Conscious

by Vic Grout

  (Alternatively, we just find something that we think might be doing all of this already and see if we can measure any of this!!)”

  *

  Oh, good grief! That was quite enough of that! That last sentence was probably no more than a throw-away comment to end with but it was too much for Boxing Day! Aisha sighed quietly and put down the tablet she had been reading from. Anyway, to an extent, she realised, all this was just trying, for a while, to keep her mind off what everyone else was talking about and that was not really working either. She reached for her glass of wine but saw, as she did so, that it was empty.

  She now sat thinking quietly on the sofa, toying with the empty wineglass, with what little attention she had for the external world divided about equally between the TV in the corner of the room and the small child playing with trains on a rug in front of it. The wine, sofa, TV and room, indeed the house she was in, belonged to Jill and Bob Weatherill. The child was their grandson, Ben. Jenny Smith sat beside her, her two black eyes not yet entirely faded, apparently similarly engaged in thought. Her empty glass sat on a small table beside her. The only noise came from Ben, his trains and the TV. Aisha and Jenny, as Ben’s delegated babysitters, sat in a mildly wine-subdued silence. Aisha reflected sombrely on what she knew of the past few days. The Desk had not planned to meet this soon but events had moved on – domestically and on the wider stage.

  It had not been a normal Christmas for any of them, or for anyone else for that matter. Bob, and to a lesser extent Andy, had returned from their European trips with little on their minds, and not much else to talk about, other than ‘dirty networks’ and ‘weird stuff’. In one sense this hardly singled them out from the crowd. RFS was now the main topic of every news programme across the globe and, on Christmas Eve, the various reports of Potentially Disruptive Noise – or PDN – broke. Almost in an instant, it was being recorded and reported worldwide. Suddenly everyone knew about dirty networks (so far as the media could describe it and the public could understand it) and how it seemed to be causing RFS – the weird stuff – and that it appeared to be getting worse. Experts were routinely consulted but contributed little. No-one knew what was causing it but the effect was plain to all. The TV now agreed five thousand known deaths globally – almost certainly many more in reality, once news had fed in from all regions – and huge numbers of injuries and widespread disruption. For the first time in weeks, the well-worn world stories of terror attacks, galloping unemployment caused by the robot workforce and the new, very unpleasant, MRSA strain – ‘MRSA-ZS’ – had been forced into the background.

  But, even allowing for its obvious seriousness and the global obsession with PDN and RFS, Bob, in particular, had been especially ‘difficult’ over the past few days, certainly ‘not very Christmassy’, as Jill had put it – sarcastically and with deliberate understatement. He had exploited almost every chance to take himself off from everyone else and run tests with Hattie. (She had arrived back home the day after him.) Now that he knew the scale of the problem, he was able to experiment on their home networks as easily as any external ones – and he lost no opportunity to do so. He had spent a lot of time talking remotely with Stephen and Jenny and, to a much lesser extent, Andy and Aisha. Even when he had been with the family, he was clearly distracted. Not that it appeared to have got him anywhere: he still had no idea what PDN was and this slowly made things even worse. His attention, never great at the best of times, was now practically non-existent and, when not spoken to for even a few minutes, his thoughts would clearly drift away, often relapsing into his muttered mantras, such as Where’s this coming from? and Why would there be frames on the wrong networks? His wife, son and daughter-in-law, in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, had even taken to mimicking him, singing these in chorus whenever he appeared.

  Eventually, by the end of Christmas Day, Jill had had enough. Not knowing exactly what it was going to achieve, she demanded contact details from Bob for Jenny, Andy and Aisha and invited then round for Boxing Day. Andy had other commitments for the day but Jenny and Aisha had so far spent Christmas largely on their own and been only too glad of the company. Once there, Jill had played a clever card. In return for a warm fire and a large lunch, she (and Chris and Heather) were going to get Bob out of the house for a few hours, to take his mind off dirty networks, and they could babysit Ben, couldn’t they? Of course they could – and in fact they were glad to. So the three of them had the house to themselves while his family dragged Bob reluctantly around the sales. Jenny and Aisha now sat peacefully: as peacefully as RFS would allow, of course. Ben played with his trains and train-track on the floor. He had been given two different sets for Christmas. One, a small plastic affair – just an engine and eight curved pieces of track forming a circle and, the second, a larger wooden set with two engines, some carriages and a more complex layout of lines and junctions. The sets were no longer separate now but jumbled together on the rug and he was getting a little mixed up between the two. Aisha gazed, absent-mindedly as he played. A wall light randomly snapped off and on. What on earth was causing this?

