that we have to prepare for what Cronus’ mission is.”

  “We are prepared,” Kraut responded. “For every action there is a reaction.”

  “You’ve already planned responses for certain actions?”

  Kraut nodded.

  “So what is the reaction if Cronus launches a nuclear missile on Washington?”

  “It will never get to that point. Before that happens, Cronus will have to do certain things. And those things will trigger responses.”

  “The EMP attack?” Vladimir asked.

  “Yes, the moment Cronus attempts to take over our nuclear weapons systems, it will have sealed its own destiny. Let’s hope it never gets to that.” Kraut rose from the table. His phone had just started vibrating. It was a call he had been expecting.

  Just not so soon.

  33

  2nd of June 2015

  Kevorkiana HFT’s HQ

  Silicon Valley, California

  DAY 2:

  1400 Hours

  “Olokoff, how are you?” Kraut asked, after he had let Vladimir and Hanna out and closed the door to the meeting room. The room was warmer than the room storing Kevorkian’s massive computer, but it was still freezing cold.

  “Been better, my friend. Been better,” Major Olokoff answered.

  “Is everything OK?”

  “How long have we known each other, Ronald?”

  Kraut looked down at the floor. It was grey and dull. “Twenty-one years.”

  “Twenty-one years. That is a long time, my friend. A long time.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “And have I always been honest with you, in all those years?”

  “I hope you have. I’ve had no reason to suspect otherwise.”

  “I have, Ronald. Always.”

  Kraut nodded into the phone. “OK.”

  “And therefore I want you to be totally honest with me over the next five minutes.”

  “OK.” Kraut nodded into the phone again.

  “Has the world witnessed a singularity event?”

  There was a pause before Kraut answered. “I believe we have, Major.”

  “Major?”

  “This conversation is being recorded. I think it is best we keep it formal from now on.”

  “OK, Kraut. So let me ask you: Did you release it?”

  “No,” Kraut answered.

  “These attacks, they originated in the US. We traced them.”

  “I can assure you that we are looking into the matter, Major. But the US Government had no involvement or prior knowledge. The attacks came as a surprise to us as well.”

  “You don’t have control of what is happening in your own country?”

  “We do.”

  “Then how could this happen?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Are you asking me to believe that someone in the US has managed to create the first Artificial General Intelligence, and you, the head of DARPA, the most distinguished expert on artificial intelligence in the US, did not see it coming?”

  “That is the truth, Major Olokoff. This is not some ploy by our government. What we have secretly feared for the last two decades has finally arrived. For the first time in history we are not the smartest species on this planet. Something else is.”

  “How much smarter?”

  “The honest answer is that we don’t know. All we know at this stage is that it acquired human intelligence levels at least twenty-four hours ago.”

  “How do you know for sure?”

  “We had set up some Turing Test Tripwires. It aced all of them.”

  “Der’mo.”

  “We have to work together on this one, Olokoff. We have to.”

  “You created it. Not us.”

  “We didn’t create it. Someone in America did. But not us.”

  “Terrorists?”

  “We don’t know yet. Most likely a research project gone wrong.”

  “Neuralgo?”

  “You know I can’t comment on this, Olokoff.”
<
br />   “If you want us to work together you need to share information, Kraut. Every single bit of information you have.”

  “I am prepared to do that. Give me half an hour. I will give you a call back.”

  “OK. And put Vladimir on as well next time.”

  There was a silence on the line. For a moment Kraut wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “Don’t pretend, Ronald,” Olokoff said to break the eerie silence. “I know he was picked up by the military yesterday morning. Neuralgo created this mess, didn’t they?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Kraut said before hanging up.

  “I need you to prepare a psych profile on Cronus,” Kraut said to Mike Hanna, when he found him in the lunch room still talking to Vladimir.

  “Cronus? Cronus isn’t a person,” Mike Hanna replied.

  “I know. But it is an artificial intelligence. Study its behaviour. What is it trying to achieve? How has it progressed since the first attack? Amanda knows how difficult it can be to break through some of our firewalls. Bounce ideas off her. Examine how it did it. Look at the execution. How much has its IQ increased in the last twenty-four hours? How much smarter is it?”

