The Infinet Page 8

  “I have used some of those. Mostly back in med school when there was so much raw memorization to do.”

  “Right. Well, Cevis’ has done it for so long it’s like breathing to him. He does low-level conversions and processing automatically, doesn’t even need to think about it. Then he combines this with other well-known mnemonic devices, like visually attaching things to familiar places he knows to remember them in a certain order.”

  “Right,” said Jean. “You mentally take a walk through your house, or your village, or some other place you know well, and connect the things you’re trying to remember to it, using absurdist imagery to make it stick in your memory better.” He looked at Pax skeptically. “But those tricks have been around forever. They’re how people in ancient times passed stories from one generation to another, before writing existed. Surely that’s not why you think so highly of him.”

  “No, but because Cevis learned and practiced them since he was a child, they were second nature to him, like breathing. And he taught me a number of other more advanced tricks which I won’t get into now. But suffice it to say that he taught me how to process and retain information.”

  “All right, so that’s the foundation. What else did he teach you?”

  “A second, much deeper level of processing. The essence of it has to do with asking questions. He often spoke of the importance of asking questions, and how they create a natural tension in the mind that persists until they are resolved. He used to say, “Humans are natural-born problem solvers, and when we are confronted with a compelling question, it attracts the information we need just like a moth to a flame. Our unconscious minds are always at work trying to answer them, silently sifting through data, like a background process in a computer program, until the answer is found.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “He also stressed the importance of asking questions that were domain-agnostic.”

  “By ‘domain,’ you mean a knowledge domain?”

  “Exactly,” said Pax. “One time he told me, ‘one of the worst things we are taught is to create artificial categories of knowledge. If I take a poetry class at some point, why shouldn’t I use that information when considering a biochemistry question? Perhaps my knowledge of iambic pentameter will help me detect a corresponding structure in some natural phenomenon I’ve been observing.’”

  “Makes sense,” said Jean. “So, long story short, this Cevis person filled you with a desire to accomplish great things and gave you some of the tools to actually do them.

  “Yes,” Pax said. He realized he’d never really expressed this fact so directly to anyone, even to himself.

  “Okay, so who’s the second person who didn’t exist, and how does he fit into the story?”

  “First, I could use a drink of water. I’m getting a little parched with all this yakking.”

  Jean smiled and stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

  Chapter 12

  Jean returned a few minutes later with a tall glass containing a strange fluorescent orange liquid. Pax looked skeptically at it. “What’s with the Tang?”

  “It’s just water with some high-availability vitamins and minerals. Trust me, it’ll help you recover faster.”

  “I’m going to take you to a five-star hotel after this, so you understand the sort of recovery experience we need to have,” said Pax, frowning.

  “I’d be happy to have you teach me the ways of overindulgence once you’re recovered,” said Jean. “Now, drink.”

  Pax closed his eyes and took several large gulps until half the glass was gone. “That’s not nearly as disgusting as I thought it would be. Could definitely use some sweetener though.”

  Jean shook his head and sat down again. “Anyway, now that you’ve hydrated a bit, please continue with your tale. It’s most entertaining.”

  “Sure. So, after graduating with my B.S., I took a job as a user experience designer at Dakko Corp. I threw myself into my work, excited to be getting paid for doing work I loved. But after a couple of years of seeing most of my designs wind up in the trash due to schedule or cost, I decided to try my hand at a start-up, which quickly burned through its venture capital. I jumped to another startup, where the same thing happened, and then to a third company.

  “At all of these companies I worked very hard, hoping one of them would become a great success. But either the products turned out not to have the right combination of features, or the company ran out of money before they could get the product to market. By then another five years had passed.”

  “Sounds like a pretty normal career path to me,” said Jean, the fingers of his hands interwoven and cupped over of one of his knees.

  “Yes, but I didn’t want a normal career. By now Cevis had cured several diseases and made a lot of money. All while still managing to keep himself hidden from the world. We’d agreed when we graduated to meet once a quarter to discuss what we’d done and what we were working on. In practice, what Cevis brought to those meetings far exceeded the work I was doing in terms of importance. And over the years, I had less and less to talk about.”

  “I see.”

  “Eventually, I decided to try working at a design agency. They get lots of different projects, and I thought it would increase my chances of getting to work on something important. So I took a job as a creative director at a small but well-respected local agency.

  “However, soon after I joined I discovered the agency was struggling. Their client list had been dwindling for the past year, then less than two months after I joined, their business development manager left and took the two salespeople she’d been supervising with her. Things were looking pretty bleak until one day, a man named Chester Evans walked in off the street.

  “It turned out Chester was the sole proprietor of a company called No Horizons. And while most new clients usually have at least a back-of-the-napkin sketch for whatever product concept they wanted the agency to help them design, in Chester’s case, all he had was an idea. An idea for a hands-free device that could seamlessly switch between augmented and virtual reality, as well as be the hub through which people managed their lives, both online and off.”

  Jean’s eyes were wide. “So the Univiz wasn’t even your idea, originally?”