  Although, of course, Bob, on his return, had immediately consulted The Desk, and told them all he knew, Aisha had felt somewhat left out of the process. She had not been in Luxembourg like Andy, nor was she a computer scientist like Jenny. She had sometimes been part of the group phone conversations and suchlike but felt she had little to offer – even though she had probably given the matter just as much thought. Worse, she could not shake off the impression that the others secretly, possibly even subconsciously, shared this view. She only happened to be there now, she thought, at Jill’s request, and then nothing more than a baby-sitter. Not that she particularly minded that bit: that, at least, made her feel useful – that she was contributing something to the group. In truth, she was as interested in the ‘PDN/RFS thing’, as anyone but what was a neuroscientist going to contribute to a technical problem with the Internet? Not much, she thought. She smiled wistfully as she watched Ben try to make one of the large wooden engines run on the smaller plastic track. It would not, of course, but that was not going to stop him trying. Ha! Only a child would do that, she thought. Then, All part of the learning process, she supposed. She laughed quietly to herself, as thoughts of trains, dirty networks, weird stuff, children, brains, more networks and more wine stole over her. There was obviously enough in that mix for what then happened but she would never really be able, at any future time, to explain it fully: it just did.

  Because the light suddenly came on in her head and almost blinded her …

  *

  Jenny sat alongside Aisha, also with mixed thoughts and in a similar frame of mind. She was trying to distract herself with a court case for which she was to be called as an expert witness. A couple alleged to have had an extra-marital affair (not the central subject of the case but a ‘feature’) had both posted data from their fitness sensor watches on an open online repository. An aggrieved partner had located the data, run a series of analysis programs and shown a strong (almost certainly statistically improbable) correlation of intense physical activity, at intervals over time, between the two devices, even though their respective owners claimed to have been nowhere near each other. This ‘accidental’ or ‘de-anonymising’ use of big data analytics was becoming increasingly common and this one had all the hallmarks of a significant test case, not to mention the fun the media were having with it: ‘FitBit on the side!’ and other variations were rife. At another time, Jenny might have been amused or interested but, right now, she was just fed up.

  Aisha could not have known it but Jenny felt every bit as low as her. Aside from her eyes still hurting, although she might understand different aspects of the PDN problem, she had no more idea now of what was causing it than when she had been embarrassed by her interview on RFS on the TV before Christmas. (She had not been asked again: the media seemed to be focusing on cyber security experts now for their speculation.) She and Bob had discussed it at length, of cou
rse, but with no resolution. She had heard each and every one of Andy’s inventive explanations from Luxembourg and had dismissed them in the same manner as Bob. She even recalled Andy’s Sherlock Holmes logic: “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” That was all very well, she thought, but nothing even seemed to reach the level of improbable: everything appeared impossible. There appeared to be no explanation – but there had to be one. In fact, all Bob had really succeeded in doing was to transfer some of his fixation, including his mantras, to her. She shared his belief in the significance of the misplaced frames but could not explain them. She now sat quietly, notionally looking towards the TV, which temporarily lost and then regained the signal as she watched. She reached for the control to turn it off, with the same questions in her head. Where’s this coming from? Is it random or isn’t it? Why would there be frames on the wrong networks?

  And then Aisha seemed convulse next to her …

  *

  The movement was violent, then gone. Aisha appeared to twitch from her head downwards through her shoulders and body. The empty glass slipped from her hand and fell softly onto the carpet. But now she sat motionless, her arm half-raised – in an attempt to point at Ben, it seemed. Her mouth formed primitive, but as yet silent, words. Jenny eyed her with alarm, picked up the dropped glass with one hand and grasped her forearm with the other, in an attempt to reassure her.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Aisha said nothing – she seemed unable. But she managed to extend a finger slightly; still with a weak, curved arm, but clearly trying to point at Ben, as he vainly forced the large engine onto the smaller track.

  “Aisha, what’s the matter?”

  Eventually, some words came. Slow and disjointed at first, but gathering in speed and coherence as she gradually composed herself.

  “Train on the wrong track.”

  Jenny glanced at Ben. “Er, yes; so?”

  “Why would you put a train on the wrong track?”

  “What?”

  “Why would you put a train on the wrong track? Why would there be frames on the wrong networks?” She dropped her hand and looked at Jenny for the first time.

  “What are you talking about, Aisha?”

  “It is learning!”

  “What is?”

  “All the dirty networks. The Internet, I suppose. The disruption. It is learning.”

  “What?”

  “The Internet is learning. It is putting trains on the wrong track, putting frames on the wrong network because it is learning. It is experimenting; trying things out. Lots of things do not make sense when you randomly try things out but that is how you learn.” Jenny’s eyes widened in utter disbelief and it was her turn to freeze, speechless; so, after a pause, and slightly more firmly, Aisha continued.

  “It is learning. The noise and the rubbish and the broken data and the occasional part that makes sense: it is finding out how to do things. I suppose I do not really mean quite like a child: it is nothing like that advanced. But it is learning in the same way as our brains may do when they first become active, when they first attain some essential critical level of complexity. The signals are experimental but, slowly, both the signals themselves become more refined and the brain acquires an in-built central control sense of what it is and what it can do … and how.”

  Jenny continued to stare at Aisha incredulously.

  “But where are the signals coming from? How are they being put on the network?”

  “They are not being put on the network. They are coming from the network.”

  “Where? Which part?”

  “All of it.”

