Avogadro Corp: The Singularity Is Closer Than It Appears (Singularity Series)

by William Hertling

  Mike boarded his flight at 5:30 in the morning, and found himself in his seat, not quite sure of how he had gotten there. When had he last seen his father? It had been a year ago, over the Christmas break. No, he realized with a pang of guilt. He’d been dating someone, and went to Mexico with her for the holidays. Was it two years then?

  He pictured his dad’s face as it was the last time he saw him. He was healthy then. Why, his mother had posted photos on Flickr of an all day hike that she and Mike’s dad had done that summer. He was still active.

  Six hours later, after anguishing over his father’s health the entire time and feeling increasingly guilty for not visiting sooner, he arrived at Madison Airport terminal. It was just before lunch, local time, and snow flurries were starting to come down while the plane taxied to the gate. Mike tried his mom again by mobile phone while the plane was taxiing in, but the call went right to voicemail. He tried not to get frustrated as he craned his head over the crowd on the plane. Why couldn’t his mother keep her mobile phone on?

  He absentmindedly thought that there should be a mobile phone app for monitoring the condition of someone checked into a hospital. He gritted his teeth in yet more frustration with himself. Even at a critical time, he still couldn’t stop his brain from coming up with more ideas. He glanced again at the email from his mother.

  From: JoAnn Williams

  To: Mike Williams

  Subject: your father

  Body:

  Mike, your father had a heart attack this morning. He is in the critical care ward at Meriter Hospital. I’m at the hospital with him. Sorry to send this email, but cell phones don’t work here, and there’s a computer in the room here. I know you check your email constantly.

  Please fly out on the next plane you can get and meet us at the hospital. Hurry!

  Meriter was one of the larger hospitals in Madison. Mike picked up a rental car at the airport, and swore at himself as he heavy-footed the throttle and sent the wheels spinning. The snowfall was getting heavier, and by the time he parked at the hospital, there was a two inch accumulation on the ground.

  Turning his coat collar up, Mike made his way to the visitor’s entrance. He gave his father’s name at the reception desk as he briskly rubbed his hands together. He hadn’t been thinking clearly. He was dressed for the above-freezing temperatures of Portland, not the twenty degree temperatures of Madison. The white-haired receptionist slowly shook her head and asked Mike again for the name. Mike told her again, spelling it out carefully. Mike waited, bouncing on his heels with anxiety as she searched again.

  “Sorry, son. There’s no record that your father is here.”

  “That’s impossible. My mother said he was here. He had a heart attack yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry, but there’s no record of him being here.”

  “Could he have been here, but checked out? Could they be here under my mother’s name?”

  The receptionist checked again, and checked for his mother’s name, but sadly shook her head both times. “I’m real sorry. Could they be at another hospital?”

  Mike looked again at the email from his mother, which clearly stated Meriter Hospital. He supposed his mother could have made a mistake, being worried herself. He jumped as the phone buzzed in his hand.

  A new email from his mother. Cryptically it told him to come to his parent’s home in Boscobel, a two hour drive. Mike looked back out through the lobby doors. A two hour drive in good weather, and a three or four hour drive in what was now looking like a serious snowstorm.

  Mike thanked the receptionist, and walked away to a corner of the lobby. Sitting on a bench next to a towering potted plant, Mike called his parent’s house phone, only to hear the buzzing tone he knew indicated the landlines were down. He cursed the phone company. It was a frequent occurrence for his parent’s rural town during heavy snows, which was the only reason he had even gotten his mother to get mobile phones for herself and his father. He tried their mobile phones again, but was bounced to voicemail.

  He replied to his mother’s email, and sat on the bench. The receptionist smiled at him, and he wanly smiled back, and then avoided looking at the counter again. He waited ten minutes for a response, phone in a sweaty death grip. His mother never answered him. The odds were good that Internet access was out if the phone lines were out too. He was confused. How had she sent the latest email to him?

  At last Mike trudged reluctantly back to the car, and settled in for the drive to Boscobel. He couldn’t imagine what the hell had inspired his mother to tell him to fly into Madison if there was no record of them at the hospital. He played out different options in his mind. He had wondered again if his mother had gotten the hospital wrong. If they had been at a different hospital, and that other hospital had released his father, it was conceivable that they could be home already. But why would his parents have gone all the way to Madison unless the heart attack was quite serious? He turned on his blinker and merged onto the highway.

  Mike felt emotionally wrung out from hours of concern over his dad, and physically tired from flying all morning. Then he drove almost four grueling hours with no tire chains in a snowstorm that threatened to shut down the highway. When he finally arrived at his parents’ driveway, he released his aching hands from the steering wheel and closed his eyes for a minute.

  Then he opened the car door and stepped out into a foot of snow. The house was already decorated with Christmas lights, and smoke rose from the chimney. He walked up the path to the house feeling the snow leaking into his sneakers, and rang the doorbell.

  His mother opened the front door a few seconds later, her face turning to an expression of total shock. What was he doing there a week early, and in a blizzard of all things, and come in of course. His mother’s words came out tumbling all over each other.

