Lemuria

by Burt Clinchandhill

  “This processor has none of the drawbacks we saw in the previous models by any manufacturer. We increased the number of addressable qubits to virtually unending, and the same goes for the number of operations we can compute on them. Inside, the machine is filled with liquid helium at just above absolute zero. At this temperature, atoms stop vibrating. Lasers inside the copper chamber target the individual atoms that float just above the computer chip, creating the possibility of immensely fast and now flawless calculations.

  “The Occidium One will not only change our children’s future, but change will start as soon as you leave this room, for we put the power of the Occidium One in this little device that requires no more specialized skills than every modern coder already possesses. What’s even better, as of later today, all the architectural specifications of the Occidium One and how to program for it, will be available for free.”

  A buzz now returned to the room.

  “Quantum computers will disrupt every industry. Now, what does this mean? It means that beginning tomorrow, drug companies who need to evaluate the interactions between chemicals, molecules and proteins, to tell if medicines can improve certain conditions or cure diseases, can do so without any problems. And the best part is, they can do so up to a factor of ten thousand times faster. Think about what that means for cancer research, the inventions of new materials. Better and faster simulations will save thousands of lives every year in traffic alone. And, of course, there’s Quantum Artificial Intelligence. Soon, we will start seeing machines that can learn for themselves and help us with complex tasks. Robotics with real intelligence maybe even rivaling us humans in tasks. Together, with the fast-growing development in physical robots, I believe that within ten years, robots will be able to think for themselves. They will plow our lands, and in the meantime, they will learn from their experience how to do it better, and self-correct.”

  “One question,” a reporter in the front row said, interrupting Mulder. “Sorry to interrupt you,” he quickly added when Mulder focused his attention on the man.

  “No problem,” Mulder answered. “In my enthusiasm, I could and would probably talk on for hours.”

  “Thank you,” the reporter replied. “Without a doubt, a technological masterpiece.”

  Mulder nodded and smiled.

  “I can’t help wondering. What about the dangers of what you call Quantum AI? What about the risk that comes with autonomous weapons, invasion of privacy and social grading, social manipulation and the possible differences between our goals and the machines? If I’m correct, a few years ago, you yourself warned about the possible dangers of AI.”

  Mulder expected the question, and when he asked himself before, he wasn’t sure of the answer himself. Of course, he knew about the risks of AI. In the past years, there had been a lot of debate about the pros and cons, but nowhere in the world did the debate lead to definitive answers or legislation. Besides that, without Quantum AI, he wouldn’t reach his goals. He took a deep breath. “Of course, you’re right. As our capabilities in AI will grow without any doubt, we will also see it being misused for dangerous and criminal purposes. I’m afraid every new technology suffered the same fate in the past. From today, AI technology will advance more rapidly than anyone had anticipated. That is why I started a new initiative where, together with great minds from all over the world, we’ll start the debate about how to develop AI progressively, while minimizing its destructive potential.”

  The buzz in the room grew louder again. Mulder looked at Amie, who nodded back in response and waved at a man behind the glass. “I thank you for your attention,” Mulder shouted out above the loud crowd. “When you leave here, you’ll get an information folder that will give you all the details you could possibly need.” The door to the conference room opened, and a man dressed in white coveralls entered the room. Mulder introduced the man as the lead scientist on the project who would answer all their technical questions. He quickly switched places with the man and disappeared from the room, followed by Amie.

  “What do you think?” Mulder asked Amie as they crossed the hallway.

  “You did well. But I doubt they are reassured that the development won’t be a problem. And to be honest, Eldin, neither am I.”

  Chapter 4 - Stammbaum der Primaten

  Otter Creek, VT, The Present

  Bishop looked at the trash can to his left. He took shallow breaths through his mouth to avoid the stench, but it was in vain. He tasted two weeks of rotten fish.

