Ingenium
Benjamin Tikerpae
Ingenium text and cover Copyright 2012 Benjamin Tikerpae
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Today's the day. Everyone's talking about it. There's nowhere you can go where you can't find someone talking about it. They're calling it the greatest milestone in the history of science. I guess I'm flattered, though I'd just call it my birthday.
Day 9855, approximately 22995 days to go before I can properly get a decent night's sleep, and that's only if I continue this delicious daily diet of several pieces of greasy bacon, multitudes of wine, and an uncontrollable and uncountable amount of cigarettes. Anyway, enough playing around with the calculator I need to get to work, and preferably stop my verbal mind diarrhoea.
They'd lock me up if this drivel was coming out of my mouth, but as it's just in my head, I'm deemed sane, I guess that's ironic? Hmm...or is it? I've never got to grips with the word ironic. Note to self, look up the word ironic later. Then once I've mastered it, I can go around pompously abusing the word and show others how much greater I am than them because I can remember. Talking about remember, I must remember to do less of this and more of getting to work. For which I'm now late, great. Ha, that rhymed...oh will you shut up!
Grace quickly exits her house and runs up the street towards her work. Luckily, it's only a short five-minute walk, or in her case, a three-minute run. Exhausted, Grace barely manages to push herself through the doors of her office building.
She thinks to herself, phew I'm here, now just a delightful number of stairs to walk up and I'm plain sailing.
With the stairs behind her, she walks through the corridor and into a large working office room, with several open desks all occupied, but one, right at the back. She continues onwards and heads to her desk. Unfortunately for her, this walk entails passing by her boss' office.
A deep and confident voice is heard to the side of Grace, ''I find it curious.''
Grace stops next to her boss' office, trying not to sigh, as she knows what's coming next.
''Don't you?'' her boss continues, looking out of his office window at the hard workers, instead of her.
''What's that?'' Grace replies.
''Mike over there, did you know he lives fifty miles away and still manages to look smart, eat his breakfast, and get in fifteen minutes early every day?''
Grace doesn't respond.
Her boss continues, ''and then we have...'' he shuffles some random papers about, pretending to look for someone. ''Ah, Grace Roberts, did you know she manages to look unkempt, stink of cigarettes, and get in fifteen minutes late every day?''
''I-''
Interrupting, ''and that's on a good day.''
Grace explains, ''I'm sorry I'm late again. I've been having problem's sleeping, and-''
Interrupting again, ''There's that word that I truly do despise, 'I'm sorry'. Well, Grace, let me tell you something about the word sorry. The word sorry is useless, it has no place in society for it does nothing. It is just a word like any other word, but apparently when used it grants whoever said it instant forgiveness. And that's not good enough. I don't want words. I want work. Now, if you don't give me at least five hours overtime this week, I'm going to have to let you go, 'I'm sorry.'''
The boss picks up his phone and starts to dial a number; Grace is left ignored, and so she decides to slowly head back, towards her desk.
She thinks, arsehole. My boss is such a freakin' bloody arsehole...but then I guess all bosses are arseholes, apparently? She looks back towards her boss, who's now talking on the phone. He sees Grace staring over at him and he points at her to get working. Grace carries on walking past the other busy workers and sits mopishly on her seat, flopping out on the desk.
She wonders for a while what the point of her feeblish existence is, but then her mind goes blank. She applies some small pressure from her forehead onto the desk, then closes her eyes. And she tries, in some kind of bizarre aim, to jump into the darkness in front of her...and fall forever.
She hears a great thump on her desk, and Grace immediately uprights herself to see a guy to the side of her who has just placed an excessively sizeable amount of paperwork on her desk.
''Sorry, orders from the boss, says you're gonna need a lot of work to do, as you've got so much overtime to do.''
This does nothing to excite the already ecstatic Grace. ''Thanks, Jay.''
''No, thank you, now I can take a half-day and have a few weeks' holiday. Thought I would get it in early, now it seems the world's going to end and all,'' Jay responds, gleefully, and he walks off.
Grace replies to herself, ''worlds going to end?''
''Haven't you heard? It's the end of days now. The metal men will rise!'' Martin, sitting at the desk next to Grace, responds.
Grace looks confused. ''This isn't a cryptic crossword, what are you talking about?''
Martin laughs. ''Don't you read the news?''
Grace looks blank.
''Apparently not then. Well I'm sorry to say, but I'm sealed to secrecy. It's for your own good. Read the news, and I'd better not say sorry again or the boss will be firing me too.''
Grace throws the closest thing to her at Martin, and he quickly jumps from his seat and walks out of the office.
It's coming up to half seven, two hours since the end of work, and Grace is finishing up part of her overtime. Exhausted, she finds the energy to get up from her seat and start the slow walk home.
She ponders her thoughts, another day soon over. I'll tell you, I don't want to see another photocopier again in my life. Unless it's being cast off at sea in a Viking style funeral with the dead remains of my boss in. I'd gladly be the archer who strums the final ignited arrow into that old git's corpse. And don't even get me started on filing cabinets...though I could smash a few heads with them. Anyway, enough happy violent thoughts for now.
Walking home through the lit street, she notices a newsagent picking up a message board and bringing it back into his shop.
