Mind's Eye (19 page)

His work at Theia Labs was fascinating, but infuriating at the same time. At the tender age of twenty-seven, when he had joined, he had been put in charge of two dozen scientists, almost all of them his elders, and been given the title of Executive Vice President of research, second in line only to Kelvin Gray. At twenty-seven this was extraordinary.

And yet the title was strangely a paper tiger. He wasn’t treated like an executive or partner. Gray was demanding, but rarely visited. His boss worked out of a small suite of offices in nearby Madera, connected to two very well-equipped computer and electronics labs. A large one for the use of those who also worked there, and a smaller, but still impressive lab for Gray’s personal and private use. Gray also worked out of his home much of the time.

Altschuler’s responsibility was to lead a team of computer geniuses, along with a group of ex-pharma people doing animal experiments on the brain, with the goal of determining the precise neuronal real estate with which visual and auditory impulses interacted; the precise data stream required to perfectly mimic the visual and auditory signals naturally delivered by the eyes and ears.

On a second front, they had been trying to decode pure thought into language. A primitive version of this capability had been available for years, but it was orders of magnitude less capable than the system for which they were shooting. Kids all over the world were controlling video games with their minds, using headsets spouting numerous electrodes that touched their heads as they played. But the input for this system was derived empirically, and was different for each person. Users had to train it, concentrating on making a cursor on the screen perform different movements until the game’s computer could map the electrical patterns their brains generated when they tried to do this.

The leap in technology required to go from controlling simple movements with thought, to getting a computer to correctly read an exact stream of words thought to it, chosen from an unlimited vocabulary, was similar to the leap in technology between an abacus and a supercomputer.

But progress during the past half-year had been almost unprecedented in the annals of technology. Impossibly rapid.

Yes, Altschuler knew his own unparalleled genius had a lot to do with it, suffering no false modesty when it came to his computer skills. But it was Kelvin Gray’s suggestions that were making the virtual simulations and animal experiments sing. The man was
uncanny
. He would suggest novel positioning and interactions of electrical signals within the neuronal matrix, positionings that were far from obvious, and they would work, for reasons that were often still not clear.

The same was true for tweaks to the data stream, and modifications to the sets of algorithms they were using, which Altschuler believed to be among the most complex and revolutionary ever attempted. Altschuler had had to convert Gray’s insights into code and hardware, which in itself was daunting, and in his opinion, had been somewhat miraculous. But without his boss’s insights, he had to admit, they’d still be taking baby steps instead of sprinting like an Olympic champion.

They were ready for human trials. Animal experimentation and virtual simulations, as comprehensive as they were, could only take them so far. For all Altschuler knew they were there already, able to mimic the data stream sent by both the eyes and ears with absolute perfection.

If their current results really could translate, Altschuler believed they might have the absolute cure for blindness
and
deafness. And on their other front, they were ready to come out with breathtaking applications for thought-to-data conversion.

But Gray kept putting him off. He hadn’t been allowed to publish any of their findings. They had certainly made breakthroughs that would instantly translate into blockbuster products, yet these weren’t even discussed.

Ultimately, Altschuler knew, Gray wanted to combine the technologies and algorithms they were establishing to enable humans to surf the web with their thoughts alone, using brain implants. This would introduce additional challenges. Fortunately, scientists had been inserting implants into animal brains for decades. As early as 1998, iridium microelectrodes coated in Parylene C, implanted in the dural matter of monkeys, were found to be well-tolerated and operational after three years. And improvements had been made since this time.

The chips would require minimal power, but this was still another obstacle to be overcome. The chips would get their juice from fuel cells able to convert glucose into electricity. And while such technology had been available for years, it would take careful experimentation, when the time came, to be sure not too much heat was given off from this reaction, and that the implants weren’t stealing too much of the glucose the brain devoured at ten times the rate of the rest of the body.

Gray had a number of top people working on problems such as this at Theia’s Madera site, but he never discussed particulars, nor disclosed the progress made by these groups.

As for Altschuler and his team, they had prepared endless patents, but Gray wouldn’t even let them work with a patent attorney. Gray was sitting on a winning lottery ticket, but refused to cash in.

It was
maddening
, thought Altschuler, for maybe the tenth time that day, as he continued to attack the pizza in front of him. He was starting on his final slice when a call came in on his cell.

“Alex, it’s Cameron Fyfe,” said an intense voice. “Are you alone?”

Altschuler was immediately on guard. Fyfe was Kelvin Gray’s silent partner. He was a venture capitalist responsible for financing the entire show, and he had controlling interest in Theia. And Altschuler had only met him once before. Despite Altschuler’s lofty, symbolic title, he was treated by both Fyfe and Gray as just a hired hand. As though, outside of his expertise, he might as well have been the janitor there.

This Fyfe kept a very low profile. He must have been worth tens of millions, minimum, but there was very little about him online—Altschuler had checked. Occasionally he was written up for donating to this charity or that, but he managed to keep his business interests strictly out of the public eye.

It was odd for Fyfe to be calling. Even odder for him to begin the call with “are you alone?” Not exactly a standard greeting.

Altschuler confirmed he was alone, removing his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt, a nervous habit he had picked up years earlier. “What can I do for you, Cameron?” he asked. He resisted the urge to call the man Mr. Fyfe since this would be too subservient for the second-in-command of the company.