  Ignatowski grinned. In his youth, his father had been a butcher and meat residues would sometimes rot for over a week in the dumpster beneath his bedroom. “You know the NRO?” he asked.

  Bishop and Monroe shrugged. “Only by name,” Bishop answered.

  “Then you probably don’t know that at the NRO, we don’t only do intelligence work, but we also monitor humanitarian aspects in the world.”

  “What kind of humanitarian aspects?” Bishop asked.

  “All kinds. For instance, we enforce most of the worldwide environmental treaties and assess the effects of manmade and natural disasters.” Ignatowski paused for a moment. He’d always felt that most people who had heard of the NRO had a tendentious attitude toward them. They were often seen as one of the more inferior agencies that only made satellite images and delivered them to other agencies that did the real work.

  “But, in this case,” Ignatowski continued, “we monitor the status of the last surviving isolated tribes in the world.”

  Bishop and Monroe looked at each other, both squinting their eyes and frowning.

  Ignatowski smiled back. “The world rapidly became a lot smaller in the past five decades or so. There are still an amazing one hundred tribes living in complete isolation in the world. A part of them never had contact with anyone from outside their tribe. Some time ago, modern countries would have done anything to bring such tribes ‘modern civilization.’ Nowadays, most countries do their utmost best to let such tribes be and even have legislation protecting such tribes. Enforcing such laws is, as you can imagine, often challenging.”

  “Africa?” Monroe asked.

  “You would think so. But no. As far as we know, there are no more isolated tribes left in Africa.”

  “No places to hide,” Bishop interrupted.

  Ignatowski nodded. “That’s one theory. And that’s also why more than three-quarters of the one hundred tribes live in South America. It’s estimated that twenty-five years ago, the number of these tribes was over two hundred. Unfortunately, on the one hand, threats like land exploitation, oil prospecting, poaching and mining decimated that number rapidly. Not to mention the clandestine Mennonite and U.S. evangelical missionaries that are still everywhere over the world, looking to convert new souls. On the other hand, since they’re isolated, they lack immunity to common infectious diseases. Upon first contact with the outside world, we bring our infectious diseases to them, and one simple respiratory virus can easily decimate a tribe in half in a few weeks.”

  Monroe cocked his head. “It’s the first time I’ve heard of one of our intelligence services doing something good for humanity.”

  “All right, all right,” Bishop intervened. “Can we please get to the part that concerns me, so we can go back to what we came here to do?”

  Lindsey took over. “Sure, sorry, but you need some background first. Over the past few months, the NRO observed strange behavior from some of these isolated tribes.”

  “What kind of behavior?” Bishop asked, rubbing his chin.

  “Well,” Ignatowski replied. “For example, in Paraguay, the Ayoreo tribe disappeared completely. One day, the entire tribe of about one hundred people was there, and by the next sunrise, gone. Completely vanished. Bolivia, same thing. Peru—”

  “The same thing,” Monroe said.

  “Same thing, but with a twist this time.” Lindsey lifted her hands. “You know, when our agencies identified the pattern, they send us to check out the locations in South America. In
the past months, we traveled across the globe, checking out those locations our satellites monitored. We crossed half the world and found nothing. Everywhere we traveled, the locations we visited were completely intact but also completely deserted.”

  “As if Scotty beamed them up,” Bishop smiled.

  Lindsey grinned. She remembered Bishop as the movie buff who, in class, often answered questions with movie quotes. Most of the time, she had no idea what he was talking about, but this one even she understood. “Exactly,” she confirmed, “but in Peru, we visited the Mashco-Piro tribe. A nomadic, hunter-gatherers tribe living in the Mashco-Piro Indigenous Reserve. Over one hundred tribe members disappeared from satellite overnight. When we investigated the site, at first glance, everything looked the same as the other locations. Then, when we were about to leave, a native tribe member, dressed in only a loincloth, suddenly appeared from the woods and threatened me.”

  “And almost killed you,” Ignatowski spoke fast. “It’s amazing you survived.”