  “How?”

  “From some sort of primitive neural instinct to assess control: lower than anything that might be put on it. From its own in-built central awareness of its structure.”

  “In-built central awareness?”

  “Yes, something like that.”

  Another pause.

  “Are you saying the Internet has become sentient?”

  It was Aisha’s turn to reflect on what was being said.

  “Well, I suppose that depends on exactly what you mean by sentient. But, exhibiting a form of independent behaviour? Yes, I suppose so. Looking to make sense of itself: or, at least, to minimise its internal assessment of lack of control, as a colleague of mine would put it? Probably.”

  This was too much to take in. The only way Jenny could approach the concept was, bizarrely, to raise the stakes.

  “And exerting control?”

  Aisha considered again. “Well, perhaps. Maybe at some point. But I do not think that is what it is doing yet. It is experimenting at best. We know that most of the noise is useless and only very occasionally – in terms of the overall count – does it manage to produce anything that has an effect. At the moment, that seems effectively random. But it appears that it is getting better at this. The levels of valid signals are increasing. It will slowly – maybe quickly – find itself doing more things properly. It will come to associate cause and effect and it will assimilate this into what it is currently probably building: a framework for its global imperative of minimisation of assessment of lack of control.”

  Still too much. Jenny floundered for something constructive to say, or ask.

  “So, you’re saying … ?”

  “I am saying that the Internet has reached some critical mass in terms of its neural size or complexity. From its hardware has emerged a framework for independent internal control assessment, and possibly action.”

  “You’re saying the Internet has become conscious!”

  “Yes, perhaps I am.”

  PHASE THREE: PROGNOSIS

  Chapter 11: Scepticism and Belief

  “It’s basic panpsychism.”

  “Oh, good grief! No!”

  “Why not? Panpsychism: the theory that everything has consciousness to some extent or other; if you create something with enough neural complexity, it eventually reaches some critical mass and becomes aware of itself.” Andy shrugged his shoulders and opened his palms as almost to suggest, ‘What did you expect?’ Aisha’s eyes gleamed. Jenny and Bob were clearly less convinced.

  The Desk was complete once more. Following Aisha’s revelation earlier in the afternoon, she and Jenny had spent two hours hammering the concept to-and-fro between them like tennis players: Aisha trying desperately to force the idea on Jenny who, in turn, was determined not to accept it. Having the strangest of notions that he might actually support her on this, Aisha had eventually called Andy, who had, only slightly but immediately, cut short his visit elsewhere and made arrangements to meet the rest. By the time, the extended Weatherill family had finished their afternoon shopping, he was waiting at Euston to be picked up on the way back. Now they were all together again. Jill’s defence against any discussion of dirty networks and weird stuff had dissolved and there was only one topic of conversation. Now, however, they were a doubles match, rather than singles; a strange alliance of the spiritual and scientific against the practically technical.

  “So, are you saying you think Aisha’s right?” There was an incredulous tone to Bob’s voice he could not disguise.

  “You think the Internet’s woken up?” pursued Jenny, no less sceptically. “It’s come alive?”

  “Well, something like that, perhaps,” said Andy. “Why not?”

  “Well, let’s start with you!” Bob suggested after a general pause. “Surely, you of all people don’t buy the idea of consciousness just being the result of neural complexity? Don’t you live in the world of the spirit these days?” His tone was more mocking than he intended. “You’d want God to be involved, wouldn’t you?”

  “Perhaps He is! As Turing pointed out, who are we to tell God how His universe works? Maybe that’s precisely the way He’s designed it. Maybe He’s just been waiting all this time for us to build something big enough for Him to put a soul into?”

  Jenny snorted. “A soul?
”

  “Well, maybe; maybe not. Something. Whether it’s God-given or hard science: something capable of independent thought and response, anyway. Why not?”

  “OK then,” Jenny continued the attack. “Because it’s not big enough! Because the Internet is only just approaching the neural size of the human brain and we know it’s a very different thing. Presumably, the brain does what it does in the most efficient way it can. The Internet’s not wired up anything like the brain. Each device is only connected to a handful of other devices. Each neuron in the brain is connected to tens or hundreds of thousands of others. The Internet’s not densely connected enough. For it to become a functioning brain, it would have to be many orders of magnitude larger to make up for that, surely?”

  Bob almost winced as he spoke, hesitantly. “Actually, it already … sort of … is.” All three shot him quizzical glances. He continued.

  “The Internet itself, just taken as a collection of network devices, is one thing. But think about all the other stuff – the end systems – that are connected to it. Think about the internal circuitry of those things and the routers and switches themselves. Taken as just a collection of connected logic gates – at a much lower level, with no preconceived interpretation of structure – it’s already massive: way, way bigger than a human brain. And everything’s connected to the Internet now – there are more ‘things’ on it than people nowadays: it’s the Internet of Everything – the IoE.” He waved a hand carelessly around the room, taking in the lights, TV, the entertainment console, the Christmas tree. “All of this stuff is connected. And then there’s the power …”