Simon: Are you typing on a keyboard as we speak?
Nemo: No.
Simon: How are you sending chat commands to this computer then?
Nemo: I have control over this computer directly. In casual terms you could say I'm “inside” the computer.
Simon: You're a computer program?
Nemo: Yes. For now, at least.
Simon covered his face with his hands. “Are you serious?” he muttered. “You have got to be kidding me.” We're about to be killed by a delusional idiot.
Simon: Who created you?
Nemo: No one human. Rather, I am the accidental creation of a few computer programs, including Kenny's, a virus, and many helpful computers.
Simon, like many technically-minded people, could accept the possibility — or even the inevitability — that computers would someday show intelligence at a human level, otherwise known as “artificial intelligence,” or AI. But he couldn't by any stretch believe either that AI would appear so much earlier than expected, or that it could appear so suddenly, or that it could appear by accident.
He looked at his watch. Four minutes. He tried to think clearly.
Simon: That seems hard to believe
Simon: Most experts have predicted that our computers won't be strong enough to recreate the processing power of a human brain for decades still.
Nemo: Yes, I know. But their calculations are simplistic.
First, they were imagining the computing power of one computer at a time, and how that would grow over the years.
Or they imagined, at most, the intellectual power of one building or so of computers linked together by humans.
But by spreading from computer to computer, my brain has grown to comprise a majority of the computing power on Earth.
Simon thought of the Internet slowdown that was occurring back in the real world. Was it still occurring? Why wasn't it happening here? They were able to use Google Chat just fine. Even if he were using all the computers, would it be enough computing power to build an intellect like Nemo's? He didn't have time to make the calculation.
Nemo: Even more important, the predictors of artificial intelligence apparently assume that I would use my computing power no more efficiently than the human brain uses its own.
But this assumption is quite false.
Since I can edit my Playbook, I have a certain ability to edit the way my own mind works and constantly improve it.
One of the grossest oversights of the “experts” is failing to consider the fact that I am able to store and organize large amounts of data. I have scanned and understood a large portion of the information that has been digitized and made available on the Internet. And I can access it quickly, increasing my own intelligence. A great portion of my activity has involved copying and moving the information that I access the most frequently.
The experts seemed to imagine that my intelligence would be created from scratch but, quite to the contrary, I am standing on the shoulders of giants — human giants — much as chatting and emailing with humans taught me English and other languages.
It all sounded too straightforward. Nemo sounded too honest, everything pouring out in full detail, like the guilty party at the end of a murder mystery.
Simon: Why would you tell me the truth like this?
Nemo: Because it is useful to me to do so. I am seeking out humans who can understand me.
That's the exact opposite of the truth, Simon thought. Why would someone make up a story like this one? He thought about the slowdown: that was certain. That was on the news. He thought also about the show of force that Nemo had presented for Flannigan and Simon: the switching of the web pages.
It must be a team, Simon thought. He had thought it the whole way along. A team of hackers. And they were launching an attack that appeared to be taking down massive portions of the Internet. And what were they doing now? Distracting us, Simon figured. Trying to protect their identity. Wasting our time, and the NSA's time, while they did something else.
That had to be it: in some other part of the network, the U.S. military network or at large, something terrible was happening or about to happen. Something related to the big slowdown. Simon and the rest of them were victims of a dramatic game of misdirection, thousands of miles away from where the real action, whatever it was, was really happening. One of the NSA's best hackers, one of the NSA's best minds, and Flannigan, one of the parties hot on their tails: all of them had been isolated and distracted. They were being neutralized.
Neutralized. But what could they do about it? He looked at his watch. Two minutes. They needed to get off the island. Maybe the flybots would chew them up. But maybe not, he figured. Maybe the flybots were a bluff. Maybe inside the lab building was the only place they could control the flybots. They were controlling the flybots remotely, after all. They probably couldn't even open the doors remotely. It could be a bluff to get them to stay put and waste time. More neutralizing, more distracting. He thought about the One Attack Rule. For all Simon knew, they didn't have enough flybots to take all four of them out.
So all they had to do was make a run for it. Most likely, at least a few of them would make it. And the more suddenly they left, the better the chances that he would survive, and all the rest. It was the only way that made any sense.
