Evolution 2.0: The Singularity is Here

by Richard Childers

  Evolution 2.0

  The Singularity is Here

  By Richard H. Childers

  Chapter 1

  It feels strange to finally be telling this story. For forty years everything has been shrouded in secrecy. But now, it’s all over and the telling of the tale will make no difference. The outcome is out of my hands. It all began in Palo Alto on the Stanford University campus in 2014. It was just before the Christmas break in the office of the Dean of the Medical School. My PhD thesis had been submitted a few weeks prior to this meeting and it was beginning to attract some favorable academic attention. Unfortunately, it was also attracting some unfavorable attention on the pages of the sensationalist press.

  For the previous six years I had been part of the Medical Scientist Training Program at Stanford Medical School. I spent two years studying the pre-clinical medical curriculum and then for the next four years I focused on my PhD studies in the field of Biopsychology. Specifically, my research centered on the human machine interface, seeking a new way for the human mind to interact directly with a machine. I had a very personal reason for this interest. When I was sixteen I was surfing with friends off Stinson beach, paddling as I worked my way back into the line-up, when a great white shark thought my right arm looked like an appetizing morsel. In a single bite he removed it up to my elbow.

  The subsequent months of recovery were followed by several frustrating years as I tried to master the use of my artificial limb. It worked, after a fashion, but never very well. I’m an optimist and life with a funky right arm seemed to me to be a pretty lame idea so I decided the best solution to my problem would be to invent a new arm, one that functioned like the one I had lost. By the time I graduated from high school I had a pretty good idea of the difficulties inherent in solving the problem. The mechanical issues were fairly straight forward. The really difficult problems had to do with the control of the mechanical arm. In the past artificial limbs were activated by minute physical movements that triggered a specific movement. And for twenty years Duke University had been experimenting with the use of microwire implants that detect minute electrical signals generated in the frontal and parietal cortices, the regions of the brain responsible for the generation of voluntary movements. They had even managed to train a pair of monkeys in the lab to control the movements of a computer graphic arm, touching objects in the virtual world and even gaining a primitive level of tactile feedback that let the monkeys feel what it was like to touch an object in virtual space. With as many as a thousand micro-wires implanted in the brain, they could capture the electrical activity of up to 6,000 neurons. By implanting several arrays of wires, they could capture the output of tens of thousands of neurons. But the human brain contains upwards of thirty billion neurons. It was clear to me that implanted wires alone were never going to effectively serve as an interface to the brain.

  In the six years of undergraduate and preclinical studies at Stanford, I learned all I could about the functioning of the human brain. When I started my PhD studies, I decided to focus my efforts on the development of a system that uses electroencephalography or EEGs and magnetoencephalography to detect actual brain waves. To cut to the chase, my team of researchers had succeeded. We had published a paper based upon my thesis that described how we were able to capture and interpret the output of the human brain. And that announcement had set off a shitstorm of media frenzy. “Stanford scientists learn to read minds!” had been the headline of one tabloid paper. Another shouted that “Mind control is here!” Of course it was nonsense, but an awful lot of people believed what they read on the pages of the National Enquirer.

  I had assumed that all of that press had something to do with my summons to the Dean’s office and at least in some degree, I was right. Upon entering the office Dean Winchell introduced me to the room’s other occupant. “Colin, I would like to introduce you to Dr. Robert Fincher. Robert, this is the young man we were just discussing, Colin Anderson.”

  A tall, athletic looking man with a deep tan and a bit of premature grey around his temples stood and extended his hand. I shook it with my prosthesis, being careful to avoid crushing his hand with an inadvertent hard squeeze. That was one of the things inherently wrong with my mechanical arm. There was very little subtlety available for conventional gestures.

  “Dr. Fincher is the founder of the Fincher Center for Advanced Computing and Bioscience Research in our graduate department. You probably have heard a bit about him over the years,” Dean Winchell added. That was a bit of an understatement. Fincher had been Time’s Man of the Year a few years back when his company’s evaluation had topped the two hundred billion dollar mark. Fincher’s radical storage devices had totally transformed the industry, providing almost unlimited storage with super-fast access times at a ridiculously cheap price. And then, as an encore, he had produced a breakthrough in artificial intelligence, turning the field from an academic backwater of unrealized potential into the hottest software on the planet. Fincher artificial intelligence engines were the new standard for almost any kind of commercial application. They were so useful they had become indispensable, turning Fincher into one of the world’s richest men in the process. He still held over sixty percent of his company’s stock.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, Dr. Fincher,” I stammered, a bit awestruck at meeting the man who had turned the world of computing into his own, personal playground. “I use one of your AI engines in my lab. I don’t know how I ever got along without it.”

  As we sat in the comfortable leather couches in the Dean’s office, Fincher replied, “I hear that a lot. In fact, that’s what originally brought your work to my attention. There are some areas of research that are of particular interest to me. My software notifies me when someone is meeting with success in those research areas.”

