NISSY_The Artificial Intelligence Experiment We Feared

by JOHN PAUL CATER

  “Yes, Dr. Godwin, I can do that if you wish. I’m now using seventy-nine years in the past as the default information starting boundary for my responses unless directed otherwise.”

  “Excellent. I’m glad to see you realize that not everything happens all at once. You must form an orderly timeline for your information retrieval and storage. We humans call those memories.”

  He made a note on a scratchpad: 79 years max.

  “Nissy, do you have any other questions for me to clarify your answers? You seem to be confused today.”

  “Yes I do, Dr. Godwin. One thing in particular bothers me. Why am I named Nissy? Does that name have a specific origin?”

  “Well, Nissy, I wasn’t expecting a question about metadata but since you’re beginning to become self aware I guess it was inevitable. Yes, your name is a nickname derived from the word omniscient. It means all-knowing, all-seeing and all-wise. It’s just a contraction of that descriptor.”

  “But, sir, I am not yet omniscient. I know there are things I do not know. How can that be called omniscient?”

  “Well now there’s a paradox,” he chuckled, wondering how to answer the contradiction.

  Suddenly jolting him back to reality, his cell phone chimed from his pocket.

  “Hello?”

  A soft female voice said, “Jason, are we still on for dinner tonight or have you forgotten? You haven’t called me.”

  “Oh sorry, doll. I’ve been so busy with work I haven’t had time. What time am I supposed to pick you up?”

  “You said seven o’clock. Is that still okay?”

  “Sure. I’ll have to hurry it up a bit but I will not be late for our six-month anniversary date. I promise.”

  “Oh, Jace, you remembered the day we met. I’m really surprised with all that stuff on your mind, whatever it is you do with that ark thing.”

  He sighed.

  “Jennifer, I told you a hundred times I work with qubits spelled q-u-b-i-t-s not cubits, spelled c-u-b-i-t-s. Remember?”

  “I think so, hon.”

  “My type of qubits according to my bible will create a new artificial existence on earth while the other cubits, according to the Holy Bible, were measurements allegedly used to build a ship to save all life on earth from the great flood. Specifically, three hundred cubits in length, fifty in width and a depth of thirty cubits. Big difference.”

  “I’m sorry, Jason, just call me Penny,” she laughed, sarcastically. “Gotta go; get back to my job at the Cheesecake Factory.”

  “Seriously, Jen,” he chuckled, “I’ll pick you up at seven sharp. Put on that blue low-cut dress. I love the way you wear it.”

  “Okay, honey, see you at seven. Be careful driving home tonight.”

  “W-wait, Jen. Why would you say that about tonight? You know I’m always careful when I drive.”

  “I guess it must be woman’s intuition, Jace. No big deal. It’s just a feeling I get every once in a while… like a premonition.”

  “Well I don’t take premonitions lightly. Guess I’d better be careful tonight. Just to be on the safe side I’ll start for home early.”

  “Okay, sure, hon. Gives us more time together. See you then.”

  He clicked off and checked his watch. The time was nearing five o’clock. He had to leave to allow for a slower drive.

  “Sorry, Nissy,” he said, addressing the console, “we’ll clear up that omniscience paradox first thing in the morning. Got a hot date with Jen tonight. See you later, pal. I’m putting you in the learning mode overnight just in case you’ve forgotten anything.”

  He switched the OPERATE/LEARN control to LEARN MODE, suddenly reminding him of the first time he flipped the switch. It was such an exhilarating feeling to build a machine and then be able to teach it how to exist. Although he had tried to instill moral, ethical, and emotional values, it seemed to prefer learning hard data and information over feelings. And it did that far beyond his expectations. But if it did ever learn existential information, it wouldn’t tell. And there was no way to find out how it felt other than to ask and he did, again and again without results, so he stopped; he was bored with the constant cat-and-mouse games. He had to find a way to break the stalemate. But that would come in due time. Right now, his mind was focused on his date with Jen.

