Human

HUMAN

A NOVEL

BY ROBERT G. BERKE

Human

© 2011, by Robert G. Berke

and MultiModoMedia, Inc.

Los Angeles, California,

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-0-9849507-0-6

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011963329

No portion of this book may be reprinted without the express permission of the author. The people and events in this book are fictional. None of the characters in this book depict real people. Any similarities between them and any person living or dead are merely coincidental

Cover art and book design are  the property of  MultiModoMedia Press MultiModoMedia Press is an imprint of MultiModoMedia, Inc., a California Corporation with offices located at

7236 Owensmouth Avenue, Suite D, Canoga Park, CA 91303 www.multimodomedia.com

Printed in the U.S.A.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to the loving memory  of all the those who passed during its writing: my father-in-law, Roberto Espinoza, my mother-in-law, Victoria Espinoza-Tejada, my dear friend, Bob Yannetti, and our beloved pet Riley.

The spirits of the departed will always remain connected to those of us who remember them with love. To the extent they have all become a part of me, this book was as much written by them as by anyone else.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There were many, many people whose ideas influenced this story, but special acknowledgment must be made for the cutting edge thinking of Raymond Kurzweil and Jaron Lanier whose ideas about mankind's relationships with technology inspired the ultimate theme of this book.

I must also acknowledge the patience of my beautiful wife and daughters. My wife, the love of my life, Lorena, spent many hours alone without complaint while I was ferreted away in my little office typing sometimes until the early hours of morning.

I have always tried to impress upon my daughters that they should do what they love without exception, and they had to teach that back to me. For that I am forever indebted.

Finally, I must acknowledge my father, Sidney Berke  He was the first one to read it and his suggestions made this book much, much better than it was when I first declared it done.

CHAPTER I.

Elijah Smith's overcoat was open and flapping in the wind as he climbed the stairs up to the platform that had been erected in front of the building that bore his name.  The sun was bright, but the air was cold. Smith, however, was warmed by the pride he felt that day.  This building that he had sketched on a napkin at a bar so many years ago now defined the very skyline of downtown Schenectady.  Smith himself was hardy and robust, his cheeks almost as red as the ribbon across the door to the building behind him.  The little aches and pains he felt in his arms and legs were still easy for him to dismiss as natural consequences of aging.

His staff had assembled to hear him dedicate the building and representatives from SmithCorp facilities across the globe had flown in to be present for the inauguration of their new flagship building.  The Mayor and the City Council were in attendance. Members of the general press were present and he could see the froth of flashes from the cameras that were documenting his every move. Reporters and photographers from the more specialized media outlets -- technology shows, medical journals, science magazines -- had been offered preferential placements nearest to the stage.  Placing these lesser known journalists in the most desirable spots from which to document the event was an unveiled nod to those that he considered his brethren in the pursuit of knowledge for the benefit of men. Smith was well known for symbolic gestures of this sort. 

The tired looking reporter from the Schenectady Gazette had no photographer, just a notepad. He was not offended at having been placed toward the back of the press area.  He really just didn't want to be there at all.  He cursed his life and wished he was dead instead of standing in the cold among a crowd of sycophants who all seemed so certain that with wealth came wisdom.  Julian Waterstone was too old to believe that anymore.  He just wanted to go home.

As Smith approached the podium, he could hear the applause of the spectators. Taking his place at the podium and looking out at the gathered crowd humbled him. All these people had gathered to hear his words, but his passion was not words, it was science. The fact that this passion had ultimately rewarded him with material success meant little to him. He had no children, no wife, no one to leave his vast fortune to. There would be no legacy. The value of his work- the reward that satisfied him- was the recognition that his company was making people's lives better. The fact that the assemblage had greeted his approach to the podium with applause was the only proof he needed that his efforts were appreciated.

