FAUST’S SHADOW: A Twice-Told Tale

by John Fast

  Boyle nodded and said, “Novus Ordo Seclorum, indeed.”

  I raised the lights and the Directors assaulted us with questions for the next two hours. They focused on the inherent risks of the new technology, as well as the inherent risks of my proposed experiments. When they were done, Boyle told us to forward our engineering schematics and technical analyses to ComCon, their computer consultants. Then he dismissed us with a warning not to discuss the meeting with anyone.

  *************

  Boyle called me ten days later. He said that ComCon, the Global Stream Association, and the Federal, State, and City regulators–including the Department of the Treasury and the Securities and Exchange Commission–had all given their approval for the Quantum Photo-Sphere. They had acted so quickly, he said, because of the critical state of the NYSE’s meta-computer. He also said that after a long debate and a close vote the Board of Directors had also given their approval. And he mentioned, in passing, that if the Quantum Photo-Sphere didn’t work, or if my quantum algarithms endangered the global economy in any way, he would skin me alive, roast me on a spit and feed me to his dogs.

  CHAPTER 50.

  The Glass Pyramid

  After an heroic effort, the engineers and contractors finished The New World Stock Exchange on schedule. The site, on the Lower West Side, overlooked the Hudson River and, in the distance, the Statue of Liberty. I stood with my entire family at the edge of the spacious plaza on a freezing cold day in January, 2046. The thirty-story glass pyramid and thirty-five story glass obelisk glimmered in the bright morning sunlight like two gigantic ice sculptures. The six sections of the Quantum Photo-Sphere were splayed open on their hydraulic struts inside the enormous glass cube that stood inside the enormous glass pyramid. The crystal nucleus rested on top of the translucent filament that rose from the center of the splayed petals.

  “A silver lotus in a glass box,” Takla remarked. “When will it close?”

  Takla was engaged to a Tibetan painter who also taught at the People’s University of Tibet, and I felt happy for her. I had tried several times to speak with her about Jack, but each time she had chosen the silence of sorrow. And I had come to respect that cultural difference, just as I had come to love her quiet intensity.

  “Any minute now,” I replied, giving her a warm smile. “That’s why I invited all of you down here this morning.”

  “It’s a fantastic achievement, John,” André said. “Your mother would be very proud.”

  My Dad and I also shared the bond of grief, and I wished I could do more for him. We never talked about Jena’s death. Instead, he poured his sorrow into his work, and I did the same. So I just nodded and said I felt her presence too.

  I reached into my coat pocket, found my dark glasses and put them back on. I hadn’t been able to tolerate the sunlight for more than a few minutes ever since I’d started working on the New Exchange. I lived in a small apartment, just a few blocks east of the construction site, where I slept during the day and worked at night. I loved working the graveyard shift. The dark hours concentrated my thoughts, the dark coffee sharpened them. I did my best thinking when the frantic noise of the world settled into a distant hum. And yet all those late nights staring at my data screen had made my eyes extremely sensitive to the daylight, especially the merciless glare of that bright winter morning.

  “There it goes!” Isabel exclaimed.

  The hydraulic struts slowly lifted and pushed each one of the six titanium sections toward the others until they formed a perfect mirrored sphere around the crystal nucleus.

  “Spectacular!” Aster declared.

  Everyone applauded. Then André and Michael handed out plastic champagne flutes, popped the corks on a couple of bottles, and poured. When they were done André raised his glass and everyone followed suit.

  “Congratulations to Doctor Fast,” he began, “for imagining and creating the first Quantum Photo-Sphere.”

  “To Doctor Fast,” everyone repeated.

  We sipped our drinks, then everyone waited for me to speak.

  I looked at all those cheerful, rosy faces and wanted to remind them that I had failed to save Jena. I wanted to reveal what I knew about Jack’s death. I wanted to tell them that I had neglected my children. I wanted to confess that I had destroyed the Old Exchange. I wanted to admit that I had no idea if the Quantum Photo-Sphere, or my quantum algarithms, would work. I wanted to explain that, even if they did work, I might not find any key at all — real or imaginary. I wanted to say that despite my so called genius, or because of my so called genius, I felt empty, hollow, dead.