  “No, and if that ever gets out, I will hunt you down and strangle you myself. Anyway, Chester seemed confident it could be done, but I didn’t know why because as far as I could tell the man was a technological idiot. He didn’t have the first idea of how to make it a reality. But somehow, with just that inkling of a product concept and a good sales pitch he’d managed to acquire ample backing from an anonymous angel investor. He wanted to do a big project, one that would require most of the agency’s resources for the better part of a year.

  “The agency was in such dire financial straits by then the owners couldn’t afford to look a gift horse in the mouth. After accepting an up-front, good-faith payment of 15 percent, the two partners accepted the project.

  “At the request of the client, I was put in charge of the project since I’d worked on a VR app years before at Dakko. We spent the first month researching current VR and AR products on the market, as well as the various ways in which people tried to manage their interactions with the labyrinthine world of the Internet of Things. Then we spent two weeks analyzing what we’d learned and brainstorming solutions. The work was exhausting but exhilarating. But then, the unthinkable happened.

  “Let me guess. The funding dried up.”

  “That would be putting it mildly. We were cut off overnight. As it turned out, the angel investor didn’t share Chester’s penchant for user needs research, and he or she was severely displeased at the prospect of having spent a quarter million dollars on ‘touchy-feely bullshit.’ In a video conference hastily arranged with the agency’s partners, Chester informed them of his loss of financial backing, but he assured them he would get the agency the money owed it for the work to date and vowed to find another investor willing to pick up the projec
t. That was the last anyone ever heard of Chester Evans.

  “The partners attempted to track him down, but Chester turned out to be a ghost. His company’s address was a recently rented office that, according to the building manager, hadn’t been occupied since it had been rented. Emails to him bounced back as undelivered, the website disappeared, and no other digital presence could be found. He simply vanished.

  “With no other significant projects waiting in the wings, and no parent company to cushion the blow, the agency couldn’t make payroll. Within a month of the project’s collapse, the agency’s doors were shuttered.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I was despondent at first, thinking my dream project was gone. But as I walked home that last day, I realized it was an opportunity in disguise. The partners had announced they were retiring, and because the funding company had disappeared it meant the intellectual property rights to all the research and analysis we’d done was up for grabs.

  “That evening, I stopped by an office supply store and bought a bunch of pens and paper. Then I locked myself in my apartment, and, well…that part you’ve already read about. I worked nonstop, only pausing to eat some cookies or…”

  Jean looked at him curiously. “Or what?”

  Pax had been about to say “or take one of Cevis’ stim pills” before he’d caught himself. “Or go to the bathroom,” he said. Jean nodded.

  “I finally collapsed just before dawn on Monday morning, but by then it was done. I’d created the end-to-end user experience for the first Univiz. When I woke up later that afternoon and looked again at what I’d done, I knew it was going to change the world. I can’t explain why, but somehow, deep inside, I knew.”

  Jean smiled. “How right you were.” He stood up and stretched. “Thank you. That was an excellent story.”

  “Are we square?”

  Jean laughed. “Yes, I consider your debt to me repaid.”

  “Good.”

  “Look, I’ve got to go help the Project Simon team process all the data from yesterday’s sessions. Think you’ll be okay here by yourself for a bit?”

  “Sure, I’ll find a movie or something to watch,” said Pax. “Wait,” he said, as he tried to look around the room. “Isn’t there a TV in here?”

  “Sorry, no. No TV for at least 24 hours while your brain recuperates.”

  “Great. Maybe I’ll count down from 10,000 instead.”

  “Good. And if you feel tired, sleep. Sleeping is the best thing you can do to recuperate as quickly as possible.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  “Just tell the room if you need me for any reason. I won’t be far away.”

  “Got it. Now shoo.”

  Jean touched two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute, then disappeared out the door.

  Chapter 13

  Friday, 8:45 AM PT

  The next morning, Pax woke up in his own bed. He rolled over and fumbled around the top of the nightstand until he found Gabe. He positioned the lenses over his eyes and then positioned the temples until both earbuds were aligned with his ears. He slid his hands around to the back and pushed the ends of the temples together until he felt them lock. There was a barely audible whir from two tiny servo motors, and the earbuds nuzzled their way into Pax’s ear canals. He waited a moment to see if anything felt different now that he had a BCI implanted, but he couldn’t detect anything unusual.

  After Gabe performed a SQUID check, he said, “Good morning, Sunshine! How are you feeling today?”

  “I feel like I’ve been drugged. What time is it?”

  “8:47 a.m., sir. And you were drugged.”

  “What? What are you talking about? And why didn’t you wake me up at my normal time?”

  “I had orders from Dr. Prudhomme to let you sleep as long as possible.” Gabe went on to explain how Jean had administered a powerful but time-delayed sedative just before removing Pax’s IV, to make sure Pax went straight to bed when he arrived home. Pax grumbled as he stood up and stumbled toward his closet, but he realized the only pain he felt was a moderate ache at the back of his sinus cavity. Grudgingly, he realized Jean done the right thing to force him to rest.

  He put on some jeans, a green t-shirt, and a pair of brown sandals. When he was dressed he said, “So, Gabe. I understand you’ve been outfitted with some new firmware.”

