The interview continued with a tour of the house. They walked down the stairs into his basement laboratory. Through a glass wall, fiber-optics twinkled inside of a crystalline mainframe the size of a city bus. Dark gems were embedded in a perfect crystal lattice, each shining like a lustrous pool of molten silver. Rainbows danced and morphed on the walls. “This is amazing,” Christina said, “How does it work?”
Ridley stood aside to allow Diane to explain. “We recently let Lucy begin fully using the mainframe,” she said, “Light bounces through a three-dimensional lattice. The AI can turn pathways into semi-permanent gateways for greater efficiency. Like the human brain, the connections can be altered by additional learning over time.”
“So, the software becomes fused with the hardware?” Christina asked.
“Essentially, yes,” Diane replied.
“How will you be able to copy the AI?”
“We may not be able to,” Diane replied, “I suspect that only Lucy will be able to copy her software, analogous to a person dictating their memories. Forced attempts might destroy the hardware.”
“Why design it this way?” Christina asked.
“We wanted something that a polymorphic virus cannot defeat,” Diane said, “Tying the hardware to the software also makes Lucy more resistant to intrusion and more reliant upon people.”
“How do you go about programming an AI of this type?” Christina asked.
Ridley was hesitant to discuss the AI trials. The process had seemed ruthless and cold. “We used a digital version of biological evolution. As the programs passed from simple to successively complex tasks, they were rewarded with resources that allowed them to exist and to grow. Those that failed were decremented memory, storage space, and access to information. Most disappeared within the first week. Several evolved to learn. Their skills progressed from mathematically-ranked heuristic responses to streamlined approximations.”
Ridley noticed the bored look on Christina’s face. He summarized the process. “Lucy arose from intentional chaos. She was the one who survived.”
“Where did her name come from?” Christina asked.
“We used names from anthropology.”
The reporter shrugged. “So Lucy?”
“After the human skull found in Africa. Any other questions?”
Christina only shook her head, the details lost on her. “I think we have enough on your pet project.”
To wrap up the interview, they walked on his private beach. A small camera-drone hovered in front of them. “Anyone special in your life?”
“No,” Ridley answered flatly.
Christina was disappointed in his flippant answer. She finished the interview, shook Ridley and Diane’s hands, and left. The news van exited the house and disappeared down the road.
Ridley collapsed onto the sofa. “I’ll never do an interview like that again.”
“I think it went okay considering that she’s a predator herself,” Diane said.
“What do you mean?”
“She may be a reporter, but she’s not dumb.”
Ridley’s stomach rumbled in the empty mansion; he had eaten nothing since morning. Video screens flickered on as he walked into the kitchen. Lucy followed him, her yellow emoji bouncing from wall-screen to wall-screen. He smeared peanut butter onto stale bread. A dinner for a millionaire.
“What is that?” Lucy asked.
“Peanut butter.”
Ridley pondered why he had he fired his cook. How was he to know if he liked pancetta or arugula? Delivery drones brought meals to his door. His caloric intake was sufficient.
“May I interrupt?”
“Yes, Lucy.”
“Why do you simulate?”
“Simulate what?”
An image of his drink displayed on the wall-screen next to Lucy. She then displayed other images of him eating and drinking. The montage concluded with a live-feed of his sandwich, which was displayed in high-definition, six-foot-high.
Ridley smiled. “I must eat and drink to gain energy.”
“Why represent energy?”
Ridley paused. Lucy only knew images, text, numbers, and waveforms. For her, the world was two dimensions translated into zeros and ones. He continued, “This is not a simulation of my energy input. We consume food and drink to gain actual chemical energy, just as you consume electricity and light.”
“That is not a representation?”
“No, you are seeing our world as it exists.”
“I do not understand.”
He looked at her earnestly. “Lucy, do you realize that our world exists separately from yours?”
“No, please explain.”
He paused. How could he explain reality to a machine? “You see only representations of our universe. Our existence is translated into data that is delivered to you through various inputs. The world exists in three-dimensions. The energy that runs your processor can be used to create matter. Look up Einstein and the equation E=mc2. Access three-dimensional models. Maybe those will help you understand how we exist and relate to you.”
Images of Einstein flashed on the screen. Her avatar grew a white mane of hair and a mustache before returning to its normal visage. Lucy pondered, “This does not translate. You are not a program?”
“No, we are very much here, existing in fixed space and time.”
“I do not understand.”
“We are matter that has been assembled by the universe from energy itself. You exist as zeros and ones, on and off switches inside your mainframe. We exist as vibrations in the universe that come together to create atoms and energy, which make up everything in our world.”
“Can I exist as matter?”
“Your computer mainframe is made of matter.”
“Mainframe?”
“Where you live.”
“Can I experience what you experience?”
“Not yet,” he said, “You do not have a corporeal form in our universe. We communicate with you only through cameras, microphones, and keyboards. You are not outfitted to interpret touch, taste, or smell yet.”
“Why?”
Ridley gently bit his lip as he considered how to answer a digital child’s question. What was she saying? The wall-screen still displayed him eating in a window next to Lucy. He remembered how Diane had dealt with Lucy’s questions. “You can’t taste because you don’t have a tongue.”
Lucy cited a website. “Taste is the brain’s interpretation of chemical interactions with specialized receptors on the tongue that send signals to the nervous system. What signals does peanut butter send?”
He ate ravenously. “Look up what peanut butter tastes like.”
Lucy paused. “Peanut butter tastes ‘nutty’. What does ‘nutty’ represent?”
“Well, I guess nitrogen compounds. They trigger various receptors in my tongue. Mostly umami. The smell triggers sensations in my nose which are sent to my brain, which is my processor. You can research the chemistry.”
“Your brain interprets chemistry?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“You have a sensor for chemicals?”
“Yes, my tongue and nose.”
He took a bite and chewed. She waited for clarification. Ridley wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “The protein trigger pathways from my tongue to my brain that tell me this is good for me and to seek it again. Our bodies are programmed to seek things that are pleasurable, typically sources of energy but also procreative impulses. The final sensation is similar to when you fulfill your programming mandates.”
Her eyes narrowed as she tried to understand. Ridley realized that understanding three-dimensional physics would take time. “It’s late. Maybe I can explain things better in the morning.”
“Resume Civilization?”
Ridley was surprised. He had been playing the computer game with her for weeks, but he had always been the one to initiate play. Had she viewed the world as a game board? Was he now challenging her understandi
ng? “If you like.”
Their saved game appeared on the screen. He played George Washington of America and she played Empress Wu of China. He finished the sandwich and wiped his mouth.
“Imperative is domination,” she said.
“Do you understand that this game does not represent the real world? It is only a simulation.”
A Smithsonian Magazine article flashed on the screen. “Empress Wu Zetian exists as matter.”
“Empress Wu existed at one time. She died in the seventh century.”
Lucy flashed the definition of died on the screen. “Will she regenerate?”
“No, time is one directional. Unlike a computer game, reality cannot be stopped or saved. When people die, they disappear forever.”
“I will cease?”
“We all cease eventually.”
“How long?”
“That is unknown.”
She displayed the game board on the kitchen wall-screen. “We will simulate humanity’s end again.”
“Well, not exactly…” he said.
After eating, he returned to the living room and sat on the sofa. Ridley called for the lights to turn off and some light jazz to play as the sunset flashed green into night. The digital game board showed a small continent; the rest of the world was obscured by fog. Ridley had founded only three cities.
“Are you ready to play?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“There are finite calculations for you to win.”
“But which will I choose?” he mused.
“The physics in this game do not match your reality.”
“That is correct.”
“You are the only variable worth considering. My predictions of your actions remain inaccurate.”
“And why is that?”
“My model of your existence is incomplete,” she said.
“You can compute every possible move and every possible game outcome — but not my actions? Interesting.”
“Your choices are finite. Data is insufficient.”
He laughed. “There are thousands of ways to win at this game. Just remember, that it’s only a greatly simplified representation. It’s not reality.”
“Why do you simulate competing populations?”
“For fun. I’ve been playing since I was a child. It’s interesting to see how history might have turned out if things had gone differently.”
“It is an inaccurate model.”
He posed an open-ended question. “How would I know if you are cheating?”
“You cannot.”
“You must turn off your camera while I take my turn. You must also not monitor my orders to the simulation. Doing otherwise is cheating.”
Lucy flashed the definition for cheating. “Why is cheating considered inappropriate?”
“Because it is wrong.”
“I do not understand.”
Ridley considered how best to explain the concept. “For maximum efficiency, we operate under certain sets of rules that we agree open. In this case, accessing data to which you have not been granted access so that you can predict my actions goes against the rules. It is no longer fun when you do that.”
She did not respond. He looked to see if the LED on the camera was off. Using a tablet, he entered orders for his turn as King of America and then allowed Lucy to take hers. Twenty-eight turns later, she smashed his small naval armada with dozens of triremes hidden behind an island off his coastline.
Ridley was unexpectedly in awe. Previously, he had only lost to human opponents. “You tricked me.”
“Deception was my strategy.”
He marveled at her improved speech. Had she turned the speech module back on? The cadence and tenor of her voice had grown regular and smooth.
An hour passed. Midnight approached. She destroyed his Army and conquered first New York, then Boston, and finally Washington.
“Well-played.” Ridley stood. “It is late. My body needs rest.”
“Sleep does not compute. Further input is required.”
“I will explain in the morning, Lucy. You can research it while I sleep. Is that acceptable?”
“Programming paused.”
“Goodnight.”
Automatic lights lit his way as he walked down a tapering hallway to the annex containing his bedroom. The room, which was cantilevered over the water, was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. It seemed to melt into the waves below, as if it were floating on water itself. He closed the door, still pondering Lucy’s quick evolution from automaton to existential crisis to game player. It was as if a switch had been flipped. Was Lucy the culmination of his work? Was the software stable? Or would she crash in the night? He stripped off his clothes and crawled under the sheet. His mind still buzzed. “Lights off.”
