The Truth Machine

by James L. Halperin

  Scoggins’s analysis was correct. Well-conceived proprietary software was the closest thing to a monopoly anyone could legally own in the United States. By the time RehabTest was released, ATI had 400 employees and was hiring at the rate of four a day. The stock now traded at $732.50 per share.

  CHAPTER 18

  LOTTERY

  Dallas, Texas

  November 8, 2008—President Hall easily wins reelection, defeating Democratic challenger Wisconsin Senator Peter Bear in every state except Massachusetts and Wisconsin, and winning a popular majority of 60.3 percent. In a conciliatory acceptance speech, considering the scope of his victory, Hall pledges to move toward more centrist economic and social policies.—The Republican Party clinches a majority in both the Senate and House of Representatives for the first time since 1994. The financial markets react favorably. The Dow-JonesIndustrial Average breaks 15,000 briefly, but settles at 14,989.23. The price of gold falls below $1800 per ounce as the dollar gains strength against other world currencies.—On the sixth anniversary of his death in state prison, Congress declares Dr. Jack Kevorkian’s birthday a national holiday. Assisted suicide, the cause that Kevorkian brought to public attention, was illegal in the United States until 2003. Until then most terminally ill Americans were forced to suffer prolonged, agonizing deaths. An object of controversy and ridicule during his lifetime, Kevorkian is now consistently chosen by historians as one of the 10 most influential Americans of the 20th century.

  The first two years building ATI had been the happiest of Pete’s life, every day filled with challenge and adventure. He offered daily thanks to his Creator for such good fortune. But as he approached his 19th birthday, he worried increasingly that his mental powers, which David only half-jokingly referred to as “far beyond those of mortal men,” might diminish with age. He renewed his commitment to exercise both mind and body to maintain physical and mental strength.

  Now at full adult stature, roughly six feet tall, above the average for the time, his height added to his selfconfidence, making him commensurably more attractive. His stuttering had nearly ceased, even when meeting people for the first time, and his nervous tics were much less severe.

  Constantly pursued by young women, some drawn to his mind, others to his money and power, Pete wasn’t after one-night-stands, but neither was he ready to settle down. His relationships would last a few weeks to a few months. At the first sign of boredom or discord, he would move on.

  He spoke to David every day and still missed him—and Diana. Each time they spoke, he seemed to have a new reason why they should move back to Dallas and finish law school at Southern Methodist University (SMU). Finally one worked.

  “Y’know, David, when you run for office, it’s going to be here in Texas. It would really help your political career if you graduated from a Texas law school.”

  David conceded his friend’s point. He discussed it with Diana and they decided to transfer at the end of the semester.

  They also decided to marry.

  Pete’s feelings about the wedding were mixed. He still harbored feelings for Diana and the marriage would make any prospects hopeless—not that he had realistic prospects to begin with. Still he was delighted that his friends would be returning to Dallas and flattered that David had asked him to serve as best man.

  It would be a tiny, private ceremony. The only others invited were David’s mother and brother, and Diana’s parents, who had finally met David and who, to her delight, adored him.

  The news at ATI was just as cheerful. There were a dozen projects in final stages and 29 in the pipeline. Pete, Tilly, Scoggins, and 14 others on the Truth Machine Project skeleton team, convened every afternoon, often meeting late into the night. They designed field tests and meticulously analyzed brain-scanning equipment.

  Apparently the Renaissance Corporation was ATI’s only real competition in the race. A secretive bunch, Scoggins seemed to take them very seriously. “If anyone can beat us to the prize, it’s Al Bonhert,” he had warned the team on several occasions. But Pete had confidence ATI would get there first. Having no reason to suspect that Scoggins or anyone else at ATI would try to delay or scuttle the project, he trusted his crew unreservedly.

  LottoPick was the big news, an example of how a simple concept can change an industry. It was Leslie Williams’s idea, but Scoggins grasped its potential, becoming its biggest booster. “You have no idea how much money this can make us. And it’s so simple. It’ll be the easiest software we’ll ever write.”

  LottoPick was a real-time interactive system that assured state lottery ticket buyers that, in the improbable event their ticket won, they would be less likely to have to split the prize.

  (Note: Please refer to the Appendix if you would like to read a full description of the LottoPick concept.—22g CP)

  The 7-Eleven convenience store chain had test-marketed LottoPick in Texas; it was a major success and would soon be “rolled out” nationwide. Several respected stock analysts now projected that LottoPick would net ATI $1 billion annually within two years.

  ATI’s stock soared. At $2,625 per share, the company had a market capitalization of over $26 billion. ATI employees received stock options, but even after dilution, Pete still owned 71 percent of the company. When the Forbes 400 came out the following September, Randall Petersen Armstrong would be listed as the ninth wealthiest American.

  Scoggins began to hound Pete. “Don’t you think I deserve more than four percent of the stock? My work on LottoPick doubled ATI’s value. I’m just asking the company to be fair with me.”

  Pete didn’t see it that way. He believed ATI’s real value lay in projects to benefit society, not get-rich-quick schemes.