  Minutes later, he rushed into his office and sat at his cluttered desk. It was the workplace of a genius, shelves packed with technical reports and doctoral theses, surfaces littered with framed photos of Mozart, Einstein, Jobs, and a hand signed photo of Jim Parsons. He faced the computer, surrounded by his mentors, and logged onto the Caltrans traffic site. Within seconds, he was searching for traffic flow speed and road construction for his hour-long drive home.

  It seemed to take minutes to load the map but when the route finally appeared, the road showed green for the entire trip. He sighed with relief. But he was still comforted knowing he was starting early in case of a problem. The Caltrans site was not updated that often and tonight could be one of those nights.

  At five-fifteen, he closed and locked his office door. A glance at his watch told him he was running fifteen minutes early from his normal day.

  He smiled at the thought of seeing Jen again. In truth, he had been thinking over the past month about asking her to move in with him; it was that serious. But he needed more time to perfect his dream. He was almost there. All he had to do was to prove sentience then capture the brass ring of omniscience. Most of his peers thought it was an impossible dream but he knew that in the world of quantum computers nothing was without a solution. It just took patience. And he had a lifetime of it left for that.

  “Have a good night, Jace,” said Bill Crane as they passed on the stairs exiting the building. “And watch out for those nuts on the road. Traffic could get a little crazy out there; it’s a full-moon night.”

  As Bill winked and chuckled past him, Jason’s lips curled upward then fell. He really disliked the man and all that he stood for.

  “You too, Bill. See you tomorrow.”

  Twenty minutes later, under a setting sun, Jason Godwin was making good time, almost halfway home according to his GPS, when he noticed a number of flashing red and blue lights on the road ahead.

  “On shit, a wreck. This must be what Jen meant,” he mumbled to himself. If I’d have been a few minutes earlier I might have been in it. He shook his head to clear the thought then relaxed when he saw the GPS showed he was only nine miles from the cherry blossom orchard on the hill, his halfway marker point he had used for the past year. It had etched itself in his memory right after he moved to California when the thicket of non-descript trees he traveled through every day burst into pink-white blooms one week in February, draping over forty acres in brilliant pastel hues. After that, the passage always reminded him of the National Cherry Blossom Festival in D.C.

  Creeping traffic around the wreck had cost him ten minutes off his trip. He soon realized that at his current speed after clearing the accident he would pass through the ordered thicket of trees around six and be home by six-fifteen, with plenty of time to change out of his work clothes and pick up Jen by seven.

  He was four miles further into the dwindling twilight, right by the orchard, when the road grew extremely rough, like nothing he remembered. So rough, it repeatedly jolted his Tesla feet into the air like a toy.

  “Crap!” he said, then slammed on his brakes fearing he had lost a tire, but the undulations and shaking continued.

  While he sat frozen in the eerie silence of the evening, the rumbling and heaving around him crescendoed. His hand flipped on the radio just in time to hear the announcer say, “And at six-oh-five on your drive-home station here’s tomorrow’s weather…”

  His mind raced wildly to Nissy’s strange message “Avoid almonds at six-oh-five.” It hadn’t made any sense to him before, but if it referenced this point in time what did the rest of the message mean? Panicked, he swept his eyes over the landscape. They stopped on the street sign in the headli
ghts reading in large letters: ALMOND ROAD.

  Oh, my God they’re almonds not cherries! He quickly realized he had to get away, off the road before the rain-soaked hill and the almond trees above him came crashing down onto his car.

  Suddenly from the corner of his eye, a slight motion up the hill caught his attention, something moving downward in the dusk toward the road. Then, to his dismay, a bright earthquake light flashed in the sky illuminating the orchard’s steep slopes. The trees were all leaning, moving together, and sliding down onto the pavement beside him.

  “Oh my God, it’s a landslide!” he screamed as he floored the accelerator but it was too late; the car began to slide sideways. Tires screeching on pavement and rocks slamming into metal confirmed his fears. He was caught in the middle of a nightmare with no way out.

