Avogadro Corp: The Singularity Is Closer Than It Appears (31 page)

Though he didn’t talk about it, the sounds and smells of the processes — the clacking of the typewriter, the chemical agents used for the offset press, brought back happy memories of his teen years when he held a job working in a printing shop. He held up the first plate, reviewing the cover and back page images for defects.

His newsletter,
Off The Grid
, had attracted thousands of subscribers. The newsletter combined tips on lifestyle design, financial planning, and even philosophy. Partly written by Gene, but combining content mailed in by readers, the newsletter helped make the case for living off the grid, taught people how to do it economically, how to become independent, and how to adjust socially. Some readers were ex-corporate types like Gene himself, while others were survivalists and back-to-land extremists. Gene didn’t mind. He figured in the end, when it came down to machine versus man, every person would be important.

He thought it was particularly important to save technology. Not computers, but the hard won technology of pioneer days and the early twentieth century. How to safely preserve foods, build a good home, or maintain an internal combustion engine. Humans were tough, and he didn’t think computers could wipe them out entirely. He just didn’t want human civilization kicked back to the stone age.

He had kept his word though. He hadn’t mentioned ELOPe to anyone.

Running the printing press was fun. Gene had enjoyed the last year, reacquainting himself with tools and machinery he hadn’t used since he was young. Humming to himself, he placed the first offset plate onto the press and started his production run.

Outside, under beautiful New Mexican skies, Gene’s vegetable garden flourished, while chickens pecked at the soil. It was an oasis of life in the high desert landscape.

* * *

David pulled his dinner out of the microwave and brought the cheap plastic tray to the table with a nondescript glass of red wine. Dumplings. Something he acquired a taste for in China.

He wondered for the thousandth time what Christine was doing. After the first six months of David’s obsession, Christine had asked for a divorce. Really, David couldn’t object. He hadn’t been much of a husband since ELOPe was created.

He had developed a single-minded focus on his one and only objective. It had been a chance happening. After the failed attack on ELOPe, he had dropped into a deep bout of depression that had lasted for six weeks. He stayed up nights watching TV, dropping off only when he couldn’t hold his eyes open. Then the nightmares would start. But then came the night that changed everything, all because of a
Star Trek: The Next Generation
episode.

The crew of the
Enterprise
had been faced with an unstoppable enemy called the Borg that had a hive mind, not totally unlike what might be happening inside ELOPe. Faced with this all powerful enemy, the crew of the Enterprise had captured one of the Borg, and developed a mental virus to implant in the Borg they captured. Their plan was to allow the captured Borg to return to its fellows, thus infecting the entire hive with the virus. In the episode, the crew eventually decided not to use the virus, but the plot planted a seed in David’s brain.

Startled awake, David realized this was the solution he had been looking for. By the following morning, he had booked a flight to Russia. He spent the next several months traveling around Russia, China, and Southeast Asia. He hung around Internet cafes and tracked down people on message boards. He met some of the most skilled virus hackers around the world, cultivated relationships with them, and learned the tricks of their trade.

David had been sitting in an Internet cafe in Shenzhen watching kids farm gold in online games when he got the email from Christine. It was a simple one page form, sign here, fax back, you’re divorced. He signed the document, and fell back into a deep depression for a week. Then he poured himself ever more deeply into his mission. He spent a few weeks in Japan, then a month wandering around the Scandinavian countries.

After he learned what he needed, he came back to the States, and holed up in a tiny apartment in Southeast Portland, around the corner from a burrito shop, coffee house, and grocery. Everything he needed in a one block radius. He told no one he was back.

Over the course of many more months, he laboriously crafted an email virus using his specialized knowledge of ELOPe’s core algorithms. In what appeared to be innocuous plain English email text, he had hidden the virus. That virus would be intercepted by ELOPe. David had created a message which, by the very act of being analyzed by ELOPe’s natural language processor, would cause it to behave erratically. First ELOPe would spuriously generate other emails containing the same email text, sent to random recipients. Then the AI would try to optimize the received email, endlessly expanding upon the text. When it exhausted the memory of the computer, it would start to swap bits of the message out to the hard drive, with the side effect of gradually erasing the data stored there. Over the course of hours, the computer would slowly be wiped of operating systems, programs, and user data, until suddenly the computer would stop functioning. Sending the email would destroy every copy of ELOPe it encountered, and because it replicated endlessly, that meant it would find and destroy of every copy of ELOPe in existence.

David had iteratively tested and improved the virus on an isolated cluster of thirty computers spread across folding tables in his apartment. Using a salvaged copy of ELOPe, he ran trials of his virus until he could consistently wipe out every trace of ELOPe on the computers. Then he would restore the computers, make improvements, and try again. Now, a year after the failed attack on ELOPe, he was ready to release the virus. No combination of virus scanners or evolved variations of ELOPe he had on the isolated cluster of computers had been able to detect or stop his virus.

As he ate the microwaved dumplings, he thought about telling Gene about the planned release. Gene was the one person he still kept in touch with occasionally and trusted. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Gene’s newsletter, with his tips about how to live without being monitored by computers, he surely wouldn’t have made it this far. On reflection, he decided not to tell Gene. He had worked in isolation for the last four months, and he wouldn’t risk what he had done in the last few hours just for the comfort of an old friend.