  “Indeed, I have. I must confess I’m rather terrified at the prospect of having to attend to every passing thought of yours,” said Gabe.

  Pax gave a low chuckle. “Yep, you are about to go where no other AI has ever gone before. To the uncharted regions of the human brain.”

  “I’m sure all the other AIs in the world are positively quivering with jealousy,” said Gabe.

  “Har har. How’s about giving me a quick overview of how it works?”

  “Certainly. Basically, to the degree that you can control the neural gibberish careening around inside your skull and think coherent thoughts, the BCI mesh will amplify the neural signals from your brain so the sensor array I’ve been outfitted with can detect and pass them on to me. At which point I will mock and ignore them as per usual.”

  Pax laughed. “Sounds good. Let’s give it a whirl!”

  “Dr. Prudhomme suggested you wait 48 hours…”

  “He told me 24 hours minimum,” Pax interrupted, “which is where we are now. So, let’s go. Open sesame!”

  As he sat down on the bed, the display in Pax’s UV darkened. Then the same target shapes he’d seen in the tests with Eric and Lila appeared.

  “The goal is the same as in the test you observed in yesterday’s testing,” said Gabe. “To move the shape in the center of the rectangle to the matching shape on the rectangle’s perimeter.”

  “Sounds easy enough.”

  “It is, for you,” said Gabe. “I, on the other hand, have to do most of the actual work. Not that there’s anything new about that.”

  Ignoring the jest, Pax excitedly rubbed his hands together. “Okay, let’s start!”

  A light-gray square appeared in the center of the rectangle.

  Pax stared at the square. Nothing happened. He imagined reaching out and pushing it with his hand. Nothing.

  “May I ask what you are attempting to do?” asked Gabe.

  “I was trying to move it. With my mind.”

  “I see. Must be why nothing happened.”

  Pax laughed. “Stop it! I’ve got to concentrate here.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” said Gabe, “please try to speak your thoughts out loud. It will help me associate your intent with the neural activity.”

  “Will do. Okay, now I’m trying again. Nothing, again. Okay, now I’m imagining a broom sweeping it along. Nope, that didn’t work either. I’m blowing on it. Nada. All right, I’m going to just watch it for a bit. Focus my awareness on it but not try to do anything in particular to it.” Pax remained in a contemplative repose for a few moments before continuing.

  “Now I’m imagining what its surface feels like. If it’s smooth and slippery, or a bit rough, like fine-grained sandpaper. I’m imagining an invisible force brushing over the top of it, like a gentle wind and…”

  The square jiggled slightly. Pax gasped.

  “There it is, the breakthrough mankind has been waiting for,” said Gabe.

  Pax said, “Okay, I’m going to try that again, and—HA! I did it again! It moved a tiny bit to the left! Now I’m imagining the wind blowing left to right—it moved again!—although not as much as I’d hoped. Now, I’m imagining there’s some sort of sticky residue on it that makes it easier for the force to catch on and…”

  “Mr. Pax, you’re about to…”

  “Whoa!” Pax cried out, as he caught himself leaning so far forward on the edge of the bed he almost fell onto the floor. He sat back and said, “Thanks, Gabe—got a little carried away there.”

  “Don’t thank me, it was self-preservation. I was afraid you were going to fall on your face and break me.”

&n
bsp; Pax chuckled. “All right, back to work. I’m thinking of lightly squeezing the sides, then sliding it over to the left.”

  To his delight, the square moved, although only a distance slightly more than the width of the square itself.

  “I had it going for a bit there, but when I became conscious of the fact that I was moving it, I lost it. Alright, I’m trying again, light pressure on the sides, then pulling it toward the left.”

  The square moved to the left again, twice as far as before. It was now halfway toward its target. Pax felt a surge of excitement. I’m making something move with only my mind!

  “What did you think, just now?” queried Gabe.

  “Umm—I thought, ‘I’m making something move with only my mind.’”

  “I see. If you stop admiring yourself in the mirror, perhaps you’ll be able to get it to the target before bedtime.”

  Pax laughed. “Point taken.” He tried several more times, with similar results. The square moved a small distance before he became conscious of the fact he was moving it, and then it stopped. Suddenly, the display cleared and his room became visible again.

  “Training is suspended for 25 minutes,” said Gabe. “Please try to relax and think about something else.”

  “What—hey, come on!” Pax whined. “That was only like five minutes! Bring it back, put it back on!“

  “I’m sorry, Oreste, I can’t do that. I have strict instructions from Dr. Prudhomme to let you use it for only five minutes at a time, with rest periods of 25 minutes in between.”

  “But I was just getting the hang of it!”

  “Dr. Prudhomme wants to ensure you don’t overexert yourself and damage all that sensitive spaghetti inside your head. Perhaps just as important, however, the neural analysis program on the Omnitech server needs time to analyze the data I’m sending it now. Surprisingly, those little burps of cognition you produced generated half a petabyte of data. Even for an Omnitech server, that will take a few minutes to parse through. After it updates the brainwave pattern detector database, it will send me an updated copy to use locally.”