Smith thought about his own parents, trying to calculate the effect of the environment they’d provided. The truth was that his intelligence had been recognized at a very early age despite the fact that they hadn’t been particularly interventionist on that front. And both had been horrified when he joined the military.
“So the real purpose of the Merge isn’t augmented reality,” Randi said, making an unconvincing effort to mimic Smith’s calm, friendly tone. “It’s to change the way the human mind works. The men in Sarabat lost their faith and didn’t fight back because the Merge destroyed that part of their brain—”
“No!” Eichmann responded. “It doesn’t destroy anything. It just regulates brain waves. And the unit we used there is very different from the one you’re familiar with — much larger, with enormous rates of power consumption. Our hope was that we could—”
“Strip us of who we are?” Randi said, finishing his sentence.
For the first time, Eichmann met her eye. He was a scientist first and foremost, and his fear was starting to be overshadowed by the subject matter. It was something Smith understood and he was unashamedly hanging on the man’s every word. It appeared that Dresner’s brilliance and ambition went well beyond anything anyone had ever imagined. Unfortunately, so did his insanity.
“Who we are?” the German said. “We aren’t anyone. You’re a calculating machine made of meat. A neurotic, violent, depressive computing device. Where do you think love comes from? God? Don’t be absurd. It’s an illusion created by natural selection. People who felt compelled to protect their family had more children survive than people who didn’t and they passed on that trait. But there’s a dark side to those survival instincts: greed, cruelty, bigotry. All emotions are like this — strategies for either spreading our genes or stopping others from spreading theirs. Together, they create the illusion that we exist. That we have consciousness.”
It was a fascinating theory, but not one Smith was fully willing to accept. “If an illusion is perfect enough, though, it is real.”
“Exactly!” Eichmann said. “But what if we could manipulate that illusion and change the perverse Darwinist incentives that control our species? What if we could dull the drive for self-interest and increase the pleasure of giving? What if we could provide the happiness that so many have harmed themselves and others for but never really achieved?”
“Make everyone Christian Dresner’s robot,” Randi said. “Take away our free will.”
“You’re wrong!” he said, actually slamming a hand down onto the table. “There is no free will. Evolution has imprisoned us. Consider the trivial example of diet: We crave fatty, sugary foods that used to be important to our survival but now kill us. It isn’t our will to eat those foods. Quite the opposite. It’s an artifact of programming written a million years ago without our knowledge or permission. What if we could change it? That is free will. What we have now is slavery.”
Randi opened her mouth to speak, but the old man cut her off. “We would have forced no one. If you want to remain angry and unfulfilled, searching for relief from drugs or violence or sex or money, that would be your choice.”
Smith’s head was spinning. His work in medicine had convinced him that over the next fifty years the line between man and machine would become increasingly blurry. But he’d always thought in physical terms: prostheses, artificial organs. Dresner’s ideas weren’t so confined. He wanted to reinvent humanity. To perfect it.
“And this is something you can actually do,” Smith said, stunned. “You proved that in Afghanistan. All you need is a more efficient power supply.”
“No,” Eichmann admitted as his manic energy faded. “Even without the battery issues, it was a complete failure. Behavioral control had bizarre side effects and massive inconsistencies among individuals. And the real-world environment just made them worse. Perhaps Christian learned something from the experiment that could help him but I doubt it. If he had another half century, he might be able to produce something usable. But he doesn’t. Neither of us do.”
“What Christian learned? You weren’t involved?
“I analyzed the data downloaded from the Afghan units as well as the video of the villagers’ behavior. But my area of expertise is narrow and I’m not involved in many of the technical aspects. Most of the major research is done in North Korea and I have very little access to that. I’ve only been to that facility twice, and there’s an entire wing I’m barred from.”
Smith chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. A moment ago he had been more or less satisfied that he had everything he needed to write his report. Of course, the president and Dresner would have to sit down and hash out exactly what had happened and what capabilities existed that hadn’t been made public, but that wasn’t his problem.
Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t a surprise to him that North Korea had been used as a location for a testing facility — it was a country largely hidden from the rest of the world with a government desperate for hard currency and an expendable population. But now he had to wonder if the North Koreans could have gained access to the military operating system. And even if they hadn’t, what was going on in the facility that Dresner wouldn’t even discuss with his oldest friend? Was his research more advanced than Eichmann knew? Was he developing some completely new capability?
“Tell me more about the North Korean facility,” Smith said.
The German scientist shrugged. “My understanding is that it’s in the process of being dismantled. In the coming weeks, it will cease to exist.”
Smith chewed a little harder on his lip. So whatever Dresner was doing there, it appeared that he’d finished and wanted the evidence wiped from the face of the earth.
“Do you have contacts there?”
“At the facility? Of course. I’ve worked with the director on a number of projects.”
“Do you have a way of getting in touch with him?”
“I have his private number,” Eichmann said, starting to sound a bit suspicious. “Why?”
“Call it. Tell him you’re on your way with two assistants.”
“What? I have no authority to go there. Christian has always—”
“Tell him Dresner wants you to check up on the dismantling of the facility,” Randi said.
“What if he calls and checks? What if we get there and he knows we aren’t authorized? No. I won’t do it.”
Smith pointed to the door. “Then best of luck to you.”
52
Christian Dresner shifted in his chair and the image before him immediately became translucent, showing the details of the room beyond. It was the second version of MIT’s movie app and the safety features had been improved to the point that it was nearly ready for release.
He settled in again and the image darkened, transporting him to the Afghan village of Sarabat just as it was attacked. Women fought desperately, children screamed in terror, livestock bolted. And the men did nothing.
It took barely fifteen minutes to turn a village full of people going about the mundane business of life into a battlefield strewn with bleeding corpses and cheering victors. He’d always thought the study of the past was a bizarre avocation. What use were dates and names and details when a short video like this one could encompass the entirety of human history so completely?
Of course, this scene was set apart somewhat by the Merge prototypes worn by Sarabat’s adult males. Convincing them to use the bulky units had been almost as difficult as developing them, but eventually the villagers had been won over by money, weapons, and the obvious combat benefits of the system. Of course, when the attack came, the software they’d become accustomed to had been shut down in favor of something much more interesting.