  He gave Scoggins a $5 million bonus. “I appreciate your work, but your stock’s already worth over $1 billion. I’ll never give up control of ATI and I won’t dilute the stock every time somebody makes us a bunch of money. The money’s just a means to an end that we’d all better not lose sight of.”

  They both understood he was referring to the Truth Machine.

  Artfully, Scoggins backed off. “Look, I understand the ultimate goal and it’s as important to me as it is to you. I just figured making a killing on LottoPick would get us to the Truth Machine faster. Pete, I’m your ally, not your enemy.”

  Pete hesitated for a moment. He felt uncomfortable, but had no idea why. Pushing the thought out of his mind, he responded, “No problem, Charles. I know you are and I really appreciate that.”

  On videophone later that day, David, who now held stock worth $260 million, jokingly asked Pete, “Don’t you think it’s ironic you made me rich in the gambling field? That industry broke up my family.”

  Pete didn’t take it as a joke. “The real irony is we added at least $10 billion to ATI’s market cap without contributing to society. We didn’t change anything, except transferring wealth from one group of people to another. And for that we’ll own an entire industry. I promise you one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “ATI will never make another product unless it has real benefits. Maybe not for everybody, but for society as a whole. No more zero-sum games.”

  CHAPTER 19

  MEDICAL NETWORK

  Seattle, Washington

  August 15, 2009—Cocaine is legalized in the United States as a prescription-only treatment for Attention Deficit Disorder. The FDA’s decision is based on a three-year double-blind study in which very small doses of pharmaceutical cocaine were found to be more effective than Ritalin for controlling symptoms of ADD, a disorder affecting nearly one American in five.—Iran and Israel sign a mutual nuclear defense treaty. The only two Middle Eastern nuclear powers agree to defend each other’s air space and to treat any nuclear attack against one as an attack against the other.—Oil prices rise above $4 per barrel after Saudi Arabia announces plans to halt production of crude oil. However, commodity analysts predict plummeting demand will lower prices to $2.50 by year-end, citing that the 2010 el
ectric powered automobiles would capture 96 percent of worldwide new car sales.

  Over the previous 10 months, ATI had released major products in automobile traffic control (TraffiCop), simplified airline reservations (FlightSeat), and digital records dating and authentication systems (ImageNotary). The latter was particularly timely; photographic evidence had become so easy to reconstruct that notarized time-dating was the only way to authenticate photographs or digital records.

  The melding of two simple words had become ATI’s product-naming strategy, the advantages obvious: such names were recognized as products of ATI, a cachet of reliability, and they conveyed the products’ function.

  Every ATI product had been released early or on time, and virtually bug-free. Solidly profitable, the company now had $3 billion in liquid financial instruments, even after issuing a small dividend. It had never needed to borrow. The stock traded at its record high, showing no signs of weakening. One original share of ATI stock, adjusted for splits, was worth $3400, and even with employee stock options reducing his stake, Pete still owned 66.8 percent, worth $22.7 billion.

  David and Diana had spent their first ATI dividend on a three-bedroom house a few blocks from Pete’s two-acre estate in Highland Park. Pete, Skipper, and Pete’s “girlfriend du jour” (as David jokingly referred to them) tended to spend more time at the Wests’ house than at Pete’s.

  Not quite 20 years old, Pete Armstrong should have been the happiest teenager on the planet. But guilt darkened his spirit.

  He thought about his brother and those venomous words on the morning of Leonard’s death—words spoken over 14 years earlier that he still hadn’t repeated to another soul: “You little creep. I hate you. I wish you were never born!” Leonard must have realized he hadn’t meant it, but Pete wished to God he’d never said it. And if I’d gone to get that soccer ball myself, he thought, I would’ve known not to mouth off to a stranger. What a great life I have, but if Leonard were only here to share it with me, well, then it would be perfect.

  He even fantasized traveling back in time to rescue his brother, although he knew it was impossible.

  Neither had his associations with women improved. Succumbing quickly to boredom, he gave little of himself to relationships. He had learned to be diplomatic, trying to spare their feelings when he broke up with them (or put them in a position where they had no choice but to break up with him). When each affair ended, he would feel relieved to be alone, in control of his time. But exhilaration would soon give way to loneliness, leaving him vulnerable to the next attractive female who might present herself.

  Word among Pete’s former lovers was that he was “a nice guy,” and proficient sexually. Actually, by his own later admission, his lovemaking was mechanical, his skills being what you might expect from a person who remembers everything he has ever experienced or read. His body was engaged, his mind often elsewhere—usually with Diana.

  He had another fantasy, too. Immortality. Like many of his generation’s brightest minds, Pete refused to abide by conventional wisdom, believing immortality unlikely but possible. Curiosity motivated him. He wanted to see what would happen in 100, 1,000, or 100,000 years. He thought about the future all the time and longed to learn if his vision was accurate. At times, he felt he just had to see it. Hence his growing obsession with the medical and biotechnology fields.

  ATI needed Dr. Sharon Rosenfield enough to roll out the big guns. Naturally it was raining when Bill Tannenbaum and Pete Armstrong landed at Sea-Tac International Airport. Their limousine sloshed through the Seattle streets, delivering them to the Alexis Hotel downtown.