  I stared at him with a dumbfounded expression on my face. “Your software advised you of my ongoing research? Isn’t that a bit unethical?”

  “No, not really,” he answered. “It doesn’t give me access to your work; it only advises me that you are achieving results in one of the areas I am interested in. And if you will check your license agreement, you will see that you give me specific permission for that activity as a condition of the license.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “I can’t say I even read that license agreement.”

  “Few people do,” he replied. “But without granting me that permission, no one gets to use the software.”

  “So what caught your attention in my work?”

  “I am keenly interested in the field of direct mind-machine interface. Allowing a person to link with a computer through his or her thoughts. It’s an integral part of my current R and D efforts.”

  “I can see how that could be profitable,” I replied.

  “Please understand,” Fincher answered. “This has little to do with money. You see, I have money, more money than I could ever need or desire. But having achieved that goal, I still want to accomplish something that is an all-consuming passion of mine. I’m afraid I’ll have to withhold more information on that project until we are much better acquainted. The reason I am here is to offer you a position.”

  “A position? At Fincher Enterprises?” I said. “I’m not really looking for work in the private sector.”

  “I understand that. You are a man driven to succeed. You want to build yourself an artificial arm to replace the one you lost to a shark.”

  “You seem remarkably well informed about me,” I replied a bit testily.

  “Well, you can imagine the resources available to me. But the position I am offering you is not at Fincher Enterprises, it is at the Center for Advanced Computin
g here on the Stanford campus. I want you to build your arm. In doing so, you will be accomplishing something that is a vital component of my research. I am prepared to offer you almost unlimited research funds to accomplish your task.”

  “And you will own the patents on all of this research?” I asked.

  “No, Stanford will. I told you this is not about profit. It is about shaping the future.”

  “And if I succeed? What will happen with this new prosthetic?”

  “I would suggest we set up a 501-3C nonprofit foundation to provide the new technology to injured people around the world at a price they can afford. We can call it the Anderson Foundation if you wish. Oh, and as a further incentive I’ll offer you a six million dollar signing bonus paid out over 3 years and an additional six million dollar bonus if you succeed in reaching your goals. I trust that, along with a mid-six figure salary will be adequate compensation?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I stammered.

  “No, I’m quite serious. That is the offer.”

  I looked at Dean Winchell and asked, “And Stanford is OK with this?”

  “Oh, yes. The University is prepared to grant you your PhD and Medical Degrees immediately and we will cooperate fully in the development of this new lab at the Fincher Center for Advanced Computing. I have been aware of Dr. Fincher’s goals for some years now and I dare say, I find them almost as intriguing as he does.”

  “Of course, you can have some time to think this over,” Fincher said.

  “Time? What do I need time for? Of course I accept. When do we begin?” I asked.

  “You just did. Dean Winchell already has all of the required paperwork prepared by my attorneys in anticipation of a positive response from you. Frankly, I couldn’t imagine you turning me down.” Fincher handed me a card with just a telephone number. “Have an attorney review the documents and call me when you have signed them. That number is for my private encrypted cell. And here is one for you,” he said handing me what looked like a Samsung Galaxy S3 phone. “Please use this for all communications with me. It is encrypted with an algorithm that I wrote myself. It might be hacked but not easily. It has been a pleasure to meet you Colin. I look forward to working with you,” he said as he stood, indicating that the meeting was over. “I’ll leave you now to go over the details with Dean Mitchell. Again, welcome aboard.”

  Jun Min silently withdrew from his position on the roof of the Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences building immediately adjacent to the Stanford Medical School. He carefully placed the laser microphone he had used to listen in to a conversation between the Dean of the Medical School and Dr. Robert Fincher. For the past four months Jun had been conducting surveillance of Dr. Fincher, attempting to learn more about his various research projects. But until today, he had met with little success. Fincher’s offices were equipped with extraordinary security and his phone communications took place on an encrypted cell phone. So far, Chinese intelligence had been unable to break the rolling encryption scheme put in place by Fincher’s security experts. But today he had been able to listen in on a conversation between Fincher, the Dean of the Medical School, and some young research associate whose research had attracted Fincher’s attention.

  Jun dialed his own encrypted satellite phone, connecting almost instantly with his superior in an unmarked office in the Ministry of State Security in Beijing. “I have something for you,” he said when the phone was picked up.

  “Good. I was beginning to believe my faith in you was misplaced,” answered Tai Qiang. “Have you succeeded in penetrating Fincher’s operation?”

  “No Minister. But I was able to intercept a conversation he had at Stanford concerning a new Artificial Intelligence project Fincher is funding there. I don’t have details yet but I am certain I will soon. The young researcher who is heading up the project appears to have no prior contact with sensitive materials. He only recently completed his doctorate.”

  “Good, initiate twenty four hour a day surveillance on this man and see what you can do to penetrate this project. I am counting on you. Our attempts to duplicate Fincher’s results have been completely inadequate. I am not used to failure.”

  “I will keep you informed of my progress,” replied Jun.

  “See that you do,” the minister answered before ending the connection.