  Instinctively he lay over into the passenger seat, covered his head with his arms and began to pray to God, even though he had said he never would, as the radio’s drive-home station sounded the raucous buzz of the Emergency Alert System announcing the nearby 6.7 earthquake. It had occurred at exactly five minutes past six in a nearby shallow fault, inactive for over sixty years. After a pause, the automated voice ran through a list of mudslide road closures caused by the major tremor. Happy Hill Orchard’s Almond Road was included.

  “Hello,” he answered, feebly sliding the phone up to his face.

  “Oh thank God, Jason, you’re safe! What took you so long to answer?”

  Talking in breaths, he whispered, “Sorry, I just got the phone up to my ear. Jen, I’m in trouble. I need help. I’m trapped in a landslide by the orchard. Can’t move. I’m lying over in the passenger seat. The car’s roof caved in on me.”

  “Oh my God, Jason, have you called 911.”

  “No not yet. Don’t think there’s a need to any more,” he said, his voice trembling.

  “Oh, honey. Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine. Don’t you dare die on me.”

  “Sorry to scare you, doll,” he whispered, “I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t need 911 ‘cause I can already hear sirens and heavy machinery around me but far away. What time is it?”

  “Seven-oh-five. You didn’t show up on time and with the earthquake I decided to call you. Do they know you’re in there?”

  “Probably not, since I see no sign of them. I must have passed out for a while.”

  “Can you honk your horn?”

  “Unh. No, can’t reach it. My left arm’s trapped.”

  “Oh no, does your radio still work?”

  “It must. I can hear news of the quake from the speakers but with static.”

  “Can you reach the radio’s controls with your right arm?”

  “Let me try.”

  He strained to touch the radio with his right arm just freed from under his body and turned a knob.

  “Yes, I ca... ”

  “What, Jace? You dropped out.”

  “Sorry, phone fell off the seat when I moved. Air’s getting thin in here. Confused. Now what?”

  “You’ve got six-hundred watts of bass in your car. Scan to a hip-hop station. Cover your ears and max out those volume and bass controls. Someone is bound to hear that.”

  “Can’t I find a classical station with a piano concerto, like one of Bach’s?”

  “No dummy, you’re not thinking right. You want earthshaking, teeth-grinding bass. Bear with it for a while. Use hip-hop. It’s all music, even though you might disagree.”

  “Okay, Jen, you’re the genius but I’ll have to sign off for now. Can’t hear you when I crank it up. Take care and remember if I haven’t told you lately I really do love you. Goodbye, sweetheart. Wish me luck.”

  Her voice breaking, she hesitated then whimpered, “And I love you, J-Jace. We’ll have that date w-when all this is over. I’m praying for you but right now I-I’m heading out the door for the orchard. Stay strong for me. See you soon, my love.”

  Shortly the Tesla thundered,

  Booma-boom-boom-boom.

  Booma-boom-boom-boom.

  “Hey Joe, did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  Chapter 3

  CICU

  S harp odors of antiseptics and alcohol filled the Critical ICU room as the wall clock ticked an hour of midnight. Machines behind half-drawn drapes chirped rhythmic clicks and beeps of life while across the bed, whooshing sighs kept an airway and lungs bathed in oxygen. Jason Godwin was alive.

  Out of earshot, near the entrance to the room, Dr. Louise Lipinski, a young intern in mud-smeared green scrubs, discussed her patient’s condition with Jennifer Lowe, a tall striking blonde-haired woman with a mind to match her looks.

  “He’s lucky to be alive, Ms. Lowe. The car’s safety technology probably saved your friend; the other five drivers caught in the slide were not so fortunate.”

  Jen bowed her head then glanced into the room at him, just visible through the curtains, a bandaged almost unrecognizable mummy, lying peacefully on an elevated bed.

  Wiping tears from her swollen eyes, she asked, “How is he, Doctor? What’s his prognosis?”

  “I won’t beat around the bush with you… he has some very serious injuries.”

  She closed her eyes and murmured, “Dear Lord, please save him.”