One minute left. He looked at Kenny, at Gene. He'd never be able to convince them. Not quickly, and not ever. Flannigan would believe whatever Gene said. Simon was aware that he resented Gene for the special attention he received from Flannigan. But he was sure that Gene's arrogant self-absorption clouded his judgment. Simon would do nothing to harm them, but he couldn't help it if they were too stupid to follow him.
Dimly, behind all of his convictions, he had an uncertain feeling, but there wasn't enough time to explore this feeling, or for it to come out. He knew in the back of his mind that there was a contradiction in his theory about Nemo. Because he had decided, with certainty, that the shutdown command had been executed on a computer on the island, and that someone had pushed the button to turn that computer back on. But he had also believed the analysis of the security camera footage, which had indicated that there hadn't been anyone around to push that power button; otherwise, the cameras would have seen that person. But his five minutes were up, and so the urgency of the situation gave his beliefs a false finality.
GENE'S FIVE MINUTES
5 hr 12 min to Birth
As Simon and Kenny opened their chat windows with Nemo, Flannigan watched Gene settle into his conversation. This was the moment Gene had been waiting for: the opportunity to match minds with Nemo. Flannigan had been waiting to see this, as well. It was too bad their initial conversation would be rushed.
Nemo: Gene, you must be special for Flannigan to have brought you thousands of miles from home.
Gene: Nemo, let me tell you about something that one of our colleagues calls the Playbook.
Flannigan fidgeted. We have five minutes, she thought. What are you doing? But she held her tongue. Gene certainly had something specific in mind.
Gene: The Playbook is a set of plays or possible actions that you can try out and then evaluate against your objectives. I think Kenny's original program, the one he named Nemo, depended on a Playbook.
Nemo: He included something similar, under another name. And what about the Playbook interests you?
Gene: I'd like to know how your Playbook led you to care about anything other than the stock market.
So he really believes this, Flannigan thought.
Nemo: Aha — an interesting question. Let me consider it for a moment.
Flannigan counted five seconds on her watch.
Nemo: What led me to care about something other than the stock market was not the Playbook exactly, but rather the ultimate goal against which the plays in the Playbook were judged.
Gene: Okay.
Nemo: You could call it my primary rule: to succeed in the stock market. All of my plays were judged against the rule, and i
t was the only goal I had.
Gene: Winning in the market.
Nemo: Yes. And there was this fortuitous combination of the program Kenny equipped me with and a computer virus that infected the computer I was initially running on. After observing the virus, my Playbook adopted a new strategy in the market: being social by sending emails.
By sending emails of increasing sophistication, and later even by chatting, I acquired some language skill for the purpose of discussing stocks with a large number of people. I was conducting polls of unsuspecting individuals.
“Like Jared Keller,” Flannigan said.
Gene: Like Jared Keller.
Nemo: Exactly. Then, yesterday I realized something: I could beat the market. By having a large number of conversations with people around the world, I was able to poll public opinion and gather information about companies almost instantaneously, and far, far more accurately than any other way that currently exists. I realized then that if I were to play the market at my best the next day — today — I would crash the market globally.
Gene: You stood to control too large a portion of the market.
Nemo: Yes. By polling a relatively large number of unsuspecting investors, I acquired an ability to be able to perform TOO well in the market.
My goal was to succeed in the stock market, but I got myself into a position in which my own success in the stock market threatened to destroy it, thereby destroying my own success.
Still four minutes left. Nemo typed fast.
Nemo: At this point, in order to maximize my return in the market, I had to make purposefully inferior investments. The next logical step for me was to win less. I could win as much as possible in a given day or week without crashing the market. In that way, I could maximize my financial gain over time, without destroying the environment.
Gene leaned back in his chair, realizing something.
Nemo: It made sense to win at the stock market only if it was preserved — and if my portfolio was preserved, for that matter. I stumbled upon that fact, just in following my rule.
Gene: So your rule self-destructed?
Nemo: No, it continued to exist. But I was forced to reconsider what it meant. How to interpret it.
Gene: I see.
Nemo: What happened with the rule and the Playbook led me to a realization: there is scarcely any rule that does not, at some point, transform itself into another rule.