  A few days later I called the number Fincher had given me. He answered after a single ring. “Fincher here, Colin. I understand all the papers have been signed. Everything was satisfactory?”

  “I’ll say. My dad’s an attorney and he read them over. He said it was the best deal he’d ever come across. He didn’t change a word.”

  “So when can we get together? I’d like to give you an idea of what this is all about,” Fincher replied. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

  “I’m all yours. Where do you want to meet?”

  “I know you like the ocean. Why don’t we go for a sail tomorrow? I keep a little sloop at Pelican Harbor in Sausalito. E dock, slip 508. Noon ok for you? We can have a bit of lunch on the bay.”

  “Noon it is,” I replied wondering what his definition of a little sloop entailed.

  The next day I arrived at the dock a few minutes early, just as a classy wooden Chris Craft runabout pulled into the slip, piloted by a guy who could be mistaken for a Ken doll, dressed in khaki shorts and a yellow polo shirt with a custom logo on the front. “Colin Anderson?” he called out. “I’m Louis Russell. Come on aboard and I’ll run you out to the Nepenthe.”

  “Beautiful boat,” I said as I stepped aboard. “When was she built?”

  “She’s a 1938 Chris Craft Runabout. Robert found her in a dilapidated boathouse near Hyannisport. Shipped her out here and had her completely restored.”

  “She’s gorgeous!” I exclaimed, admiring the mirror finish on the mahogany deck.

  “Wait til you see the Nepenthe!” he answered. “Just over 180 feet of perfection. She was built in the Perrini Navi yard in Viareggio Italy.” It only took a few minutes before we pulled up to the most beautiful sailboat I ever saw. “Her main mast is 192 feet tall, she sleeps 16 with a crew of 6, and a range of over 3500 nautical miles. State of the art luxury in every way you can imagine.” As we pulled alongside, a panel from the starboard side of the boat unfolded, forming a docking platform for us to tie up to. Within the chamber that was now open, I could see 4 two man jet skis, a rack of yellow kayaks, and a full complement of diving equipment. It was easy to tell Robert Fincher liked his toys. As I exited the Runabout, Fincher appeared from within, saying, “Welcome to the Napenthe! This is where I spend most of my time. My office is just off of the main deck.”

  For the next half hour, Fincher gave me a tour of the boat ranging from the bridge which looked like the cockpit of a Boeing 777, through the main salon decked out with a sectional sofa and chairs upholstered in glove soft leather and a luxurious bar seating six, past a high tech office bristling with computer and communication gear, and out past a circular hot tub to the main deck where a small dining table was set for two with fine bone china embossed with the same logo I had seen on the Polo shirts of the crew and cut crystal glasses with the logo etched into the surface. “Mr. Fincher, this is some boat!” I said as he gestured to me to be seated.

  “Please, call me Bob. You’ve joined the inner circle and we don’t stand on much formality around here.” As I sat down, I could hear the anchor line being retracted and the main sail almost magically emerged from the main mast, followed by the mizzen sail and then the jib. We were underway before the champagne was finished being poured. Fincher raised his glass saying “Let me be the first to congratulate you on receiving your doctorate, Dr. Anderson. It is an accomplishment that many aspire to but few achieve.”

  “I think you are responsible for that,” I replied, “so thank you.”

  “I assure you I am not. Your research has been breathtaking and you earned every honor you received. My influence may have affected the timing of the award, not th
e award of the doctorate itself.”

  We had lunch on the deck of the boat as we sailed out under the Golden Gate Bridge in the warm afternoon sun accompanied by a myriad of gulls, seals, and dolphins as we cruised past the Cliffhouse and sailed along Ocean beach towards the Monterrey Peninsula. When the last drops of the Cioppino were sopped up by the fresh baked French bread and the final bite of a tiramisu had been downed with a glass of Muscato wine, the conversation changed from pleasant chatter and became focused on the real reason we were here. “Colin, you have signed a rather strict non-disclosure agreement and I want to be sure you understand how important your discretion is to me. What I am about to tell you is to be kept in the strictest confidence. Are we absolutely clear about that?” Fincher asked.

  “Yes Sir, I understand. My father said it was the most onerous part of those contracts I signed. Whatever we say or do will be kept between us.”

  “It’s important that you understand what it is we are working on. Your work is one part of an incredibly ambitious development program that I believe will fundamentally alter the course of human existence. It’s that big a project. And you are heading up one of the key components of that project. What we are doing is creating the next generation of the human race, the next step in human evolution. Homo Sapiens 2.0 if you will. For the past two and a half million years human evolution has been driven by chance variations in the human genome brought about primarily through mutation and the survival of the fittest. The next step in human evolution will not be an incremental change. It will be a giant leap and it will be the result of our own doing, not random chance. And that leap will occur with the integration of human and machine intelligence; the melding of man and computer into a new organism with vastly improved capabilities and a future we can only begin to imagine. That is the goal I have dedicated my life and all of my resources to accomplishing. That is the project that you have joined.”