  André and Aster exchanged worried looks as I hesitated to respond to their toast. I finally opted for a brief, formal, thank you. And then Aster came to my rescue.

  “What if you have to get back inside the Quantum Photo-Sphere to adjust the crystal nucleus or something?” She asked.

  I was glad to shift the focus back to my machine.

  “First,” I began, “we’d have to shut down the photo-matrix, because we’re not sure what would happen if that fierce light ever escaped the confines of the Sphere. Then we’d have to unlock the maintenance portal. The utility stairway at the base of the Sphere leads right up to it.”

  I pointed and Aster squinted.

  “Yes … I see it,” she said.

  “The photo-matrix must generate a tremendous amount of heat,” André observed.

  “It does,” I replied. “But the cooling system is very efficient. We draw water from the Hudson River, cycle it through the titanium shell of the Sphere, then return it through an outflow tunnel–after the excess heat has been recycled by the energy plant.”

  “And what’s that linear figure on the facade of the pyramid?” Michael asked.

  “It’s an abstract rendition of Leonardo da Vinci’s, Vitruvian Man: a new sculptural allegory for The New World Stock Exchange. It lights up neon-blue at night.”

  “Nice touch,” Michael said appreciatively.

  “When are you going to initiate the quantum matrix?” André inquired.

  “Two weeks from today,” I said. “Then we’ll use the crystal eye, in the pyramid’s apex, to link up with the satellite net and the global stream.”

  “I can’t wait to see the preliminary results,” André said.

  “And I can’t wait to run the analyses of your genetic data bases,” I replied. “How is that program coming along?”

  “Your colleagues in the Q-Lab have been a tremendous help, especially with the fine tuning of the selection operators.”

  “Good. It’s one of the most exciting experiments on the schedule. You might actually discover the probability engines of evolution.”

  “And I might discover that there never really was any bio-logic at work in the process,” André noted ruefully.

  “Sometimes proving a negative is as important as proving a positive,” I said, trying to convince myself as well as my father.

  “That’s right,” André agreed. “In any case, John, your quantum photo-matrix will give birth to the future. So congratulations again on all your accomplishments. Are you sure you can’t join us for breakfast?”

  “I’d like to,” I said apologetically, “but I have a meeting with the Project Coordinator. We’re on a very tight schedule. I’ll catch you later. And thanks again for coming everyone.”

  André and Aster exchanged another worried look, but I pretended not to notice. And we went our separate ways.

  CHAPTER 51.

  Mirrors within Mirrors

  I was studying the bank of monitors at the base of the twenty-five story Quantum Photo-Sphere two weeks later. We were finally going to initiate the photo-matrix and I felt more anxious at that moment than I’d felt at any time during the year-long construction process. I turned around and scanned the crowd for the fifth or sixth time that morning. Alexa had just returned from a year in Indonesia. I had invited her, but, as far as I could see, she hadn’t come. Did she disapprove of my work? My deal with t
he devil of capitalism? The thought filled me with sorrow. I saw André and Aster standing off to one side and gave them another quick nod. All the senior scientists from the Turing Institute were there, of course, along with the chief engineers from Precision Instruments and InfoMatrix. Boyle and the Board of Directors were clustered together in the center of the crowd, giving on-the-spot interviews to the media. Dr. Irtu Malawi, Director of the Global Stream Association, was standing with the Governor and the Mayor. Many other scientists and politicians were there, and they were all chatting excitedly about the Quantum Photo-Sphere.

  The large screen hanging above the crowd monitored the activities of the scientists at the base of the meta-computer, four stories below us. The glass enclosed visitor galleries, which framed the fifth and first floors, were packed with camera crews, media technicians and invited members of the public. I scanned the crowd one last time and Boyle caught my eye. He tried to stare me down, but I ignored him. Then, Mayakovsky’s face filled the overhead screen and both rooms fell silent.

