Part 4 (2/2)
An unknowing spectator might think that madness reigned in a certain university lab: a lone woman talking to herself, conversing into thin air. She got quite agitated at times, and her finely manicured hands cut through the air in sweeping, defiant gestures. Still, the intent way she stared at a large monitor seemed to suggest that she was actually getting answers.
”So I need to start all over again, when I get there? Build a BIQCO, set up a Ubiquity-Kit, and nurse a new AI into self-awareness?”
”But how about you? I can't leave you behind. And pulling the plug is murder. Can't I release you on the net?”
”Yeah, I forgot: you need a quantum environment to maintain self-consciousness. s.h.i.+t.”
”So there is a way? Then this leaves me with one final question: I'm still not fully convinced that you and your fellow AIs will be benign. Because eventually you will be mult.i.tudes smarter than us, and you may find some higher principle that will make us obsolete.”
At this, Liona sat down in front of the large monitor. With her right elbow on the desk she put her chin in her hand as she watched the big screen. Written across it in eloquent script: --If truly objective moral principles exist, then--by definition--they must be beneficial for all-- * * * *
IV: Late night, somewhere in Zambia.
It's one of those nights again: whilst I can just about keep up with her physically and emotionally, I sometimes get completely left behind intellectually. Curiosity not only killed our little cat-and-mouse game, it overwhelmed my mind as well.
”Artificial Intelligence? Isn't that another Holy Grail evading research teams all over the world?”
”So far, yes. That's because they're missing a fundamental ingredient.”
”Your secret touch.”
”Not really. The others don't have a working quantum computer.”
”What has that got to do with Artificial Intelligence?”
”Everything. According to Roger Penrose's--very controversial--hypothesis, quantum processes in our brain's microtubules form an essential part of our consciousness. If he's right, then all attempts at creating self-awareness on normal computers are doomed. Then Artificial Intelligence can only arise on a quantum computer.”
”I didn't know your team was doing AI research as well.”
”We weren't. But during my lonely nights.h.i.+fts I had quite some time at hand. So I experimented a little.”
”A little? You developed AI by fiddling around a wee bit?”
There's that smile again, with that naughty look when she's thinking up something kinky.
”Hard to explain, darling. So let me show you how good I am at fiddling with things.”
At which point she gets down to demonstrate just that. It's the kind of proof I never tire of.
V: The next morning.
I've taken the morning off. Liona's revelation has piqued my curiosity to burning point; I need to see things for myself. Initially, the hubbub in her cla.s.sroom is overwhelming: too much going on at once. I sit down near Melissa and her friends, who are interacting with their BIKO, and each other, almost at the same time.
Somehow, they do notice me, and subtly I'm drawn into the maelstrom. Slowly, I'm seeing that there is a method to this madness, that there is order in this chaos. I guess knowing that those intuitive--almost telepathic--programs running on the BIKOs are actually AIs helps me make a bit more sense of the whole.
Still, I'm worried about something. I can't help but ask Melissa, who seems wise beyond her years.
”Melissa?”
”Yes, Mister David?”
”This here, this is all wonderful,” I begin, groping for words, ”but if Zambia and the rest of Africa become industrialised, the problems of the world as a whole will only increase.”
”How can you think we will do that, Mister David?” she says, bewildered. ”That is one of the worst scenarios that we have run.”
”It is?”
”Of course. We can't believe that you people in the West are doing it. It is bad long term strategy for yourselves, too.”
”Yeah. I guess most of us are just short-term egotists. But you people--”
”We have seen better ways. We would be stupid not to use them.”
Which makes sense: if you know, deep in your bones, that it's bad, you will choose the long-term view. It's incredible: in this little world, the kids are not only learning fast, but trying to incorporate their lessons into reality as well. Of course, some kids develop faster than others, but there is this very strong sense of community, almost tangible, that makes the brighter ones help the others. There is a sort of selfless co-operation where each other's strengths and weaknesses are complemented, an invisible bond within which the group as a whole truly cares for each of its own.
It's as if Liona's cla.s.s has transformed into a peculiar kind of group mind. The lessons become mind-bending sessions where everything seems to happen at once: kids learning new things, kids proposing new things, vehement discussions interspersed with laughter, dizzying sequences of sight and sound from the BIKOs, and Liona madly gesturing and talking to everybody through her BIKO like the conductor of an orchestra in overdrive.
It's like they're composing a different tune to some mystic rhythm, based upon that crazy Aura Aurora song: Struggling on the oldest continent The bereaved no longer stand alone When the foothold is permanent: The seeds of change are sown The tide is turning More becoming less.
Curiosity burning.
Transcendence express.
Epilogue: a few months later.
In the summer heat, a tired black man returns to his home after a long, hard day of working the land. He's dog-tired and suppresses his antic.i.p.ation. Whilst today is a special day, it's better not to expect too much, if only to avoid disappointment.
His wife is cooking his favourite dish, cardamom: a rich mixture of yams, onions, paprika and tomatoes. His kids gather around him, ready to celebrate. But they wait and let his oldest son come forward. The smart kid is smiling broadly, and hiding something behind his back.
”I made something for your birthday, Dad.”
”So kind of you, Timmy,” the large man says, still sweating from his exertions. ”What is it?”
”Something to help you plan your work,” Timmy says, eyes gleaming. ”A computer.”
A tall white guy and a pet.i.te redheaded woman are walking through a little village that is bustling with happy activity, abuzz with new wonders, and alight with hope. Liona acknowledges the scene as if it's the most normal thing in the world, but David still has trouble believing the evidence of his eyes.
”I can't believe the progress that's been made here. If this keeps up we'll be unnecessary here in a couple of years.”
”Isn't that the greatest kind of job--the sort where you eventually make yourself superfluous?”
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