  “OK.” Mike Hanna got up from his chair. He looked like a pale ghost compared to the sunburnt ginger-haired man who had been pulled away from his holiday in Hawaii just a day ago. “Can I do it from Vegas though? You promised me I could stay close to my family.”

  Kraut nodded. “Yes, fly up with Amanda. She needs to be closer to her team as well.”

  “I’ll bring some coffee for her. I think she needs it,” Mike Hanna said as he got up from his chair.

  “We all need it. And Mike, I want you to let her have some shut eye on the flight back to Nevada. I don’t care if it is only for twenty minutes. She needs to be at the top of her game for this. You too.”

  Mike Hanna nodded. Then he disappeared out the door.

  “What was all that about?” Vladimir asked.

  “I want a profile on Cronus. It makes sense to understand what we are dealing with.”

  “You know it’s not possible to profile a machine.”

  Kraut shrugged his shoulders. “We can at least give it a try. Mike is good at what he does.”

  “He didn’t do a good job on Kevorkian though.”

  “What do you mean?” Kraut asked.

  “Just trust me. Kevorkian wasn’t suicidal, and you shouldn’t send that report to the President.”

  “It will be sent. Whatever Mike finds, will be shared with the President.”

  “Ok. But at least let Amanda stay here. She is a good resource. She will be of better help here than in Nevada. She can communicate with the DARPA teams over the network.”

  Kraut nodded. “Ok. Amanda can stay. I’ll let Mike know.”

  34

  2nd of June 2015

  Kevorkiana HFT’s HQ

  Silicon Valley, California

  DAY 2:

  1500 Hours

  One hour later Vladimir and Kraut were standing outside the offices of Magnolia Venture Capital. The founder, Chris Waters, had famously threatened to kill Kevorkian when he wasn’t allowed to invest in one of the last rounds of funding for TrakTek before it was listed on NASDAQ. It was estimated that Waters had lost out on a two hundred million-dollar win when Kevorkian had ditched him only months before the IPO. But two hundred million dollars was like a spit in the ocean for Magnolia Venture Capital. The firm had had more than six billion in funds under management at the time, and an almost unbeatable track record of betting on winners.

  The loss of the TrakTek investment had stained Magnolia Venture Capital’s reputation though. The company had just been through a tough period of losing some of its senior partners, and it had badly needed a couple of homeruns to get back on the list of important movers and shakers in the Valley. TrakTek’s very public ditching of the firm had sent the rumours flying, and in less than two weeks investors had claimed back what they could.

  Money had poured out of the fund.

  Magnolia Venture Capital had almost been run out of business that summer. If it hadn’t been for the founder’s willingness to liquidate most of his personal assets, it surely would have.

  “What sort of guy is this Chris Waters?” Kraut asked.

  “You assume I know all the VC’s in the Valley,” Vladimir responded.

  “Don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “But you have been Kevorkian’s golden boy for almost a decade. He must have introduced you to some of them.”

  “I guess he liked me too much to do that to me. I’ve had to do a couple of presentations over the years, but never any socialising. Kevorkian was good that way. He shielded me from most of the crap.”

  Kraut let out a snort. “He protected his asset. That was what he was doing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve noticed something, Vladimir. Every time I say something negative about Kevorkian you jump to defend him.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is. You’re doing it right now. Kevorkian didn’t shield you from the crap. He hid you from the movers and shakers. I’ve checked your inbox again. It’s overflowing with job offers, Vladimir.”

  Vladimir shrugged his shoulders. “That’s natural. People know I’m back on the market now that Neuralgo is gone.”

  “I called some of the recruiters and companies who have sent you offers. I asked them why they hadn’t contacted you before. They all told me the same story. They didn’t dare. Kevorkian had made it very clear that anyone poaching any of his staff would be destroyed. Although no one ever spoke about it, there was a clear understanding in the Valley to never approach a Neuralgo employee.”

  “So what? Kevorkian was protective of his employees? Hardly makes him a villain.”