He reached into his coat pocket and felt some stiffness in his elbow as he pulled out his notecards. He blamed it on the cold and on the fact that he hadn't buttoned his coat. He cleared his throat and began.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he started in the only way he knew how, "thank you all for coming. I promise that my remarks will be brief and then we can all go inside and have some hot chocolate. But before we do, I just want to express my gratitude to all of you for being here. I have dedicated my life to science and technology, not for my own self enrichment, but in order to better the lives of people the world over." He paused to let the audience applaud politely before continuing. "As most of you know, in the last 20 years or so, SmithCorp has led the way in technologies to assist doctors in the treatment of serious illnesses, rehabilitative technologies, bio-engineering, genetics, security, and home comfort systems for the critically impaired and much, much more. We have the world's best minds at SmithCorp, engineers, designers, programmers. We now hold more patents than any other company in the U.S., and quite possibly in the world."

There was applause from the audience again, and Smith let the applause run its course before continuing.

"This building," he said, pointing at the highrise behind him, "though it bears my name, is not intended to be a legacy for me. It is a legacy to all of the amazing, creative, and talented people who made SmithCorp what it is today. And so to everyone in the SmithCorp family, I dedicate this gorgeous building to you."

He paused again to allow the applause to pass.

"Let it forever be a beacon for all those who put their faith in technology," he continued, "an altar for all those who know that the ultimate salvation of mankind lies in the pursuit of knowledge. And though its spires point upward, the answers lie right here; not in the unknowable mysteries of the heavens, but in the measurable and quantifiable elements and forces of nature.

"So as I cut this ribbon, do not consider this to be a dedication to cement and glass and steel, but a dedication to what this building represents to me, what all of SmithCorp represents to me: the limitless capacity of men to learn and study and experiment and ultimately bring forth a glorious future for mankind."

As soon us he uttered the last word of that last sentence he reached under the podium and drew out an oversized remote control to cheers and enthusiastic applause. "Mayor?" he asked, looking for a particular face in the crowd. He quickly spotted the familiar face he was seeking and motioned to the Mayor to join him on the stage. "Come on up and join me in the honors!"

The Mayor was all too happy to jump on the stage and wave to the cheering crowd. The Mayor walked to the podium and gave Smith a warm and genuine hug. After all, the construction of this building had already brought hundreds of new jobs to the city and the promise of thousands more.

"On the count of three!"  Smith shouted.

The assembled crowd began to count off, "One, Two, Three," and at three the mayor and Mr. Smith, with exaggerated sweeps of their arms, pushed the button on the giant remote control.

A loud crack and a puff of smoke came from the big red ribbon which had been set across the door to the brand new building. The ends of the ribbon blew apart and the doors to the building opened releasing hundreds of balloons into the sky. Mr. Smith and the Mayor turned to leave the stage and lead the crowd inside. Smith stumbled a little on the way down the stairs because his leg had stiffened in mid-stride. I'll have to get that checked out, he noted to himself as he quickly regained his balance.

Julian Waterstone also noted the nearly imperceptible stumble and noted on his pad: Smith looks stiff.

That day, though many years had passed since then, was the proudest day of Elijah Smith's life. And on that day, he had no doubt in the truth of the words he had spoken. But that was before the number of days yet before him had been quantified. That was before he became trapped in the hospital bed in which he would ultimately die. It was before the wheelchair, and before the walker. It was even before the cane.

As the number of days measuring his life became fewer and fewer, the words he had spoken that day became his own devout petition. He recognized the irony in the fact that his declaration of the supremacy of science was indistinguishable from a prayer. It was a desperate prayer that somewhere, within technology's reach, a procedure or mechanism could be devised that would keep him tethered to the world of the living. It was a prayer that the number of his days did not end at zero.

A desperate mind is capable of superhuman achievement, and Smith's achievements, even before he became desperate, had been exceptional. There are endeavors of such incredible complexity that most people dismiss them as being impossible. Smith was not one of those people. He had spent his entire life dissecting complex endeavors into small component parts and in doing so had repeatedly done what most had believed could not be done. It also made him very, very wealthy.

Smith had the discipline to view his desire to stay alive, even as his body withered, as nothing more than another such complex endeavor. And as he did with any complex endeavor, he had started it on a spreadsheet.

Smith saw the blank sheet before him the way a painter sees a blank canvas. He could envision what the page would look like when he was done. He just had to translate the idea in his head into the columns on the chart. First it would be a sketch with broad concepts and many entries that just wouldn't look right. Finally, it would present a complete picture that made perfectly clear exactly what he wanted.