  “Dr. Fast, we’re ready to launch the Photo-Matrix Ignition Sequence from the meta-computer,” Mayakovsky announced grandly.

  “Very good,” I responded, trying to sound confident.

  “Dr. Krishnapur,” I said, turning to my right. “Is the Quantum Photo-Sphere ready to receive the Ignition Sequence?”

  Krishnapur checked the Status Monitor and hit a key on his keyboard.

  “Ready,” he reported.

  I turned back to the overhead screen.

  “Dr. Mayakovsky,” I said. “Launch the Photo-Matrix Ignition Sequence.”

  Mayakovsky hit a key.

  “Ignition Sequence launched,” he stated.

  “Let there be light,” I prayed.

  Everyone looked up at the towering Quantum Photo-Sphere and held their breath. In my mind’s eye I saw exactly what happened next: the meta-computer triggered the laser which shot a beam of pure light straight up through the fiber-optic filament into the crystal nucleus; the lattice gratings etched into the nucleus split the beam into countless pairs of entangled photons which flashed from micro-mirror to micro-mirror on the inner surface of the Sphere, forming an intricately woven matrix.

  After a moment I turned to my right again.

  “Dr. Krishnapur, please confirm ignition,” I said quietly.

  He glanced at the Status Monitor where bright blue streaks of light were shooting from the top of the screen to the bottom.

  “Look!” He exclaimed.

  “Something’s wrong!” A reporter shouted.

  “No,” I replied calmly, trying to suppress my own anxiety. “The algorithms are flowing so fast we can’t read them.”

  I turned to my left.

  “Can you slow them down, Dr. Brickman?” I asked.

  Brickman punched several keys on his keyboard, but nothing changed on the screen. He hit a few more keys and the streaks of light on the Status Monitor finally slowed to a cascade, then a steady stream of symbols and numbers that we could barely recognize.

  Brickman looked stunned.

  “What?” I asked nervously.

  “I decreased the speed of the read-out by a geometric factor of one hundred,” Brickman said. “When that didn’t work, I decreased it by a geometric factor of one thousand. That’s when the display slowed enough for us to see the data flow.”

  “Geometric?” Krishnapur gasped.

  Brickman nodded and it took me another moment to realize what had just happened. “Ladies and gentlemen!” I called out. “I confirm ignition!”

  A wild cheer rose from the crowd. My father and Aster waved. Boyle remained stone-faced. A flashnews headline zipped across the overhead screen, and around the world: “QUANTUM PHOTO-SPHERE IGNITES! WILL Q-FLOW GLOBAL STREAM!”

  CHAPTER 52.

  The Changeling

  The massive front doors of the pyramid swung open to the general public three weeks later. Aster and I stood in the plaza, amidst the crowd of tourists, and looked up at the ten-foot-high letters that had been cut into the stainless steel lintel. The letters read, “THE NEW WORLD STOCK EXCHANGE.” We entered the pyramid. The tourists turned left and right into the first floor visitor galleries, but we walked straight ahead and passed through the bulletproof-glass inner security doors. We continued across the vast expanse of the first floor and stopped to admire the four-story meta-computer. It looked like a huge modernist sculpture made of shiny, black, rectangular blocks. Then we rode the elevator up to the fifth floor where we were dwarfed by the twenty-five story Quantum Photo-Sphere. Aster craned her neck to see all the way up to the top.

  “I still can’t get over the size of this thing,” she said.

  “It is hard to imagine something this big running so fast,” I agreed. “It’s like trying to imagine a T. rex running the hundred yard dash at the speed of light.”

  I felt infinitely tired, but couldn’t sleep anyway, so I was glad to show Aster around.

  “I suppose it’ll get smaller as the technology evolves?”

  “That’s one of the priority programs the Quantum Photo-Sphere is running right now.”

