The taxi stops; I pay the driver and walk up to the apartment building. The electric lock on the door opens for me. I take off my coat and climb four flights.
The door to Reynolds’ apartment is also open. I walk down the entryway to the living room, hearing a hyper-accelerated polyphony from a digital synthesizer. Evidently it’s his own work; the sounds are modulated in ways undetectable to normal hearing, and even I can’t discern any pattern to them. An experiment in high-information-density music, perhaps.
There is a large swivel chair in the room, its back turned toward me. Reynolds is not visible, and he is restricting his somatic emanations to comatose levels. I imply my presence and my recognition of his identity.
<Reynolds.>
Acknowledgment. <Greco.>
The chair turns around smoothly, slowly. He smiles at me and shuts off the synthesizer at his side. Gratification. <A pleasure to meet you.>
To communicate, we are exchanging fragments from the somatic language of the normals: a shorthand version of the vernacular. Each phrase takes a tenth of a second. I give a suggestion of regret. <A shame it must be as enemies.>
Wistful agreement, then supposition. <Indeed. Imagine how we could change the world, acting in concert. Two enhanced minds; such an opportunity missed.>
True, acting cooperatively would produce achievements far outstripping any we might attain individually. Any interaction would be incredibly fruitfuclass="underline" how satisfying it would be simply to have a discussion with someone who can match my speed, who can offer an idea that is new to me, who can hear the same melodies I do. He desires the same. It pains us both to think that one of us will not leave this room alive.
An offer. <Do you wish to share what we’ve learned in the past six months?>
He knows what my answer is.
We will speak aloud, since somatic language has no technical vocabulary. Reynolds says, quickly and quietly, five words. They are more pregnant with meaning than any stanza of poetry: each word provides a logical toehold I can mount after extracting everything implicit in the preceding ones. Together they encapsulate a revolutionary insight into sociology; using somatic language he indicates that it was among the first he ever achieved. I came to a similar realization, but formulated it differently. I immediately counter with seven words, four that summarize the distinctions between my insight and his, and three that describe a nonobvious result of the distinctions. He responds.
We continue. We are like two bards, each cueing the other to extemporize another stanza, jointly composing an epic poem of knowledge. Within moments we accelerate, talking over each other’s words but hearing every nuance, until we are absorbing, concluding, and responding, continuously, simultaneously, synergistically.
Many minutes pass. I learn much from him, and he from me. It’s exhilarating, to be suddenly awash in ideas whose implications would take me days to consider fully. But we’re also gathering strategic information: I infer the extent of his unspoken knowledge, compare it with my own, and simulate his corresponding inferences. For there is always the awareness that this must come to an end; the formulation of our exchanges renders ideological differences luminously clear.
Reynolds hasn’t witnessed the beauty that I have; he’s stood before lovely insights, oblivious to them. The sole gestalt that inspires him is the one I ignored: that of the planetary society, of the biosphere. I am a lover of beauty, he of humanity. Each feels that the other has ignored great opportunities.
He has an unmentioned plan for establishing a global network of influence, to create world prosperity. To execute it, he’ll employ a number of people, some of whom he’ll give simple heightened intelligence, some meta-self-awareness; a few of them will pose threats to him. <Why assume such a risk for the sake of the normals?>
<Your indifference toward the normals would be justified if you were enlightened; your realm wouldn’t intersect theirs. But as long as you and I can still comprehend their affairs, we can’t ignore them.>
I can measure the distance between our respective moral stances precisely, see the stress between their incompatible radiating lines. What motivates him is not simply compassion or altruism, but something that entails both those things. On the other hand, I concentrate only on understanding the sublime. <What about the beauty visible from enlightenment? Doesn’t it attract you?>
<You know what kind of structure would be required to hold an enlightened consciousness. I have no reason to wait the time it would take to establish the necessary industries.>
He considers intelligence to be a means, while I view it as an end in itself. Greater intelligence would be of little use to him. At his present level, he can find the best possible solution to any problem within the realm of human experience, and many beyond. All he’d require is sufficient time to implement his solution.
There’s no point in further discussion. By mutual assent, we begin.
It’s meaningless to speak of an element of surprise when we time our attacks; our awareness can’t become more acute with forewarning. It’s not affording a courtesy to each other when we agree to begin our battle, it’s actualizing the inevitable.
In the models of each other that we’ve constructed from our inferences, there are gaps, lacunae: the internal psychological developments and discoveries that each has made. No echoes have radiated from those spaces, no strands have tied them to the world web, until now.
I begin.
I concentrate on initiating two reinforcing loops in him. One is very simple: it increases blood pressure rapidly and enormously. If it were to continue unchecked for over a second, this loop would raise his blood pressure to stroke levels – perhaps 400 over 300 – and burst capillaries in his brain.
Reynolds detects it immediately. Though it’s clear from our conversation that he never investigated the inducement of biofeedback loops in others, he recognizes what is happening. Once he does, he reduces his heart rate and dilates the blood vessels throughout his body.
But it is the other, subtler reinforcing loop that is my real attack. This is a weapon I’ve been developing ever since my search for Reynolds began. This loop causes his neurons to dramatically overproduce neurotransmitter antagonists, preventing impulses from crossing his synapses, shutting down brain activity. I’ve been radiating this loop at a much higher intensity than the other.
As Reynolds is parrying the ostensible attack, he experiences a slight weakening of his concentration, masked by the effects of the heightened blood pressure. A second later, his body begins to amplify the effect on its own. Reynolds is shocked to feel his thoughts blurring. He searches for the precise mechanism: he’ll identify it soon, but he won’t be able to scrutinize it for long.
Once his brain function has been reduced to the level of a normal, I should be able to manipulate his mind easily. Hypnotic techniques can make him regurgitate most of the information his enhanced mind possesses.
I inspect his somatic expressions, watching them betray his diminishing intelligence. The regression is unmistakable.
And then it stops.
Reynolds is in equilibrium. I’m stunned. He was able to break the reinforcing loop. He has stopped the most sophisticated offensive I could mount.
Next, he reverses the damage already done. Even starting with reduced capabilities, he can correct the balance of neurotransmitters. Within seconds, Reynolds is fully restored.