  Rosenfield had been Tannenbaum’s longtime friend and family physician. At 37, she was an impressive woman: athletic, well over six feet tall with an unruly mane of blond hair and an angelic countenance. A bit wild in her late teens and early twenties, she once joked to a friend, “I feel especially qualified to become a doctor since I’ve sampled every drug known to man and every man who’s known drugs.” But after leaving Concord Academy, she became more serious, graduating summa cum laude from Wellesley and in 1996 at the top of her class at Albert Einstein College of Medicine.

  She had entered private practice in Seattle as a family doctor, but now operated 16 health maintenance clinics. The Rosenfield Clinics enjoyed the best reputation for quality primary care in the city. But more than her talent as a physician, her charisma made her the ideal candidate to lead ATI’s crucial medical division. Everywhere she went, Sharon Rosenfield made friends. She brought out the best in people and they loved her for it. Tannenbaum had convinced Pete that she was the one person best qualified for the job, but Rosenfield was unwilling to leave Seattle.

  Meeting at their hotel, she greeted them warmly: a friendly handshake for Pete and a loving hug for Tannenbaum. Rosenfield was obviously not intimidated by the 19-year-old billionaire, and Pete felt totally at ease.

  Over the next hour they discussed medicine and technology. Pete was impressed by her grasp of the differing objectives and viewpoints of various medical interests, including insurers, hospitals, Health Maintenance Organizations, drug companies, specialists, general practitioners, and the American Medical Association. He was even more taken with her sensitivity to the well-being and emotional comfort of patients. He really liked her and realized ATI might have to make some serious compromises.

  Pete gave his pitch. “Dr. Rosenfield, with your help we intend to reconstruct the field of medicine. We can contribute even more to America’s health than the mandatory health education and anti-smoking programs of the 1990s. Statistics show Alzheimer’s disease as our leading cause of death, but you and I know that isn’t true. More years of life are lost because medicine’s too complicated, and doctors can’t coordinate and supervise treatments well enough. We have the information and science to increase average life span by four or five years, but it’s inconsistently applied. I admire doctors, but you’re only human, with limited memory and judgment. And today’s computerized medical assistance systems barely help you at all. Medical errors and miscalculations cost more loss of life than Alzheimer’s.”

  “Bill already sold me on ATI’s plans,” Rosenfield replied. “I’ve thought about the same issues for years; these last few weeks, I’ve barely been able to think about anything else. I believe in this project. But aren’t there other doctors who could run your medical team? I’m willing to sell my clinics, but my family comes first. My husband loves his job at Boeing and I can’t ask my kids to leave their friends. Besides, we can’t imagine living anywhere but Seattle.”

  “There are other doctors,” Tannenbaum said, “but you can get this done faster and better than they can. You’ll save thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of lives by accepting this position. It’ll be the hardest thing you’ll ever do—and the most important. Besides, Dallas isn’t that bad.”

  She laughed, and answered earnestly. “Bill, I’d love the job. In fact, you don’t have to offer me the directorship, I’d just like to be part of the team. But I can’t ask my family to move. Isn’t there anything I can do to help you from Seattle?”

  Pete hadn’t considered that possibility. It might be better, he decided, to let her run the project from here than to settle for someone else. I can still develop the algorithms and edit the code.

  After a private discussion, Pete and Tannenbaum offered Rosenfield the job, agreeing she could stay in Seattle. Tannenbaum suggested a modest salary and three-percent profit participation in the new division. She was overjoyed.

  It would be hard to imagine anyone better suited to the project. When she sold her clinics12 and gave up private practice, Rosenfield thought she might miss the direct interaction with patients. She didn’t; she became immersed in her new career—and certainly didn’t miss the nights on call. Maintaining a clear vision of the ideal future of medicine, she tirelessly forged ahead to bring it closer.

  Whatley and Hildegrand lived in Seattle during the first six weeks. Hildegrand helped recruit a core team of
seven medical experts, five systems designers, and nine software writers. Seven of the systems and software people were enticed away from Microsoft. In a year, the ATI medical division would grow to 112, all based in Seattle.

  Whatley met with Rosenfield and the medical experts, most of whom were her friends and former colleagues. In 97 hours of meetings, they devised three medical systems products. The first, HomeDoc, designed for the direct consumer market, was the easiest to create. A family would buy it on disc or download it from the Internet to their home computer. Weekly updates came via modem, keeping all medical information current. Family members’ medical histories could be accessed from their doctors’ files. Then they received medical check-ups by computer.

  HomeDoc could diagnose most illnesses without involving a doctor at all. More complex symptoms were referred to the family’s physician by video hookup whenever possible or in person when necessary.

  There were already similar products on the market, but HomeDoc was a big improvement, faster and far more thorough. Whatley prevailed upon Rosenfield and Pete to offer the product free for the first three months. After that, renewals were $29 per family member per month, a fee that HMOs would usually credit to members since HomeDoc saved so much time and money.

  The renewal rate after the trial period was 91 percent. Within five years, HomeDoc would become the most profitable software product on earth, and ATI would surpass Intel as the world’s most profitable company. As Pete had promised, Rosenfield transformed the field of medicine.