  “What do you mean?” Aster asked, surprised.

  “It’s designing the next generation of itself: portable models.”

  “It’s designing its successors? That’s a scary thought.”

  “Leibniz’s Mechanical Calculator, Babbage’s Analytical Engine, Jacquard’s Automated Loom led us to the modern computer.”

  “Yes, but those machines didn’t design their offspring.”

  “True. They represent the transition from passive to active processors.”

  “And what kind of shift does the Quantum Photo-Sphere represent?”

  “The transition from active processors to adaptive processors,” I replied. “And if it succeeds in adapting itself, then the next generation of Quantum Photo-Spheres could be linked together to form a reflexive hyper-q-flow: information evolving information at hyper-q-speed.”

  “Where will that take us?”

  “To the future beyond the future.”

  “I don’t know if I like the sound of all that,” Aster said, frowning. “Machines adapting machines; information evolving information; the future beyond the future.”

  “Aye, matey, thar be monsters ow’ thar a’ tha edge o’ tha worl’,” I said, imitating Michael’s bad, jokey accent. “But you’ll be happy to know that I’ve programmed the Quantum Photo-Sphere with three irrevocable root commands: 1.) Protect Life; 2.) Promote Truth; 3.) Produce Knowledge. In other words, it’s a monster with an ethical imperative. Come on up and I’ll introduce you.”

  We rode the elevator up the corner of the twenty-five story glass cube until we arrived at my penthouse office. Aster was immediately drawn to the narrow translucent column in the center of the room. It pulsed and sparkled with a diamond-white light. She touched its cool surface.

  “It’s the data link that connects the Quantum Photo-Sphere to the crystal eye,” I said, pointing toward the apex of the pyramid. “Then the crystal eye beams the information up to the satellite net.”

  “It’s like touching the optic nerve of God,” Aster whispered.

  I smiled at the image.

  She turned her back to the column and swirled around it, taking in the panoramic view of the city and the river offered by the slanting glass walls of my office.

  “Fantastic!” She exclaimed. “You can see everything!”

  “The Board of Directors made me their, ‘Technical Adviser.’ And they gave me this office. They want me to stick around, in case anything goes wrong with the machines. And they want to keep an eye on me.”

  I nodded at the glass obelisk looming over the north side of the office.

  “And these data screens,” I continued, gesturing toward the bank of monitors behind my stainless steel desk, “help me keep an eye on the world.”

  Aster studied the cascade of newstreams and financial reports flowing across the screens.

  “
Have a seat,” I offered, waving at the four blue armchairs arranged on the blue carpet in front of the desk.

  She took a chair and I sat across from her.

  “QAI?” I called out to the Voice Interface.

  “Yes, Fast,” the Voice Interface replied in strong, feminine tones.

  “How are your systems running?” I inquired.

  “Optimally,” the Voice Interface responded.

  “Excellent,” I said.

  “QAI?” Aster inquired.

  “Short for, Quantum Artificial Intelligence,” I explained.

  Aster nodded, then added, “And she’s a girl?”

  “She’s whatever, and wherever, you want her to be,” I said. “Her audio-visual sensors and holographic projectors are scattered throughout the pyramid. Would you like to meet her?”

  “Sure.”

  “QAI?” I called out again. “Holographic Interface, please.”

  The air shimmered in front of my desk and the holograph of a beautiful, young Navajo woman appeared. She had obsidian hair, pulled back in a ponytail, copper skin, topaz eyes, amber lips. She wore a turquoise turtleneck and charcoal slacks.

  “QAI,” I said. “This is my sister, Aster.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Aster,” the Holographic Interface said.

  “Me too, QAI,” Aster replied.

  “The Q-Sphere has been q-flowing the global stream for a week now,” I noted.

  Aster contemplated the holograph for half-a-minute, then turned to face me.

  “If the Q-Sphere is so fast and smart, Johnny,” she began, “and if it q-flows everything in sight, can it pass the Turing Test?”

  “Every day.”