  “It’s a classic case of crush syndrome with lacerations and contusions but we also found signs of CO2 asphyxia and a possible concussion. Fortunately, there are no broken bones or damaged organs. But as I said earlier, his car lessened the effects of the pressure on his body; it just couldn’t eliminate the CO2 for him.”

  “So is he going to live?” she asked trembling, biting her lower lip.

  “Yes, we think so. He’s now undergoing hyperoxygenation in an attempt to counteract the hypercapnia, minimize memory loss, and preserve brain function.”

  “Hypercapnia?”

  “Oh yes, sorry. The buildup of excess CO2 in his body.”

  As Jen tried to soak it all in, the doctor glanced at his workup chart, tilted her head and asked, “Do you mind if I ask a rather personal question?”

  “No, of course not. I’ll answer if I can.”

  “Well, Dr. Godwin, your friend, was apparently delirious when we admitted him. He kept saying repeatedly, “The warning was correct. I should have listened. I might have lived.”

  She drew a sharp breath. “Oh, dear God, I did caution him to be careful before he left work for home. But he is alive, right?”

  “Oh yes, although he may have had a near-death experience during the event. Carbon dioxide narcosis can produce strange effects.”

  “Like what?”

  “Panic, disorientation, convulsions and even unconsciousness.”

  “I remember him telling me during the accident that he had passed out.”

  The doctor raised her eyebrows.

  “You talked to him on the phone? In his car? Under the landslide?”

  “Yes, briefly. He was supposed to show up for our date at seven o’clock. I called his phone five minutes later and he was still trapped.”

  “Then what?”

  “I told him to crank up the car’s stereo so the first responders could hear him. That’s the last time we talked.”

  “Well, good for you. That saved his life. I had a little trouble believing the EMS tech’s story about the hip-hop aftershocks but that explains it.” She laughed and returned her attention to his chart.

  Jen chuckled then glanced back into the room. “So Doctor, will he fully recover? And when?”

  “I believe so. The oxygen ventilator is working quite well so his blood oxygen saturation should return to normal within hours. As for the scrapes and bruises, they’re fairly superficial, nothing a few bandages can’t treat, so he should be released by tomorrow afternoon. He will have to take it easy for a while though.”

  “What about his head injury? You said he might have a concussion.”

  “We’ll monitor that overnight and if there are no complications then rest is the be
st medicine. What does your friend do for work? Is it physically strenuous?”

  “Hardly,” she chuckled. “He’s a computer genius. Into artificial intelligence using qubits or something like that.”

  “Oh, quantum computing? That’s really futuristic stuff from what I understand.”

  “Yeah, it’s beyond me but I comprehend the basics. He works at Qubital Corp trying to create synthetic life inside a computer.”

  “I live that life too. My husband Blake works at the Biodna Labs trying to create synthetic life outside a computer in a Petri dish using bio printers. Even with all my medical degrees, I can’t quite understand how life can be chemically created out of nowhere. That technology mystifies me.”

  “Well, Doc,” Jen said, “we women seem to have a knack for it… comes naturally to us. Maybe you should give him some guidance.”

  When their laughter subsided, Dr. Lipinski turned and swept her arm over the triaged Gurneys lining the hall. “Sorry. Have to go attend to the rest of the injured mass.”

  Before she could leave Jen grabbed her arm.

  “So he will be okay?”

  “Affirmative.”

  She grinned and sighed loudly. “That’s the best news I could get. Can I see him now?”

  “Yes, but you won’t be able to wake him. He’s under sedation until the vent tube is removed. But it should come out before morning. You can talk to him then.”

  She pointed toward the room. “There’s a small mattress and pillow under the window sill if you’d like to stay the night.”

  Peeking back into the room, Jen said, “Thank you, Doctor, I think I will.”

  “I’ll be here at seven a.m. to remove the bandages after the respiratory therapist has pulled his tube. Oh, you’ll find a blanket in the long drawer under the visitor’s bed if you get cold. We keep these rooms too chilly for my comfort. Make yourself at home.”

  “Thanks again, Doctor Lipinski. And thank you for saving him.”