  Then he suddenly found himself standing in his parent’s living room. The Christmas tree was up already, and a fire blazed in the background. His mother wore a dress, and had an apron on, just as she always did. His father came up wearing a wool sweater, giving him a rough hug. Mike was so glad to see his father feeling healthy and hale, he started crying.

  “What is going on?” his mother finally asked. “You aren’t supposed to be here until next week. Why the crying?”

  Mike pulled out his phone. “Mom, I got this email from you saying that Dad was in the hospital with a heart attack. It said to fly out right away. I’ve been traveling since 5 am.”

  “I haven’t sent no such thing. My God son, how worried you must have been.” She rubbed his arm with one hand, and pushed him into the room with the other.

  “So Dad’s fine? There was no heart attack?”

  “No, of course not. If your father had a heart attack, do you think I’d send you an email? I’d call you, of course.” She frowned at him, and gave the phone Mike still held in his hand an even darker look. “I don’t know what that is, but I didn’t send it.”

  Mike stood in the middle of the living room speechless.

  “Come on then, don’t just stand there. Come in the kitchen with me.” She bustled toward the kitchen, somehow pushing and pulling him simultaneously until he found himself in the kitchen. “I don’t know if this is a late lunch, or an early dinner, but I just can’t welcome you home properly without a meal.”

  There was bratwurst of course, and mashed potatoes, and after dinner his mother pulled out a warm kringle from somewhere. Trust his mother to make all his favorites, and with less apparent effort than Mike exerted making himself spaghetti. Not for the first time, he wondered how his mother did it.

  Then they ate and then sat around the kitchen table drinking coffee, and reminiscing. Mike looked around at his parents’ dining room, the wood and glass china cabinet looking unchanged since he was a teenager. During one of his father’s stories about getting stuck on a rural dirt road with a couple of his lodge buddies, Mike started thinking about the emails again. He abruptly thought about what David had told him about turning
on ELOPe.

  It had been in David’s kitchen, just last night. David admitted that he had turned on ELOPe to help get support for the servers they needed. They toasted the success of the project, how persuasive ELOPe had been. But what exactly had David done?

  Was there some chance that ELOPe could have sent the emails? Chills raised the hair on the back of Mike’s neck as he thought about it. The idea seemed preposterous. Was ELOPe sending spurious emails to everyone with an AvoMail account? Surely that would have been noticed. The alternative was even more shocking, that somehow ELOPe would have intentionally targeted him. Why would it send him on a wild goose chase halfway across the country to a land-locked town with downed phone lines and lousy cell phone service?

  Mike had meant the question as a joke to himself, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized just how out of touch he was. He palmed his phone, which still had no signal, desperately wanting to log into Avogadro’s network so he could verify the log files, and lacking that, to talk to David to find out in detail just what he had done.

  He looked up to see his parents staring at him, his mother with a little frown for him taking out his phone at the table. He apologized, and asked to borrow his parent’s house phone just to find that indeed, the lines were out. That meant no internet service, either. And there was no mobile phone signal.

  Pacing back and forth in the privacy of the kitchen, Mike thought about the design of ELOPe. The intended real-world use of ELOPe would be to offer language optimization suggestions to the Avogadro’s AvoMail customers. But in fact, the suggestions could be automated — there was code in there to do just that. In fact, they had used the automated suggestions during their human factors testing to automatically modify preexisting emails. Not only had the human factors testing shown that the recipients preferred the emails modified by ELOPe substantially, they also had not been able to tell the difference between a genuine human generated email and an ELOPe modified email, even when they knew one had been modified by a computer.

  In fact, it was after that experiment that one of the guys on the team had given ELOPe the ability to generate emails without any human based text. It was just for the development team to have fun with, and so it could only be triggered from a hidden module. You could put any goal into the module parameters and it would generate emails. It was surprisingly good and around April Fools Day there had been no end of practical jokes among the team.

  Stranded now in a snowstorm in the middle of Wisconsin with no connection to the outside world, Mike found himself wondering if ELOPe had just social engineered him into this situation. If so, to what end?

  Chapter 7

  “Mike, I hope your dad is OK. Christine and I have been thinking about you guys, and our prayers are with you and your family. I was hoping to hear back from you by now, but we’ve seen the weather report, and know that phone and power lines are out across half of Wisconsin. That’s one hell of a storm. I think you know that Christine and I are going to visit her parents in New Mexico for the holiday. I’ll keep my phone with me. Please give me a call when you get this message. I’ve got something important to discuss with you. I’m worried about ELOPe. I’m going to be somewhat incommunicado while we’re at Christine’s parents’ place, but keep trying me.”

  David hung up, and looked over to where his wife waited with their suitcases. In truth, he normally loved going to the ranch Christine grew up on in New Mexico for the holidays. He had grown up as a city boy, but found deep pleasure in the outdoors. Going to their ranch was one of the highlights of his year. Especially in the middle of the rainy Portland winter.