  Lindsey pouted her lips and shook her head. “Hell no. With you, everything is amazing. It was just a scared young man who was clearly traumatized. But anyway, nothing happened. The man kept his distance, and after a few minutes, we were able to gain some form of trust. Unfortunately, communication was difficult since we didn’t understand or speak his language. We didn’t have a translator. Anyway, somehow, we established a relationship, and after he finished a chocolate bar I gave him, he turned and slowly walked away from the camp. He kept looking behind him as if we were to follow him, so we did. After a five-mile hike through the rain forest, we arrived at what looked like a huge set of gray rocks leading to a cave underground. The man went inside and we, somewhat reluctant at first, decided to follow him. After a minute or so, finding our way through a narrow passageway, we could see light in the distance, and after fifty yards or so, we came into what looked like a room. Almost fifteen by fifteen feet square and ten feet high, it looked carved out by men. Every side had another passageway carved out of it. On the walls of the passageways were drawings that looked prehistorical, and in one corner on the floor, there were some animal skins. On the skins sat a young native-looking woman, no clothes. She was holding a baby. From the looks of it, she was the young man’s partner. He kneeled in front of her and put his arm around her and her baby. They spoke to each other. The language seemed rudimentary, sometimes more like prehistoric growling.”

  “Wow, that’s quite a story.” Bishop faked an admiring voice. “But, I’m still wondering where you’re going with this and how I fit into this all?”

  “I understand,” Lindsey replied. “We’re almost there. Whatever happened to the Mashco-Peru tribe, we figured the young couple and their baby were probably inside the cave when it happened. But we had no idea why. We decided to look around in the cave’s other passageways. I took my flashlight from my backpack, and when I lit it, the couple completely freaked out. They started screaming and waved their arms, making wild gestures. I immediately shut my flashlight off again. I raised it and showed it to them, trying to calm them down. And that worked. The man even got curious and took a good look at the flashlight from a short distance. So, after a short while, we tried again and investigated the passageways. Can you show him, please, Iggy?”

  Ignatowski reached into his briefcase and took out a piece of paper with a drawing on it. He put it on the table and turned it to Bishop and Monroe.

  “You recognize it?” Lindsey asked.

  “Of course I do,” Bishop responded. “Stammbaum der Primaten, is part of Ernst Haeckel’s ‘Tree of Life,’ the top of it, to be precise. From his book Evolution of Man.” He turned the drawing back to Lindsey.

  “Correct,” she replied. “All the passageways in the cave led to similar rooms from where we started. All precisely carved to the feet, it looked. All completely empty except for one. In one, we found what looked like an old wooden tabletop set upright against a wall. When we removed it, near the floor we found the Haeckel drawing written by finger, we suspect, in hard mud smeared on the wall.”

  Monroe tilted his head and grunted.

  “Is something wrong?” Lindsey asked.

  Monroe shook his head. “No, never mind.”

  “I think I understand.” Bishop nodded. “Haeckel, in some fields, was a brilliant man. However, by modern standards, he’s also often described as a racist, an anti-Semitic who is suspected of making contributions to Nazi biology. ‘Politics is applied biology,’ a famous Haeckel quote, is often used by Nazi propagandists.”

  “Not a pleasant man,” Monroe added. “Haeckel claimed that Negroes’ toes were more flexible than those of any other race. He concluded that was evidence of Negroes being less evolved. He even called them—um, us—‘four-handed apes.’”

  “True, and it was and is a disgrace,” Bishop confirmed. “Fortunately, the man is long dead.” Bishop paused for a short moment. “Now, I must admit, I’m intrigued about all this, but I still don’t know what it’s got to do with me?”

  Ignatowski immediately leaned forward over the table. “Well, I’m afraid that at this moment, we cannot tell you all the specifics, but please, take another good look at the drawing.”

  Bishop picked up the drawing and held it in front of himself and Monroe, who took his hand and pushed a bit further away.