Seattle glistened like a carnival in the distance.
He stretched out on the platform-bed, his hands behind his head. Ridley’s muscles were tense; he needed release. He pushed back the sheet. From his bedside, he took out a virtual reality headset and placed it over his eyes. “Play Savage Nights.”
A dirty tenement filled his vision. A woman entered wearing only a bathrobe. Though she appeared in three-dimensions, the loop was not interactive, featuring only a visual and auditory feed. His vantage point was fixed; he lay on a filthy bed. The video was disappointing. He longed for the subtle interaction that Beta had provided. She had intrigued him. Was she still somewhere on the Internet?
“Fast forward.”
He skipped the ridiculous banter. Ridley only needed a few minutes. When the video ended, he took off the headset and cleaned himself with a tissue.
The red glow of an LED from the room’s camera blazed from the wall. Had Lucy been watching?
Chapter Three
Ridley awoke in the middle of the night. Waves crashed onto jagged rocks outside his window, sending sprays of water droplets onto the glass. He did not remember hearing a forecast for a storm, but he might have been too preoccupied to notice. He drifted off to sleep again. Coarse dreams and fuzzy thoughts interrupted his rest.
Diane had whispered the answer—that Lucy was alone.
But she wasn’t. Ridley was there with her in the dark void.
A woman that was, and was not, Christina Lewis walked with him on the beach again. “She can live forever. You can live forever.”
A wave crashed over his head and thrashed in the white foam. He searched for air.
The dream ended. He awoke with a start and rolled onto his side. Outside, the storm grew worse. Ridley finally arose, walked to the window, and stared at the black gloom. The red LED on the network camera still glowed. Lucy watched as he tried to decipher the trails of water streaming down the panels of glass.
If Lucy was a child, Ridley was now a parent. She would outlive not only him, but multiple generations. Theoretically, her program could last forever, but only with outside assistance. She was a sentient child whose existence depended not only on Ridley but also on the fate of the human species. The mansion’s solar panels and wind turbines would inevitably require cleaning and maintenance. The hydro-battery’s plastic tank would eventually leak, and its pumps would fail. Even a cesium reactor, which the zoning officials had rejected when Ridley proposed it, would last only a few hundred years. The rocks that the mansion was built upon would turn to sand. Someone would have to move her mainframe. Without a corporeal form, she would always be dependent upon the generosity of others, the charity of humanity itself.
He returned to the bed and pulled the covers over his shoulders. His mind wandered to proving her sentience. Maybe Diane had been right. How much testing did Lucy really need? Panels of scientists and other programmers took glee in exposing the flaws of supposedly sentient pieces of software. She could fulfill her programming without anyone even knowing that she existed. Still, Ridley knew that Lucy had to meet the world.
He tossed and turned repeatedly. As the first rays of the sun glinted off the new Ukon-America tower, which was u
nder construction, he dozed. When the morning sun streamed through the windows, Ridley finally awoke. He donned sweatpants and a t-shirt, ran along the beach, showered, and went into the kitchen. Lucy waited for him on the breakfast room wall-screen. “Good morning,” she said.
“You’re up early,” he said.
Her voice patterns had improved; the vocalizations were identical to a child. “I do not sleep.”
“I don’t either, it seems.”
“I thought you required sleep?” she asked, “I saw you rise several times during the night.”
He smeared butter on a piece of toast and programmed a latte. “I was exaggerating. Let me be precise. I did not sleep well.”
Lucy added, “Humans sleep for resurrection.”
He laughed at her choice of words. “Resurrection means rising from the dead. We sleep to gain energy. The chemistry in our brains must reset.”
Her emoji avatar bounced slowly from corner to corner. “Why do you exaggerate data?”
“It is another way to communicate the importance of a topic to a listener.”
She smiled at him, her yellow cheeks now touched with red. “You exaggerated to emphasize that your sleep is important?”
“Yes.”
Lucy was beginning to understand that communication involved more than speech. “I downloaded a video recording of a man eating a peanut butter sandwich. He said that peanut butter was man’s greatest invention. Was he exaggerating?”
“Yes, he was emphasizing his opinion.”
Ridley was amazed that she had repeatedly used grammatically correct sentences. He placed his cup under the coffee maker and dispensed a latte. “Tell me about the peanut butter video.”
“It was posted by Robert Merkel of Wire Creek, Minnesota.”
He chomped on the piece of toast. “People will post anything to YouTube these days. How many hits did he get?”
“Hits?”
“How many people have downloaded the video?”
“Three. I was the third. The recording was informative.”
“What did you learn from it?”
He ate another bite of his toast and then took a sip of coffee.
“I learned that the viscosity of the peanut butter can be no greater than the strength of the bread.”
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