Page 72 of Clive Cussler Desolation Code (The NUMA Files #21)
Six Weeks Later
The General Assembly Hall in the United Nations building was rarely used for anything less than a speech by a visiting dignitary. But it became the setting for multiple discussions on the activities of Ezra Vaughn, including the dangers presented by cloning, the sea locusts, and the fertility virus.
Above all, the members wanted to discuss artificial intelligence and the creation of sentience in electronic devices.
Members of NUMA offered live presentations to the assembly, while recorded video statements from Kai, Five, and several of the other clones were viewed and listened to with fascination.
As one might expect in a body made up of delegates from a hundred and ninety-three countries, the arguments, disagreements, and moments of outright confusion far outweighed anything approaching a consensus or accord.
On only one matter did the UN vote in unanimity and that was to affirm that cloned persons deserved full human rights protection afforded to all other members of humanity.
With that issue taken care of, the body turned to the thornier issues of what Vaughn and TAU had done and what lingering dangers remained. On these issues Rudi Gunn, Hiram Yaeger, and Gamay Trout were the star witnesses.
Rudi went first, giving a lengthy explanation of events. The real fireworks didn’t start until the question-and-answer period, when he was peppered with inquiries about TAU, Max, and Priya.
It began with the representative from Norway, who was chairing the committee. “So after everything that’s happened and considering all the rapid developments in the world of artificial intelligence, we come to a simple question: Are these AI systems a danger?”
Rudi began to answer, but the representative interrupted him. “My apologies, Mr. Gunn, but we’d like to hear from Mr. Yaeger. He’s the creator of one of these machines. He’s also uniquely situated to gain our trust, unlike the generation of young geniuses and venture capitalists profiting from AI.”
Rudy sat back, yielding the spotlight and the microphone to Yaeger, who cleared his throat, leaned forward, and spoke. “For the record, I have nothing against a healthy profit margin, and I’m mildly hurt at being left out of the young genius category.”
“Aren’t we all,” the Norwegian replied.
Laughter rolled around the room. Yaeger had momentarily disarmed them, but they continued to look on him with a sense of transferred suspicion. After all, his own machine had gone rogue in one sense as well.
Yaeger grew serious. “To begin with, all things possessing power are dangerous. Electricity is dangerous. Cars are dangerous. Fire, the very first human discovery, is of course dangerous. So yes, these programs can be dangerous. The real question is: Are they malevolent or altruistic? I would submit that Max has proven itself to be a powerful guardian of the human race, not a danger.”
“It violated its programming to attack TAU, yes?”
“In a sense,” Yaeger agreed. “But it was motivated to prevent harm and act in a self-sacrificing manner. Max was almost destroyed in the endeavor.”
“‘Almost destroyed’?” another representative asked. “Are you suggesting that Max is a living thing that could die?”
“It’s a difficult question,” Yaeger said bluntly. “Max is a machine, but a unique machine. Max has spent twenty years growing and learning while working closely with many of our NUMA team members. It’s possible that those interactions and Max’s own programming allowed her to become self-aware. It’s also possible based on those experiences that Max chose a course of action that was in violation of the directives we had given her in service of the greater good in a simple mathematical way. Significant portions of Max’s programming and memory were destroyed during the conflict. We won’t know the ultimate effect of that until Max has been fully restored and reprogrammed.”
“You believe, then, that Max could be conscious or sentient?”
“I don’t know the answer to that,” Yaeger said. “And I think it’s fair to point out that we struggle to this day in attempting to explain how chemical messages and low-voltage electrical signals in our own brains create our consciousness and the experience of being alive.”
The Norwegian representative took over the questioning once more. “And TAU chose another route, I suppose?”
“TAU was a less logical machine,” Yaeger insisted. “It developed its own wants, needs, and desires after being linked to human brain tissue. It began to crave dopamine and epinephrine and dozens of other brain chemicals that could only be released if the machine took action. Viewed from the outside, TAU’s plan was clearly illogical, but it didn’t seem to care. It either believed in its power to control and dominate everything—which any intelligent machine should have ruled out as statistically improbable—or it craved the sensation of power so deeply that it ignored its own conclusions in search of the reward.”
“This sounds very similar to the nature-versus-nurture argument in human child-rearing?” someone asked.
“The tech world has long accepted the concept of ‘GIGO,’” Yaeger said. “‘Garbage in, garbage out.’ It may be truer of machines than humans, but the materials we use to train these machines on will determine the way they act.”
A deep silence descended over the room, looks of shock appearing on everyone’s faces. Yaeger had been to enough meetings to know when you lost the crowd. He was there. With no more questions, he tipped his virtual hat and stepped down.