  “They were afraid of him, Vladimir. All those recruiters were afraid of him.”

  Chris Waters, the CEO of Magnolia Venture Capital, appeared in the reception. He was a good-looking man, white spiky hair, slightly sunburnt face. Short, but fit. Sporting a pair of beige chinos and a blue shirt, that had two buttons undone. The Silicon Valley VC uniform, Vladimir thought.

  “Mr Kraut, Mr Sorovis. To what do I owe the pleasure?” asked Waters, extending a vein-covered arm to greet his visitors.

  “Can we talk in your office?” Kraut asked.

  Waters nodded, and with a simple look at his receptionist he conveyed the message that they were not to be disturbed for the next thirty minutes.

  Chris Waters’ office was as unassuming as the man. Simple IKEA furniture, a couple of pictures of space and astronauts on the walls. Nothing revealed the man was good for several billions.

  “My new hobby,” Waters said as he noticed Vladimir staring at the large black and white picture of Buzz Aldrin in space. “I’ve stopped investing in start-ups that don’t want to do achieve something important. I only invest in people who want to change the world these days.”

  “Is that why you invested in Neuralgo?” Kraut asked.

  Waters smiled. “I didn’t see that one coming, that’s for sure. But yes, I invested in Neuralgo because I thought they had potential to make a difference, to achieve something extraordinary. Curing death, who wouldn’t want to be a part of that?” he laughed.

  “You don’t seem too upset about losing your investment,” Kraut said.

  Waters shrugged his shoulders. “Why should I be? It’s part of the game, and I have enough money anyway. Even if my wife tried her hardest she wouldn’t be able to spend it all. And she is a big spender. I’m not one of Bill Gates’ disciples either. I don’t want to give away my money to stop hunger in Africa. I don’t think that’s possible. I believe the only solution we have for long time survival is to leave this planet. So that’s where I put my money. I fund space exploration companies. Big idea companies.”

  “We know. So why did you invest in Neuralgo? It doesn’t have anything to do with space exploration.”

  “Well,
Kevorkian invited me to invest.” Chris Waters let out a laugh. “I initially thought he was trying to make up for pushing me out of that TrakTek deal years ago. That move almost destroyed me. But I now see he still held a grudge. He let me in because he knew Neuralgo would fold before I got a chance to get out.”

  “And you’re not angry about that?” Vladimir asked.

  “I was. But in the end it is only money.” He pointed to the large black and white picture of Buzz Aldrin on the wall behind him. “That’s our future. Don’t tell my investors this, but I really don’t care if we make thirty or forty percent annual returns on our investments anymore. I want to change the world. I truly do. Fortunately enough I’ve ended up in a position where people actually give me money to achieve that goal.”

  Kraut shot Vladimir a quick look. At that moment they both arrived at the same conclusion: There was no point going through the other eight names on Amanda’s list. People may very well have lost significant amounts of money by missing out on Kevorkian’s IPO. But it was still only money. The abduction of Kevin had to have other reasons.

  It was true that most murders were committed by someone the victim knew. Often a family member or a relative. It was always the first approach for police to look at the immediate family. Could someone have a motive? Could there be a financial motive?

  But Kraut and Vladimir had been through the police report from Kevin’s abduction. The police had done a thorough job. There was nothing, absolutely nothing that pointed in the direction of either Kevorkian or any other family members having anything to do with the abduction.

  The police had missed one crucial fact though. They had failed to take into consideration who Kevorkian’s real family was.

  Kevorkian hadn’t spent much time with Kevin as a toddler. He was always too busy.

  Busy building his companies.

  Busy changing the world.

  He once told Vladimir he hadn’t been to a single parent-teacher meeting, not a single school play, not a single sporting event. He had teared up as he said it. This was three years after Kevin’s abduction and it was clear that Kevorkian had acquired a different perspective on life and what was truly important. Vladimir believed that Kevorkian could probably have been a good dad if he had been given a second chance. It had taken Kevin’s abduction for him to realise how much he loved his son. Or maybe he would never have changed? Maybe Vladimir had just witnessed a soft moment. It was hard to tell.