  Unfortunately, he was far from joy at the moment. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure that ELOPe was somehow originating emails on its own. He still hoped that he and Mike could take care of it without telling anyone else. He was becoming more afraid for his career by the minute. If he did anything that materially affected the Avogadro Mail service on top of the deceptions he’d already done, he’d never work there or at any of the other big Internet companies again. It was no wonder his throat felt tight, and his stomach a boiling pit of despair.

  He hadn’t been able to remove the code changes without Mike’s help. And now, to top it off, David was headed out of town. He couldn’t cancel his trip with Christine on an unconfirmed fear, nor did he really want her to know how worried he was.

  The only consolation, and it was a small one, was the holiday break. Most people at Avogadro would be out of the office. With a little luck, there wouldn’t be that much that ELOPe could do with so little email moving around. But he still hoped that it was just his own worries running away with themselves.

  Christine was gesturing at him from the terminal gate, and he could see people boarding the plane. Reluctantly, he got up and went over to her, managing a weak smile. He gripped his luggage tightly and followed Christine toward the plane.

  He tried to tell himself that when they got back from New Mexico, everything would be fine, just perfectly normal. He’d be able to laugh at everything that he was so worried about now. Meanwhile, a stiff drink, or better yet, two stiff drinks, would be really nice.

  * * *

  Bill Larry flew out by helicopter to visit ODC #4 again. Since his last visit, the standard “data center in a box” cargo containers had been replaced with specially hardened units, and iRobot had delivered their automated defenses.

  On this visit, for the first time, in order to land on the floating helicopter pad, Bill had to authorize their visit via the iRobot services administrator before the helicopter took off. It unnerved Bill to step onto the deck of the ODC knowing that robots with lethal force were onboard the vessel. He realized that part of his unease came from the lack of positive feedback. Unlike with a person, there was no obvious way to know that the robots were in stand-down mode. They just stood there like any other piece of machinery.

  He inspected one of the deck robots, more than a little terrified that it would suddenly lurch into motion and kill him. The robot looked like a miniature tank. It was about four feet long, three feet wide, and three feet tall. It had treads like a tank on either side of a small lower chassis that contained the motors and power supply. A rectangular box on a hinged and rotating scissor arm extended up another three feet. The rectangular box look incongruously like a box of roses he had once bought for his ex-wife.

  He ran his fingers over the glass panes that he knew covered the optical and infrared sensors. Small metal covers would presumably retract to expose the armament. Peering around it, he looked for the directional acoustic sensors that must be there, somewhere. He knew infrared lighting and cameras, as well as sonar, allowed the robot to see in 3D even when normal visibility was obscured. Speakers allowed the robot to instruct would-be attackers to back off. If they failed to obey, the robot had several non-lethal deterrents. It could emit pepper spray in a 60 degree arc and it could fire taser-like electrical shocks directly in front of it. The same speakers that would tell attackers to back off could deliver a 18.9Hz acoustic blast that would vibrate the eyeballs of anyone within thirty feet. It was supposed to be incredible painful and disorienting. Should the non-lethal defenses fail to be sufficient deterrent, as a last resort, the robot was armed with two hundred 10mm, body-armor piercing rounds that were more compact than traditional rifle rounds, yet powerful enough to stop anyone they hit.

  In theory, all of this would be under the control of a trained iRobot handler. The handlers had a central location from which they monitored defensive robots around the world for a variety of civilian customers. Bill had seen videos, and it was not dissimilar to what contracted security companies did for old fashioned corporate security, except that the handlers were mostly pimple-faced kids who looked like they spent most of their time playing video games.

  When the robots sounded the alarm, the handlers could take immediate action from their remote location to deter the pirates. That was the normal course of action, and it didn’t scare Bill to
o badly. Knowing that there was a human being on the other end of the camera, well that wasn’t too bad, even if they were teenage video gamers.

  Bill took his hand away from the metal casing of the bot and stepped back. If an iRobot handler didn’t take control of the robot — if their signal were actively jammed, if increment weather interfered with that signal, or if the handlers were swamped with too many simultaneous intrusions, well, in that case, the robots could act on their own.

  Bill remembered the protocol. If the robots detected an intrusion, and the handlers didn’t take control, and the robots hadn’t been put in stand-by mode, and any would-be attackers didn’t back down, then the robots operated in autonomous mode. They’d broadcast a verbal alarm, escalation to non-lethal measures, and if all else failed, start shooting. The robots would coordinate together to cover all aspects of the deck and back each other up. Thinking through all of that, Bill was practically freaking out now that he was standing next to one of them. He backed further away, and carefully avoided the business end of the robot’s armament.

  With one eye on them the entire time, Bill hastily finished his inspection of ODC #4. He boarded the helicopter, running the last few steps, and signaled for the pilot to take off. Only once they were in the air did he relax just a bit.

  As the pilot circled back toward land, Bill watched the sea for some evidence of the underwater robots, but he couldn’t spot anything under the chop. The underwater robots used sonar to detect boats approaching the offshore data center. They would broadcast across all radio spectrums to warn the boats off. They would share intelligence data with the on deck robots. They too had weapons. Each had two torpedos that could sink a boat, and as a last resort, the submersible robots themselves could attach to the hull of a boat, either to track the boat or blow it up.