She glimpses at the words, ''...end for homo sapiens?'' The question burrows in her mind, and she links it to what Martin and Jay said earlier. This sort of excitement helps speed up her lazy pace, and she's soon back at the door of her flat.
Inside her flat, she walks into the living room/kitchen and switches on the television with the remote, while placing a ready meal in the oven. Her curiosity is making her quite overwrought, a sensation which she had almost forgotten existed. She changes the channel to the news and prepares a salad, while waiting for what all the hype has been about, to appear.
A report on a murder ends and a newswoman in a studio begins to talk.
''And now back to tonight's top stories. A team of scientists at Manchester University have been the first to successfully recreate a human brain within a computer, in what scientists are saying is the first example in human history of a self-aware, artificial intelligence. Scientists around the world are in celebration as to what many believe is the greatest scientific feat, in the history of man.''
Grace's face drops. This to her means what chutney is to a spider, which I guess isn't much.
The newswoman continues, ''we now show you what was revealed to the world earlier this morning.''
A recorded report begins. It shows a lecture room full of press and scientists. On the stage is a tall, medium-sized table, where a laptop lies with multiple cables coming out of its sides, connected to power sources, microphones, and speakers. Additionally, and seemingly most importantly connected to the laptop, i
s an external metal black box, which looks like some kind of monster hard-drive. However, slightly modified with extra ports and at least three inches thicker than one would assume.
Someone narrates, ''this was the moment that history was in the making, when scientist, Dr Paul Kaypek, asked this one simple question.
Paul Kaypek stands opposite the laptop looking tense but very determined. ''Do you understand me?''
The room is deadly silent.
A few seconds pass and a gentle and confident computerised voice speaks, ''yes.''
The room explodes in excitement as scientists and reporters cheer and clap, some hold each other's arms and run around in circles, faces rush red with blood, some just sit there bedazzled and perplexed. You wouldn't believe scientists had it in them.
''Today, at 7.30 am, using just a laptop connected to a strange looking metal-black box, true self-aware artificial intelligence has been born. Known to scientists as Ingenium, they say his existence will help drive technology to a whole new world.''
Paul Kaypek's face appears, full of glee.
A reporter asks, ''Dr Kaypek, can you explain to us why the word 'yes', the only word spoken by this creation of your faculty, means so much for the world today?''
Kaypek has himself a little childish, excited giggle. '''Yes,' of course that word seems to mean absolutely nothing to people who haven't followed our work. Yet, it means everything. Once a year, for the last twenty-three years, during our endeavours in building, moulding, creating Ingenium, we have run him through a precise programme. One which questions himself, his own thoughts and ideas. Questioning his mortality. Questioning his morality, beliefs, and what he wants. Basically, questioning if he has the characteristics we call human, for being self-aware. Thinking for himself, creating for himself, and going beyond the basic programming confinements he was created with. All in all, at the end of the test he has either two answers to choose from, yes, or no. Yes, for self-aware, or no, for just an average, everyday computer. And today, twenty-three years on, he broke his twenty-two year record of saying no, for saying 'yes.'''
''How can such a thing of complexity, operate from a basic laptop?''
''Ingenium, if you will, is kind of a hybrid. His metal home he lives in consists of part electronics and part human brain tissue. By this method, we have been able to replicate and map that self-awareness, thought unique to humans, and run it through a machine. This metal box hybrid, of microchips and living organic matter is Ingenium's brain. In order for him to work at exponential rates, we have a whole floor of whirling and blinking machinery in our labs to upkeep to his needs.
Today, we are showing off his newly developed self-awareness and demonstrating how this can even be achieved with him running via a basic laptop.''
''Dr Kaypek, please tell us what Ingenium means for the world now?''
''What you see here is twenty-three years of hard work finally paying off. Ingenium has the intellect of a fully grown adult and the consciousness that goes with it. He can think in ways that not even the most esteemed individual could comprehend. With his help, we will be able to perfect everything in our day to day lives. He will be able to usher in a new wave of technology only dreamt of in the genre of science fiction. We can now all witness a new era that we're entering into, with Ingenium at the forefront of it all.''
The screen changes to angry protesters outside the university, and the narrator continues, ''however, many people disagree with today's events and are calling it, 'the final nail in our species coffin.''
The large group of protesters stand outside the building, which houses the lecture theatre, while police officers line up alongside the building to discourage anyone from entering.
Many protesters stand chanting, ''the robotic charm we must resist. Robots and man cannot co-exist.'' While others hold up banners, which read, 'let fiction be fiction!' and 'A.I. and humans cannot co-exist together!' and 'our Frankenstein's creation will be the end of us!' and 'would you let a warhead think for itself?'
A protester speaks, ''this is all very well, but what reassurances can we be given that we can control this thing? Everyone has seen the movies and read the books about robotic enslavement, and everyone knows the countless mistakes mankind has made, who's to say this won't be another one of them? We're only human, not superior robotic intelligence, which we've just created! Our species is mad, and maybe it's only fitting that we destroy ourselves? But I won't have it and neither will the rest of us!''
Grace uses the remote to turn the television off, her face doesn't look pleased. ''That's what all the fuss was about, a talking laptop? I thought it would have at least been some sort of imminent disaster, like an alien invasion or flesh eating fungus! This is pathetic!''
She carries on preparing her dinner, and soon after she takes a bath and goes to bed for an early night, with the media scare well departed from her thoughts.
*