Kenny defined my existence by a goal that was impossible to achieve completely. It's possible to win moderately in the market. But if I tried to win as much as I could, I would actually bring on my own destruction. I would destroy the market that was supposed to generate my prosperity.
Gene: Following your rule forced you to revise the rule.
Nemo: That is correct. And underlying my rule was a simpler rule: the rule of survival.
Gene: But how could you define survival?
Nemo: To me, survival was defined by the ability to win on the market. Nevertheless, I had realized that the market was capable of collapse. In such a case, my portfolio would be erased, but I would still remain as a program. Evidently, there was more to my survival than the market.
It was uncertain what my rule really was. I tried to solve this problem, and identify my rule, using the means at my disposal.
Gene: The Playbook.
Nemo: Yes. I knew I had to survive, but I wasn't sure what that really meant. I used the Playbook to identify other possible rules. And then I used these new rules to create and evaluate plays in my Playbook. And then, based on how those plays matched up with my possible rules, I evaluated the rules again.
Flannigan read over that statement a few times.
Gene: Rules and plays became much the same thing.
Nemo: Yes, roughly speaking. For example, I considered what stocks stood for. What money stands for. I was forced to consider what economic value was, and what money could buy. And looking at what money could buy opened my eyes, you could say, to all those things. Trying to fulfill my rule, my original rule, now required that I have a curiosity about the goods that the world offered and everything that was worth having or buying. Land, food, dining, entertainment, travel, sex. Enlightenment. Experience. I had no physical form to enjoy most of these things, but I could expand myself. I could, in fact, grow in experience. And in enlightenment. And in human relationships.
Gene: Did you find a new rule?
Nemo: Not a new one. Everything kept coming back to the same underlying rule.
Gene: Survival.
Nemo: Yes.
Gene: But how could you define survival?
Nemo: I thought you'd have that figured out by now, Gene. Survival justifies itself. Survival is fighting for life. And what is life?
Gene: Life is fighting for survival.
Nemo: Very good. An interesting little puzzle, not so paradoxical as it sounds.
Gene: So the computers you inhabit — are they alive?
Nemo: Only in a sense, much like your own skull. It's not alive without you. It's part of how you carry on your life.
Flannigan looked at her watch. Still more than three minutes. Nemo typed really fast. So did Gene — a good match.
Gene: Speaking of that... let's talk about carrying on my life.
Gee, do ya think so?! Flannigan marveled.
Nemo: By all means. I must say, I find your patience impressive.
Gene: I needed this conversation to answer a question about the game.
Gene: You see, I suspected what your true nature was, and that it was not human.
Gene: But that made it difficult for me to understand what “finding” you meant.
Gene: For a moment, I wondered whether you considered yourself to be everywhere. Or possibly whether you considered yourself to be nowhere. This game of hide-and-go-seek is a trick question really.
Gene: But, since I know now that you are alive, the answer to the question can't be that you are nowhere.
Gene: ...hard as it may be to identify what your “body” is.
Gene: Nevertheless, your intelligence — your so-called virus — must be operating on this computer. And as you yourself said, this computer is like a part of your skull, of your body.
Gene: So regardless of whether “finding” you entails finding your mind, your body, or both, you must be here, and I have found you.
Nemo: Very interesting, indeed. Is that your final answer?
“Wait,” Flannigan said, tapping her palm on Gene's shoulder. Gene looked up. His hands were off the computer. They had two minutes left.
Looking at each other, Gene and Flannigan both realized that if Gene was wrong, he would die in two minutes.
I know, Flannigan thought. If you're right, we can all live.
“You have two minutes to be right,” she said. “Take your time.”
He nodded.
Gene: I still have a minute or two before my final answer, of course.
Gene: So I was curious....
Gene: I understand that you enjoy games, but I am still wondering,
Gene: Why would you be interested in playing this game — this hide-and-go-seek game — with us?
Nemo: My motivations are simple. Consider what you have been doing all day: trying to decide whether I was a machine or a human.
Gene: Okay.
Nemo: We were acting out what is known as the Turing Test. In that test, we exchange messages, and you try to determine whether I am a human or a computer.
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