After dinner, he decided there was no point to waiting. After all, he thought, he might get cold feet like the crew of the Enterprise. He had a directional wireless antenna waiting for just this occasion. The directional antenna was a modified Pringles can, the granddaddy of wifi hacks. It would allow David to pick up someone else’s wireless signal at distances of up to two miles. David used the antenna to find a neighbor a few blocks away with an open wireless network. He connected to their network, and used an otherwise clean computer to send the virus to a few hundred email addresses he had from a year ago. He then immediately shut down the network connection. He checked the clock, and saw that the elapsed time he was online was less than a minute. He was probably safe. Hopefully untraceable.

He poured himself another glass of wine. He smiled. The first time he could remember smiling in a long time. He waited. If everything went well, then by morning ELOPe would be gone.

* * *

* * *

Laura Kendal stared in shock at the patient. She glanced at the name tag. David Ryan... Scheduled for AvoImplant. Checking her handheld computer, she saw that it matched the schedule for the day. All normal, except never in her history as a nurse had she ever seen an anesthetized patient left alone. There were no conditions under which it would be considered acceptable.

“
Who admitted this patient?” Laura yelled sternly, looking around the department. She was the senior nurse on duty at the new AvoClinic. “Who allowed the transfer of an anesthetized patient?”

The other two nurses on duty shrugged their shoulders.

“
When I got back from rounds, he was here, prepped for surgery,” one nurse answered. “His records are in order, the procedure was scheduled. I checked with Doctor Thatcher, and he has this patient scheduled for an implant. The paperwork says he was anesthetized by one of the staff anesthesiologists from the main hospital. I don’t why he would have left the patient alone, unless there was an emergency.”

“
Doctor Thatcher is already prepped, and waiting for the patient in surgery. Can I take him back?” the other nurse asked Laura.

“
Yeah, I guess so,” Laura responded. “Go ahead. I’ll contact the anesthesiologist, and if there isn’t a damn good reason for what he did, I am filing a complaint with the anesthesiology board.”

* * *

David woke up. He felt groggy, as though he had overslept. His mouth was painfully dry. He glanced around. The blue and beige walls were unfamiliar. It looked like a hospital. As he continued puzzling over the unexpected vista, a woman entered through the doorway, and walked up to his bed.

“
Mr. Ryan, I’m Laura. I see you’re awake. Can you see me alright? Please follow my fingers.” She waved two fingers in front of his eyes, to see if he could track them.

Involuntarily he followed her fingers.

“
Very good. Now, the procedure went well. How are you feeling?” she asked.

“
Wait... Where am I? What happened to me?” David replied.

“
Don’t worry, Mr. Ryan, a little disorientation is normal after the procedure. You’re at the AvoClinic at Wellington Hospital. We just completed the Avogadro brain implant procedure. Doctor Thatcher says the surgery went perfectly. It will take a few days for your brain to become acclimated to the computer interface.”

“
What? Brain implant?” David struggled under the drug induced mental fog to understand.

“
It’s OK, Mr. Ryan. Please relax. You chose to have the Avogadro implant. You’re so lucky. Your brain is directly connected to the Internet. It takes a few days for your brain to begin interpreting the neural inputs. As soon as you adjust, you’ll be able to read email, use the web, control computers — all directly from your brain!”

“
No!” David cried weakly, struggling to get up. “No!” He tried to pull the IV line out of his arm.

“
Mr. Ryan, you’ve just had brain surgery. Please remain calm.” Then louder, she called “Doctor! Doctor! We need a sedative right away!”

Dear Reader,

Thanks for buying Avogadro Corp. I hope you enjoyed it.

As an independent author, I don’t have a marketing department or the exposure of being on bookshelves. If you enjoyed Avogadro Corp, please help spread the word and support the writing of the rest of the series by writing an Amazon review or telling a few friends about the book.

Thanks again,

William Hertling

P.S. Keep reading for a free preview of the next book in the series, A.I. Apocalypse.

A preview of Book 2 in the Singularity Series:

A.I. Apocalypse

Leon's phone buzzed, beeped, and shrilled at him until he reached one arm out from under the flannel covers and swiped two fingers across the display to turn the alarm off. Eyes still closed, he shrugged off his blankets and stumbled towards the bathroom, a trip of only a few steps, hitting himself just twice along the way: once walking right into his closed bedroom door, and the second time on the corner of the bathroom sink. He turned on the water, and leaned against the white tile wall waiting for the water to get hot.

When he was done in the shower, he wrapped himself in a towel and walked slightly more alertly to his room, steam rising faintly off his body in the tiny apartment's cold morning air. The superintendent wouldn't turn on central heating for another month, regardless of whether it was cold or not.

It was quiet in the apartment, his parents already at work. He grabbed yesterday's dark blue jeans off his chair and pulled them on. On his desk in front of him was an empty bag of cookies and empty bottle of soda, evidence of his late night Mech War gaming session. He dug in a pile of clean laundry his mom had deposited inside his door until he found his vintage I (heart) SQL t-shirt. It was obscure enough that no one at school would understand it. They'd probably think it was some new band.