Just looking at the empty spreadsheet excited him, as it always did. But this time, the excitement had an electricity to it. A spark. A spark that made his whole deteriorating body shake. Six years ago, he wouldn't have noticed that spark, but, as his body began to do nothing but disappoint him, he became more and more fascinated by his consciousness. He had no problem abandoning his body, but he could not bear the thought that his thoughts and  feelings would be buried with it.

Smith brushed his hands across the laptop's keyboard, delighting in both the sound and the sensation of his fingers on the keys. Even though his fingers were stiffened from his disease and the pain punctuated his every move, he smiled as the word "MODEL" appeared in the first column of the first row of the spreadsheet, bold and capitalized just as he had envisioned it.

The more he typed the less aware he was of the pain. For a time, he even forgot he was dying. Under the word "MODEL" he watched long lists of words appear on the screen as his fingers translated his ideas into words. Brain, hemispheres, lobes, cells, neurons, nerves, blood vessels. Some of the words became column headings in the spreadsheet and some of the words were grouped together under other words. Finally, his fingers would not move anymore and the pain blurred all of his thoughts. He stopped typing and let his mind wander. In the beginning there was the word, he thought, vaguely remembering something he had heard in church as a child.

He had always hated church. He was a man of science and faith seemed antithetical to science. Once you accept something as a matter of faith, that is the end of inquiry. Smith was never satisfied with the "just because" answer he heard so often from religious men. "Take it apart," was what he perceived to by the answer to every problem he encountered. "Take it apart more. Keep breaking it down," he often told his staff when they came to him for advice.

He had never failed to find a needed answer when he had the patience and resources to strip things down to their bare essentials. Even as a child he would disassemble his toys until he understood exactly how they worked. Once he knew how they worked, he could easily put them back together and sometimes even make them better. As he grew, he learned that the same principles that applied to his toys also applied to plastic models, fast cars, powerful computers, and ultimately even to the acquisition of wealth.

He had often proved the theory that once it could be understood how the smallest elements of any system work together, even the most complex system becomes simple. He attributed his success in all of his business and scientific endeavors to this belief.

As he rested his hands and contemplated the words and columns on the computer screen before him, he remembered the first project that had earned him international attention. When he was in graduate school, the stumbling block in robotics was to program a robot to go into the woods and build a simple structure, a bird's nest was the usual example, from the available materials. The task was seemingly impossible since the robot would have to recognize random items not for what they were, but for what they could be.

Two schools of thought prevailed and the answer seemed to be in some combination of the two. The "bottom-up" approach involved programming the robot with as much factual information as possible so that the robot could "look" at an item, compare it to a database of information, define the item according its qualities, and use the item in a manner consistent with its definition. This thing is brown, slender, porous, and has such and such a density. Therefore, it is an oak branch. An oak branch can be used for this or that defined set of tasks.

The second school of thought defined itself as the "top-down" approach. Rather than creating a database comprising a virtually infinite set of definitions, the "top-down" programmers created algorithms by which the robot could learn by experience and observation, in effect building its own database of knowledge as it gathered information about its environment.

Smith was not a student of robotics. He was a student of biology. He figured that the task required thought rather than programming. At the time neuroscience could not explain "thought", but biology could see all of the different elements of a brain capable of thought. His insight was to build the brain from scratch. Not a physical brain, but a virtual one. He used the brain of a European Quail. Each cell in the Quail's brain was already mapped and described in everything from chemical composition to electrical discharge. Smith took the existing data and created a computer simulation of each cell. He then began situating the simulated cells according to their arrangement in the biological brain. He simulated blood flow, oxygen use, electricity, protein bonding, and everything else that was observed to happen in a quail's brain. His theory was that by copying all of the measurable parts of the quail's brain he would have a machine that displayed quail behaviors-- including nest building.

The university could not fund the project to completion, but the theory itself put Smith in the spotlight for a while and he knew that one day he would try again.

Now the word "model" had replaced the word "simulation" in his thinking and the word "model" glowed in bold type in the upper left hand corner of his computer screen. He rubbed his aching hands. "Model" was the better word, he thought. His project was about an artificial brain. A working model of a human brain. The word "model" explained the difference between his project and an artificial intelligence project far better than the word "simulation".