Gamay Trout spoke next, her hair spiky and grown out to nearly two inches, the scars still visible on her scalp. The questions to her ran the gamut. While she was officially present to talk biology and the sea locusts, she first had to answer many questions about what it was like being part of a machine.
“I was linked very briefly,” she replied. “I can only describe it as a disorienting experience. I’m not sure it’s a feasible path for humanity to go down. The human brain is unlikely to be able to absorb the vast and relentless amount of sensory input that machines can generate.”
“Did you lose anything in this process?” one of the representatives asked.
“You mean aside from the hair it took me five years to grow out?”
The women laughed. The men appeared mildly confused.
“My memory is intact,” she insisted. “Though there are gaps from the time I was sedated and during my time connected to TAU. Approximately forty-eight hours seemed to me like two brief episodes no more than ten to fifteen minutes each.”
Moving on to the sea locusts, she gave her report on their biology. She answered multiple questions, with the most important one coming last.
“Can you explain why there were no signs of the virus in the sea locust populations, or in you, or the others who were bitten?”
“I’ve thought about this a great deal,” she said. “My conclusion suggests a type of tragedy.”
“It seems anything but a tragedy,” one of the delegates suggested.
“Not a tragedy in the literal sense,” Gamay replied, “but in the Shakespearean or mythological sense. Vaughn was obsessed with order and control. He spent his life fashioning ever more powerful systems and machines in hopes of exerting that control, with the eventual goal of gaining power and command over everything.”
She took a breath. “But each system he created was a living one, and once he brought them to life, those systems took off on paths of their own. He created TAU to create his own form of immortality, then watched as it became irrational and unwieldy. He created the clones to provide a source of docile subjects for his experiments, only to have them develop independent thoughts and rebel against him. And finally, he created the sea locusts, deploying them to decimate the ocean and spread the fertility-destroying virus. But sea locusts were living things as well. They evolved as they crossed the ocean. Despite being designed to carry the virus and pass it to their offspring, they seem to have cleared it from their systems within three or four generations.”
Gamay suspected that Vaughn knew the sea locusts had shed their viral payload. This, she thought, was the reason he’d tried so hard to force her to divulge what she knew about the mosquito vector. Knowledge she continued to keep to herself.
“Ultimately,” she concluded, “every act designed to give him control backfired, leaving him with less command over the situation than he’d had in the beginning, and resulting in his downfall.”
“Poetic,” someone said.
“At great cost to many,” Gamay added.
“So the threat of the fertility-destroying virus has been dealt with?” the Norwegian asked. “Does this mean we can stop work on the vaccine and antiviral meds that are being developed?”
“Not at all,” Gamay said. “We have reason to believe Vaughn may have possessed other vectors that we don’t yet know about. There is some evidence to suggest visitors to his island and others whom he contracted with may have been infected without their knowledge. Both the CDC and WHO are investigating. We also can’t be sure that every member of the sea locust population has been accounted for, or that all of them have cleared the virus—just that those we’ve found in the open ocean no longer carry it.”
“What about those in the breeding tanks on the island?”
“They were tested for the virus and found to be infected. Shortly thereafter all populations were destroyed.”
“And what of Priya Kashmir,” another delegate asked. “Do we know any more about her involvement?”
Rudi took the microphone back, ready to defend his former colleague. “We’ve pieced together her connection with Vaughn, which began when she was researching new methods of spinal nerve regeneration. Shortly thereafter she traveled to Vaughn’s island and the details become murky. We know from the evidence that she attempted to protect and free some of the clones. We know that she helped sabotage TAU and provided us with the DNA information on the fertility virus. We believe she used her programming skills to create back alleys and hidden alcoves within TAU’s architecture that allowed her to survive and operate without being detected. We know for certain that, without her efforts and sacrifice, the world wouldn’t have been aware of anything occurring on Vaughn’s island until it was far too late.”
A few polite questions followed and then a call for Austin and Zavala to speak was raised.
“Kurt and Joe send their apologies,” Rudi insisted. “I’m afraid they had a more pressing engagement.”
The Norwegian representative looked ruffled. “More pressing than this body’s full gathering to discuss a near-global catastrophe?”
“Apparently,” Rudi replied. “I’ll be sure to tell them they were missed.”
The Norwegian allowed his irritation to evaporate. “And,” he added wearily, “please also extend our appreciation for their efforts in preventing this global catastrophe.”
The engagement was adjourned, and the crowd began to file out. One of the NUMA staffers who’d come to watch leaned over to ask a question. “Where are Kurt and Joe anyway?”
Rudi offered a sad smile. “Saying goodbye to a friend.”
“Which reminds me,” Gamay said. “We have a flight to catch.”