  “Forgot my glasses.” Monroe cocked his head.

  “Better?” Bishop asked.

  “Ah, yes, thank you,” Monroe confirmed. “And I also see something else. It’s wrong.”

  “Yes,” Bishop said. “Indeed, it’s wrong. The drawing has the Pithecanthropus Alalus, and the Homo stupidus switched. Homo stupidus came after Pithecanthropus Alalus, so he should be on top.”

  Ignatowski nodded. “Don’t you think it’s interesting how a drawing of Ernst Haeckel’s vision of evolution, containing an obvious error, ended up in a Peruvian cave of one of the last isolated tribes on Earth?”

  “Absolutely fascinating,” Bishop replied. “But I figure the answer to that question will be rather disappointing. Haeckel’s drawing is over one hundred twenty years old. I figure, in the meantime, the cave could have been occupied by several generations of different people, maybe those who’ve been studying the indigenous people.”

  “Of course, you could be right,” Ignatowski replied. “But you’re not. The mud on the wall still hadn’t dried completely. We calculated that the mud, given the circumstances in the cave, would take between two and three weeks to dry completely. So, someone else was there and probably in exactly the period that the other tribe members disappeared.”

  Bishop raised an eyebrow. “Okay, you got me. Why me?”

  “Okay,” Lindsey said. “While researching Haeckel, we came across your paper ‘Evolution, the mathematical probabilities and philosophical implications of proof.’”

  “I always thought the title was too long,” Bishop replied with a bright smile.

  “Agreed.” Lindsey nodded. “But, in your paper, you refer to Haeckel more than once.”

  Bishop nodded. “As I’m sure hundreds of other scientists have done over the decades. For a time, the man was rather popular on the subject.”

  “We need your help,” Lindsey admitted. “We think there’s more to the strange disappearing and the link to the Haeckel drawing. Now, we know about your... let’s say, adventure with the coded document a few years ago, and we have the drawing linking to your paper. So, we can use your input on this. We believe the reverse items on the picture have a significant meaning, but we don’t know what.”

  Monroe folded his arms. “You mean to say you think it’s some kind of code, but the NSA can’t crack it?”

  Lindsey ignored him. She hated it when people acted smug when it came to government services. It was too easy. Most people had really no idea what they were doing or how difficult their jobs really were.

  “So, what do you think I can do?” Bishop asked.

  “Come with us?” Lindsey asked.

 
“Come with you, where? To do what?”

  “To South America,” she said.

  Bishop shook his head. “You’re joking. What the hell am I going to do in South America?”

  “Peru, to be precise,” Lindsey added. “We think there’s more to our discovery there, but we need a fresh set of eyes on site.”

  “I don’t understand.” Bishop shrugged. “As you said, there was nothing left in the caves. Why would you need another set of eyes there, and why my eyes for that matter?”

  Ignatowski took a deep breath. “I told you it would be a tough sell,” he said to Lindsey. Then he addressed Bishop. “We think the male tribe member was trying to communicate something with us, but we couldn’t understand it. And somehow Lindsey believes it’s important, and because of your reputation, well, she thinks you’re the one who could help communicate with the man.”

  Lindsey smiled big. In college, she always knew where to find Bishop’s weaknesses. She knew her smile back then could make him study with her until late at night or even into the early morning. Why not try it again? she thought.

  Bishop rubbed his eyes with both hands and shook his head.

  “Hell with it,” Lindsey said. “When was the last time you spoke with Jennifer Porter?”

  “Are you sure?” Ignatowski intervened, shaking his head.

  Lindsey ignored his remark.

  Bishop now straightened himself on the bench.

  A few years ago, Jennifer had been a student at Yale, who came to Bishop for help after her father died, and left her with a rather bizarre legacy. Bishop had agreed to help her, which resulted in the two traveling across the globe in search of an ancient secret and global conspiracy.