 “I’ll get right to the point, Alex. A year ago, I told Kelvin that if he didn’t begin to make more than marginal progress, I was going to pull the plug on Theia Labs. Beginning six or seven months ago, from all accounts, your progress has been unprecedented. You’ve made Mount Everest look like a bunny hill. Any idea why this might be?”

“As much as I’d like to take full credit, I can’t. Kelvin has come up with insight after insight that have been pretty miraculous. His intuition should be bronzed.”

There was a long pause. “Last night I was at the Theia offices in Madera,” said Fyfe. “I had a meeting scheduled with Kelvin after hours. I let myself in, but his office door was closed. I found out later that the meeting was scheduled for next week, but I had entered it incorrectly in my calendar. Anyway, I overheard snippets of conversation that were quite alarming.”

Scheduling mix-up, my ass
, thought Altschuler. Fyfe had suspected something was fishy and had purposely eavesdropped. If the eavesdropper had really been Fyfe, which Altschuler was not at all certain of. More likely he had given his keycard to someone else, who had done the eavesdropping for him. Or he had even employed other means entirely, less accidental and less legal, to catch the few snippets of conversation he had.

“Go on,” said Alex Altschuler.

“He was speaking with someone named John,” continued Fyfe. “I only got pieces of the puzzle. But I did some research later, and I’ve put together what I think Kelvin has been up to. I suspected something was going on.” He took a deep breath. “But not to this extent.
Never to this extent
.”

Altschuler braced himself. If a man like Fyfe, who had probably seen it all, was shell-shocked by something, it had to be very bad.

“Given what I overheard, the mystery of the Scripps
Explorer
has been solved.”

“What?” mumbled Altschuler to himself in shock. This was the very last sentence he had ever expected to hear.

The Scripps Institute of Oceanography exploratory vessel, aptly named the
Explorer
, had made international headlines about a half year or so earlier when it had disappeared off the coast of Mexico, with twenty-seven scientists and crew on board. The ship had been doing research over the Middle America Trench, a little known tear in the floor of the Eastern Pacific that ran for seventeen hundred miles from central Mexico to Costa Rica, at depths as great as four miles. The vessel had disappeared without a trace and none of the passengers or crew were ever recovered.

Bits of wreckage had eventually been found washed up to shore, which were identified as belonging to the ship, but the bulk of the vessel was never found. Given the depth of the trench, finding the wreckage was a daunting task. It had been a huge story for weeks, as weeping relatives were interviewed, scientists speculated that it must have encountered a hundred-foot rogue wave, and cable specials were launched speculating about the ship’s final hours.

“The Scripps
Explorer
?” repeated Altschuler, blinking in confusion.

“Yes. I think Kelvin arranged to kidnap the
Explorer’s
crew and passengers, and then scuttled the ship. Using this guy John as the hired muscle. I think he’s been using the passengers as human guinea pigs to perfect Theia technology.”

Fyfe paused. “And then killing them,” he finished chillingly.

21

Altschuler reeled backwards as though from a physical blow. The world seemed to spin around him.

Did Fyfe know what he was saying? If this were true, it was a massacre on a historic scale.

Perpetrated by Kelvin Gray? How could it be?

Gray may have been annoying in some of his business decisions, and didn’t treat Altschuler the way his title and contributions would dictate, but he was a great scientist and a great man. Thoughtful. Generous. Compassionate. Altschuler had seen him scoop up a spider and gently place it outside rather than kill it.

To have been part of this atrocity, to have experimented on and murdered scores of people in cold blood, he would have to be on par with the most heinous psychopaths in history. But even as Altschuler thought this, he realized that many of these famous psychopaths had managed to fool others equally well. They had appeared equally kind. They were equally persuasive and charming.

Somehow, he knew it was true. In some purposely ignored recess of his consciousness, he
had
known for some time. Not the specifics. Not the heinous nature of the crime. No one could have guessed Gray would go
this
far. It was unthinkable.

But the part about experimenting on human subjects?

How else to explain the superhuman insights Gray kept bringing to the table, seemingly from out of nowhere. Altschuler realized that
Gray
hadn’t fooled him. Altschuler had
allowed
himself to be fooled. He had been complicit, not asking any questions, even of himself. He had turned a blind eye, refusing to allow even a hint of suspicion to mar the bliss of his denial.

But even had he allowed himself to come to the obvious conclusion, he would never have guessed
this
. Perhaps some human experimentation with ridiculously well-paid subjects, sworn to secrecy.

But he
should
have guessed. Even this. Because the only way to get results this spectacular, this quickly, was to have total disregard for the gray matter of an actual human being. To cut a swath of destruction through a brain, eliminating what didn’t work and finding and refining what did. To risk killing scores of subjects. Treading lightly, slowly,
carefully
—even with human subjects—wouldn’t do it.

“Are you still there?” said Fyfe.

“I am,” said Altschuler woodenly.

“You have to admit, it explains a lot. I’ve been thrilled by your progress. But in my experience, if you roll snake eyes eight or nine times in a row, it’s time to question if the dice are loaded.”

Altschuler nodded, disgusted with himself. Even Fyfe had finally refused to turn a blind eye to what was going on, despite all he had to gain by their progress. And venture capitalists weren’t exactly known for their ethics. So what did that say about
Alex Altschuler?

“If what you suspect is true,” said Altschuler, “it would
definitely
explain a lot. Kelvin’s insights
were
too good to be true.” He paused. “So why are you calling me and not the authorities? And how can you be sure I wasn’t a part of this from the beginning?” he added, his mouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara.