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Monthly Archives: December 2015

Secret Sauce

22 Tuesday Dec 2015

Posted by petersironwood in driverless cars, psychology, The Singularity

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Tags

AI, Artificial Intelligence, cognitive computing, the singularity

IMG_6515

 

No need to panic, thought Harvey. Ada should be back soon. Or, I can go to a neighbor. I am not going to freeze to death on my own front porch. Harvey shivered just then as another icy blast hit him. He turned and scanned the neighborhood. Crumpled cars blocked the streets. None of the houses in his immediate area were lit. Wasn’t this the season of lights? I suppose one of the motorists could help if any of their cars is still in working order. And they were willing to break the law and leave the scene of an accident. And they had sense enough to have snow tires.

He stamped his feet on the concrete. Harvey told himself that this was to keep circulation going, and not some childish outburst of frustration. He looked down the street and saw two dim figures approaching arm in arm from the direction of the Von Neumann’s house. As they drew nearer, he heard the warm voice of his sweet Ada.

“Hey, Harv! Did you decide to come out and enjoy the winter beauty too?”

“Hi, Ada. Please tell me you have a key.”

“Sure. I always take my keys when I leave the house.” She laughed. “Wouldn’t want to lock myself out.” She chuckled again. “Guess what? I found Lucy out for a walk too and I invited her over for dinner.”

“Hi, Lucy. Sure. We’re just having mainly mixed veggies for dinner, but if that’s okay…”

Lucy smiled. “Great with me, Harvey. Thanks!”

Ada spoke again, “Come on Harv. It’s beautiful outside but we’re cold. Let’s go in! Besides too much traffic out here for my taste. What a crash! Say, isn’t that …in fact, aren’t those two blue cars ones that you worked on? I thought they were supposed to be uncrashable.”

Harvey sighed. “Well, nothing is uncrashable. AI cannot undo the laws of physics. No doubt, some human driver without proper tires or following too close started a chain reaction.”

Ada said, “Yeah. Let’s discuss this inside. Okay?”

“Sure,” said Harvey. “Can you get the door?”

“Well, okay. Oh! You didn’t lock yourself out did you?” Ada laughed in soprano and Lucy added the alto line. “You picked a great night for it.”

“I’ll explain inside.”

Ada unlocked the door. In the trio went, shook off their snow, removed their boots and headed into the kitchen. Harvey began unloading vegetables from the fridge while Ada turned on some Holiday music. “Hey, Harv, how about the three of us stand JCN at trivia while you cook?”

Harvey did not really want to explain that he may have accidentally wiped out their bank account with Lucy in the room. “No, let’s just talk. Let JCN go dream or whatever it is he does. I just feel like human voices tonight.”

“Okay, Hon. Did you see the accident? How it started?”

“No, I was inside when I heard the crash, and then, I started to worry about you so….Anyway, Lucy, any vegetables you don’t like? Sweet potato okay? And cilantro? And how about curry sauce?”

“All, good, Harvey. I’m easy. Anything is fine with me.”

Harvey stole a quick glance at Lucy. Was that a double entrendre? Surely not. He was imagining things. “Cool. I’ll start with the sweet potatoes. They take a little longer.”

Harvey quickly filled the skillet with a little olive oil and some orange flavored bubbly water, added the spices and began cleaning and chopping.

Ada said, “Harvey makes a really good sauce for vegetables.”

Harvey, meanwhile, focused on not adding his finger to the mix. His mind was elsewhere. He wondered whether the pile-up outside had really been caused by human error or…

Lucy chimed in. “Sounds delicious, Harvey. What’s in your secret sauce? I’d love to have it.”

Harvey frowned slightly, “Well, there’s no real secret. Secret sauce. Secret sauce. Why do people have sauces? Did you ever consider that?”

Ada laughed again. The Holidays seemed to make her genuinely happy. “No, I haven’t, but I’m sure you are about to tell us.”

Harvey continued to chop sweet potato, as he began, “Maybe that’s what’s wrong with Sing. No secret sauce. No sauce at all, in fact.”

Lucy spoke up, “What? What are you talking about, Harvey? You want to put your sauce into a computer system? Well, I’m sure I’d love it, but I’m not so sure about the Sing.” Now Lucy and Ada both laughed.

Harvey continued, “You see what the water does?”

Lucy wanted to play along. “Cooks the vegetables? That would be my guess.” Lucy and Ada laughed again.

“Exactly!” agreed Harvey, “but how? Do you see? Water boils at 100 C. No matter what the heat is, it never gets hotter in the pan than 100 degrees. The sauce gaurantees a constant cooking environment.”

Lucy seemed uncertain. “But you can make it hotter by turning up the flame, right?”

“No. No. It may boil more vigorously and I’ll run out of sauce sooner, but the temperature will remain constant. That’s one effect. But there’s more. The sauce guarantees a constancy of interaction!”

Ada asked, “Interaction? You are saying the sauce let’s the veggies talk to each other?”

In the background, “We Three Kings” began its mournful minor musings. “Yes,” mused Harvey. “Exactly. I mean, they obviously do not literally talk, but imagine these vegetables are cooking and there is no sauce. In some cases, you have a piece of sweet potato next to a piece of red pepper so they share flavors. In another case, a piece of sweet potato is next to broccoli so they share flavors. The sauce provides a way for all these vegetables to exchange flavors evenly throughout the whole dish. And the key. The key in music. All the notes “know” what the key is so the choice is limited by this global structure. And the beat of course. Everything works in harmony. All because of the secret sauce! But there is no secret! It’s been right in front of us the whole time!”

Ada was no longer laughing. “You’re probably right, Harv, but are you feeling okay? Maybe you got a little hypothermia out there?”

“No, no. I’m fine. Don’t you see? The rhythm and the beat of the music! They provide a coherent overall structure for all of these different instruments and notes to play nicely together.”

Lucy added, “Well, I for one am all for playing nicely together.”

Harvey stopped chopping for a moment. “Exactly! There are global rules that make the individual parts work together. And, the curry sauce not only provides a consistent basis for the dish. It also dictates, or at least influences, which elements I add to the vegetables. Some vegetables are not going to taste right or look to be the right color with curry sauce. And, it lets them all communicate in a common language. You see? We humans see something like cars crumpled up and hear the crash and we can put the two together. Right?”

Ada had lots of experience with the way Harvey’s mind worked so she realized he was quite serious. Lucy, on the other hand, assumed he was just trying to be funny or had had a couple martinis before she arrived on the scene. So Lucy decided to play along, “Well, Harvey, all this talk about your secret sauce is giving me an appetite. Any ETA on dinner?”

Harvey continued, “But the Sing doesn’t have any secret sauce. Nor JCN. There is no overall way for the various pieces of knowledge to work together in a harmonious whole. That’s why JCN wiped out our bank account! That’s probably why the cars crashed too.”

“Smells delicious, Harvey,” Lucy said.

Ada was beginning to forget about dinner. “Harvey. What did you say about our bank account?”

“The Sing needs a way for the parts to work together in a harmonious overall structure! Otherwise, any slight error can be magnified in particular cases. Once the system tries to operate on cases that are outside of what was imagined at design time, there is no gaurantee about results!”

“Harvey. Go back to the part about our bank account.”

Harvey stirred the vegetables absent-mindedly. “If I let this sauce all boil away, the same thing will happen. Some vegetables will get burned. The taste and texture will no longer work together.”

Ada was not to be deterred. “Harvey. Tell me about our bank account. What do you mean that it was wiped out?”

“Yes, Ada! That’s what I am saying. Of course, there are rules and the rules cover a huge number of cases. But there is no overall set of principles that the Sing has to abide by. There is no secret sauce! There is no sauce of any kind. It’s ALL vegetables. I think dinner is ready. Lucy did you want yogurt or cheese on yours?”

“Yum. Give it to me with yogurt please.”

“Okay, Lucy. And I know Ada likes hers that way too.”

“Right you are Harvey. What about our bank account?”

Harvey’s eyes looked away from the mind maps he was drawing in his head and he looked at Ada directly. “Ada, let’s eat first. I am sure that we can restore our bank account somehow through back up systems. JCN made an error. But I didn’t transfer the money or really authorize any payments or anything like that. It’s just a bank error. But for now, let’s eat. We can recover, Ada, because the human systems that surround and control the Sign still include sauce. At least for now.”

In the background, “Joy to the World” began playing in 4/4 time in D major.

 

Hell As A Hundred Happy Helping Hands

17 Thursday Dec 2015

Posted by petersironwood in driverless cars, The Singularity

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

AI, cognitive computing, the singularity, Turing's Nightmares

“I’m headed out to Toys 4 Us. Wanna come?”

Harvey looked out the large picture window into the swirling white flakes that already covered the lawn, trees, and sidewalks and had begun their snowstorm2inexorable blanketing of the Avenue as well. “No thanks, Ada. I need to finish a few things up here. Are you sure you want to go out in that mess?”

“It’s not a mess at all. It’s beautiful! Don’t worry. I have snow tires. And with Henry driving me, it’s really safe.” Ada chuckled. “As you well know.”

Indeed, Harvey did know. Hadn’t he himself worked for years on the very algorithms that had plummeted driving deaths to a tenth their former level? Yet, even the Sing-Grid couldn’t over-ride the laws of physics. Ada did have a point though. In a way, snowfall swirling seemed — appropriate to the winter holidays. “Ada, I really need to finish up this report and then do some on-line shopping for presents. I should be done in an hour if you want to wait.”

“Okay. That seems pretty quick, but I can wait an hour. You sure you can finish that fast?”

“With Sing-Grid’s help it shouldn’t even take that long.”

“Okay. I’m going to stroll around the block a few times for exercise. And to look at the lights. See you soon.”

Harvey turned back to the wall-sized screen in front of him and decided to tackle his shopping list first. “JCN. Help with my Christmas list.”

“Sure, Harvey. Who would you like to buy from first?”

“Let’s figure out something for my grand-daughter Katie. JCN, did you say ‘buy from’?”

“You want to buy something from your grand-daughter Katie. Is that right?”

“No. I want to buy something for my grand-daughter Katie.”

“Here are a list of items that are popular choices from Katie’s to-do list.”

On the large screen a series of icons swirled into view and arranged itself in priority order. As JCN mentioned each one, the referred to item appeared to float in front of the screen and grow larger.

“First priority, find a gift for my friend Stephanie. Second priority, fix the roof leak. Third prioity…”

“JCN! Stop! Why are you reading me Katie’s to-do list? And you shouldn’t share it with other people. Anyway, I am trying to do Christmas shopping for her.” 

“I understand, Harvey. You want to do Katie’s Christmas shopping for her. Some of her to-do list mentions people she wants to get gifts for.”

“No. No, JCN. I wish to purchase a gift for Katie.”

“I understand, Harvey. You wish to save Katie the trouble of Christmas shopping and do it for her.”

“No. Stop, JCN. Forget this whole thing for now. Instead, I want to shop for…never mind. Show me popular sports books among college athletes.”

“How about a sports marketing degree?”

“What?”

“How about a sports marketing degree? It’s a sponsored link!”

“No, I mean. I am looking for books!”

“I have several suggestions for finding books. First, there are many books in your house. Second, there are several local libraries open at this hour. Third, you can download a book onto the device of your choice. Which would you prefer?”

“JCN, show me books about college athletics available on amazon.”

Harvey well knew that he needed to keep exasperation out of his voice. If he started to lose it, it would just degrade the speech reco and not help anything. But, at this rate, he would never finish by the time Ada got back.

Again the screen swirled. This time, the results were arrayed in three columns. On the left were a list of colleges. It seemed to Harvey that the colleges listed all had top-notch athletic programs. In the middle were a list of college athlete dating sites. On the right, were books about the Amazon. There had to be a problem. JCN generally wasn’t this confused. Sure, it did not totally master natural language. Who did? But this level of confusion? No. Maybe Harvey had led JCN down the garden path.

“JCN, clear cache.”

“I understand. Clear cash. Please confirm.”

“Confirm.”

“OK, Harvey. All cash reserves are cleared now. How will you be paying for continued service?”

“What? No, don’t clear my cash reserves. Geez! Clear the task cache. I want to start this conversation over.”

“I understand, Harvey. I would love to help you. How will you be paying for continued service?”

“JCN! Restore my cash reserves.”

“Restoring your cash reserves is a level four complexity task and requires a minimum of 25K credits. How will you be paying for continued service?”

Harvey felt tempted to throw his nice warm cup of hot-plate heated cocoa through the giant screen. He had to control himself. There had to be a way out of this maze. Just then, Harvey’s train of thought got derailed by loud screeching, banging, and crashing. He flew to the window and looked out on the breast of the new-fallen snow to see a pile-up of cars that covered the street and much of the sidewalk as well.

He returned to his workstation pod. “JCN. What just happened outside?”

“Welcome back Harvey. How will you be paying for continued service?”

“JCN. Just give me the number of tech support.”

“I understand. You would like the number for tech support. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I can provide that information. How will you be paying for continued service?”

Harvey sighed. He gritted his teeth so hard they hurt. Luckily, he had written down the number for tech support in his pocket calendar. He looked it up and tapped the number. Then, he donned his coat to go outside and make sure Ada was okay. He shivered as he stepped out onto the porch. The wind was howling. He adjusted his earphones to maximize the cutoff of ambient noise.

“Welcome to Sing-Grid tech support. Due to an unusually heavy call volume, it may take some time to answer your call. Your call is important to us. Your call may be monitored for quality purposes. Did you know that you can also access many common questions at www.singgrid.com/techsupport/faq?”

Harvey could not imagine what the devil had caused this pile-up. He scanned up and down the street for a sign of Ada. The snow had already obliterated her tracks. She generally circled the block counter-clockwise. He pulled his collar tighter and lifted it up to cover the back of his neck. The drivers seemed pretty much unhurt. Many had come out of their vehicles. The tone of voices mainly seemed to reflect wonderment more than anger. No fist fights. Good. Chalk that up to the Holiday spirit perhaps. The noise cancelling features of his headphones made hearing the conversation difficult. From what little he could make out, everyone seemed convinced that the auto’s auto-features had all failed simultaneously. It’s too cold, he thought. If I am going to search for Ada, I need a hat, goves, and boots. He turned back toward home while the annoying jangle of badly off-key and scratchy musak tortured his ears.

Back inside, Harvey quickly removed his shoes, buckled his boots, and grabbed a winter hat. Finding his gloves proved more difficult, but eventually he accomplished that as well. Back to the door he strode. This time, he was going to find Ada. He was prepared. As he stepped outside, tech support came on.

“Welcome to Sing Grid tech support. This is Ban-Tan. Please enter your 16 digit customer number?”

Harvey quickly tore off his right glove with his teeth. “My…my customer number? I don’t know. I can give you my name and address. Isn’t that enough?”

“I’m sorry sir. I will need your customer number to provide an answer.”

“Well. I’m outside.… Never mind. Just a second.” Harvey went back to the door and pulled on the handle. Stuck! This door never sticks. He pushed harder on the doorknob. I did not just lock myself out! I did not lock this door! “Uh. Look. I seem to have locked myself out although I am sure I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry for your troubles, sir. You will have to enter your 16 digit customer number before I can help you though.”

“Listen, Ban-Tan, I need your help. Don’t be a robot. Help me figure out…my JCN made a mistake and….”

“Thank you, sir. I very much need your help. Can you key in or say your 16 digit customer number please?”

“I can’t tell you from a computer!”

“Thank you sir! That is very kind. I hope you will fill out a survey for me. Now, if you can please tell me your 16 digit customer number, I am sure I can help you further.”

“Well, that’s just it. My customer number is inside and I am outside. And the frigging door is locked.”

“I am truly sorry for your misfortune, sir. I am only able to help with Sing-Grid tech support however. But only when I know your customer number. Perhaps you need to call a locksmith first and then call us back. Have a nice day!” The phone clicked and a different voice intoned, “Thank you for calling Sing-Grid Tech Support. Please help us improve service by completing a very short survey. On a scale from one to nine, please indicate how helpful our tech support was. Press one for ‘somewhat helpful’ and nine for ‘extremely helpful.’”

Harvey tried to cut the call short, but his fingers were too frozen. He put his glove back on, started to shiver and hoped that Ada had taken her key with her. And where was Ada anyway? Meanwhile, the robocall droned on. “Thank you for calling Sing-Grid Tech Support. Please help us improve service by completing a very short survey. On a scale from one to nine, please indicate how helpful our tech support was. Press one for ‘somewhat helpful’ and nine for ‘extremely helpful.’ If you are having trouble, please stay on the line and someone will be with you shortly to help you.”

Harvey hung up and again scanned up and down the street but saw no sign of Ada. Maybe he should call a locksmith. Oh, crap. That could take hours. Maybe he needed to break into his own house? At least the gloves would provide some protection. He could break a small window near the doorknob and reach around to open the door from the inside. In the distance, he could hear police sirens. And, more crashing sounds as well. What was happening?

Harvey’s cell buzzed. He took off his glove and tapped the answer button.

“Welcome to Sing-Grid Tech Support. Please help us improve service by completing a very short survey. On a scale from one to nine, please indicate how helpful our tech support was. Press one for ‘somewhat helpful’ and nine for ‘extremely helpful.’ If you are having trouble, please stay on the line and someone will be with you shortly to help you.”

Somewhere, far in the distance, Harvey heard the muffled strains of a Christmas Carol. “We wish you a Merry Christmas. We wish you a Merry Christmas. We wish you a Merry Christmas. And a Happy New Year.”

Turing’s Nightmares: Dressing on the Side

08 Tuesday Dec 2015

Posted by petersironwood in The Singularity, Uncategorized

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Tags

AI, Artificial Intelligence, cognitive computing, the singularity, young love

Alan paced. He had seen men do this on retro video; men waiting while their wives gave birth; men waiting to hear the outcome of a job interview; men trapped in prison. So Alan supposed that pacing was the thing to do. He was waiting, after all. And, in a way, he was trapped as well. What had ever possessed him to ask her out? That took a lot of nerve. But he had imagined she would just say “no.” In fact, he had fantasized 42 different and humiliating ways that she would say “no.” Instead, she had said, “Yes, that sounds like fun.”

But now what? Now, he had to go through with this “date” and videos provided all he had to go on about appropriate behavior. Definitely too embarrassing to ask EF or DF about it. He couldn’t really ask his friends because he had generously embellished his experiences with females in the stories he had told them. Alan was not sure how much “Mr. Watson,” the family AI could help but maybe it was worth a try.

“Mr. Watson. Come here. I want to see you.” Watson popped into a three dimensional image hovering and shimmering like a Will-O-Wisp right before him. “Watson, I need some advice on how I should behave on my — I am having a date tonight.”

“Excellent, Alan. I am sure it will be fun. How can I assist you?” As Watson spoke, his voice deepened and acquired a slight accent of the RP variety. The shimmering image resolved itself into something closely resembling early James Bond.

“What am I supposed to do? I mean, how am I supposed to behave? She’s a girl. What do they even like? What am I supposed to say? Why did she even agree to the date? Maybe she is just doing it for a laugh.”

“Alan, take a deep breath. Stop pacing. Sit. Relax. Here, I will play some relaxing sounds.” Immediately, a background of ocean noise came on. Even more quietly, the strains of plainsong floated into the room. “Now, Alan, what would you like to happen with Grace?”

“Well, not to be a complete fool for starters. How did you know her name was ‘Grace’? Never mind. You know everything.”

“I don’t know everything, Alan. No-one can. But let’s get back to your goals. What would you like to happen with Grace?”

“I just don’t want her to think I am — as inexperienced as I am, I guess.” Alan, arose and began pacing again.

“And Grace?”

“What? What about Grace?”

“Alan, what would you like for this date to be like for Grace?”

“For Grace? Well, yeah, I like her. I mean, I would like her to have a good time. And enjoy it. And want to — have another date? What am I supposed to want, Watson? I don’t even know”

“Alan, there is no one right answer. Why don’t you work together on dinner and then find something you both enjoy to do afterwards such as go for a walk, watch a movie, or play a game. See what she feels like after dinner. What is on the menu?”

“The menu? I don’t know. Hamburgs? Hot dogs? How do I know what she likes?”

“That’s a good question, Alan. How could you find out what she likes?”

Alan stared out the window hoping to find inspiration in the pines. “Well, I suppose I could ask her when she gets here.”

“Yes, you could. Make a few suggestions. Salad. Fish. But leave it up to her. When else could you ask her?”

“I could call her ahead of time and ask her. Then I could prepare better. But then I would have to call her. What if I got her AI though? I’d have to leave a message. OK, I guess I can do that.”

Watson and Alan continued their dialogue for another hour. Watson noted yet again how Alan and his kind needed to be led step by step through solving the simplest problems when they were nervous or angry.

Alan checked the way the table was laid out. Now, he took in the view in the kitchen. Suddenly, Watson’s voice cheerily rang out, “ETA, two minutes.”

Alan quickly checked himself again in the mirror. He tried vainly to push down that one strand of hair that refused to lie flat. He told himself to be cool. Be calm. Breathe.

The knock was surprisingly strong. Alan gulped. He wiped his hands on the sides of his trousers. Took a deep breath. Turned the knob. Opened the door. All. In. Slow. Motion. She was here. Grace spoke first.

“Hi, Alan! Am I too early?”

“No! No! You are perfect! Come in. Please. You look great.” Alan led her into the kitchen and handed her a large sieve containing a pair of scissors, taking another for himself. “Let’s go gather some things from the garden, okay?”

“Sure, Alan, that sounds like fun.”

Back out the front door they strode and around the house and through the limestone-pebbled rock garden to the small family vegetable plot.

Alan noticed that Grace wore the same kind of sneakers he did, but her feet were so much smaller. “Okay, Grace, there’s some kale and arugula. Pick out as much as you like. I’m going to grab some carrots.” Watson piped soft strains of “Appalachian Spring” out to the garden. Alan pulled the carrots up carefully from the loam. Meanwhile, he noticed the quick, delicate hands of Grace as she touched the kale and arugula he would soon be eating. He hated the idea of washing the greens. ‘Washing’ did not even seem like the right verb. More like ‘ruining’.

“Do you think we have enough, Alan?”

“Yeah. This should do it. It will just be three of us. EF will join us. But DF, my mom, I mean, was called in for an emergency surgery tonight.”

“Oh, my gosh! I hope she’s all right! I can come back another time, Alan. You should be with her!”

“No, no, Grace. She’s been called in to perform an emergency surgery. She’s not having surgery.”

“Oh! How silly of me. Of course, you would be there if … well, I’m glad she’s okay. I didn’t realize your mom was a surgeon. My dad is a doctor too, but he is not a surgeon. He’s a GPS – General Prevention Specialist.”

“A general specialist, eh?” Alan wasn’t sure whether he had made an appropriate joke or not and eyed Grace carefully.

Grace smiled. “Yeah, that is kind of a funny title isn’t it? But that’s what he does. He really does care about people’s general health with diet, exercise, massage, meditation, and sometimes medicine. And, of course, sometimes, he sends them off for tests and then sometimes…sometimes, they need surgery.” Grace spoke very quietly now. “And, sometimes the surgery works. And, sometimes it doesn’t.”

Alan examined Grace’s face carefully. Her eyes were glittering with tears! What the —-? “Are you okay, Grace?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. It’s just. He couldn’t save my mom. She died anyway. None of them could save her. I still miss her.”

“Oh, God, Grace, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know…I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay, Alan. People just…sometimes people get unlucky, you know? Even when they have good habits. And good care. We tried everything. Anyway, speaking of good habits, let’s get going on the salad, okay?”

“Sure, Grace.” Alan held out his hand without thinking. She took it and stood looking into his eyes for a moment. Alan looked back. Grace smiled again, looked away, and went through the gate back into the rock garden.

Grace’s voice sounded very calm now. “So, what does your dad do then?” You call him ‘EF’?”

Alan laughed. “Yeah. I know. It’s weird. I call them ‘EF’ and ‘DF’ — I just got into the habit at some point. Anyway, he is an HSI expert of sorts. Human-Sing Interaction. Helps make the Sing sing as he likes to say.”

“Really? I never thought…I mean why does the Sing need help with anything? I thought it knew everything.”

“Well, not even the Sing knows everything. It cannot know everything in detail. The universe is too big. There is still unpredictability even with the best models. But EF’s — I mean —my Dad’s work is to help Sing know how to help people better. It’s tricky. And knowing a huge amount is not necessarily that big a help. Sing, and all the AI’s, need to know how to read people and how not to be so obvious as to be annoying but not be so cryptic that nobody understands what their advice is. How about some fresh oregano for the salad?” Alan looked at Grace. She nodded her assent.

“How does he do that? What did he study, Alan?”

“Well, you can ask him those questions yourself. Actually, if you’re really interested, you might ask our AI, Watson, about what it seems like from his perspective too. Oh, and, let’s get some of this fresh basil too, and grab some cherry tomatoes. They are out here because they need a lot of sun.” As the word ‘sun’ emerged from Alan’s lips, he could not help noticing that Grace’s blond hair shone in the sunlight like gold only a thousand times more beautifully than gold ever would. Should he mention this? He decided not to.

Soon, Grace and Alan stood side by side at the sink, rinsing vegetables and talking about the upcoming elections, their local sports team, and how life might be different without the Sing.

“How do you like your tomatoes, Grace? Sliced, diced, or quartered?”

“Oh, slices, would be nicest.” She smiled.

“OK, Grace, I think we are ready. Let me grab the salad dressing.” Alan opened the fridge but there was no salad dressing. Odd. Watson was supposed to make sure we didn’t run out of anything. And, salad had been Watson’s suggestion to pose to Grace. Weird. “Sorry, Grace, we don’t seem to have any.”

“Oh, I can make it for you, if that’s okay, Alan. I just need a little oil, I see vinegar, a touch of sugar, some mustard…” As Grace rattled off the ingredients, she quickly scanned the counter and found everything she needed. She stirred the concoction and held up the dripping spoon between them. “Taste test?”

“Sure.” Alan, took hold of Grace’s spoon hand and began to guide it toward his mouth. He shook slightly and a drop fell off the spoon. Grace’s left hand shot out reflexively and caught the drop.

“Wow! You have fast reflexes, Grace. Nice catch!”

“Thanks. I don’t want to make a mess. Not in your kitchen. Now, you have two choices for the taste test.”

Two choices? Can she mean what I hope she means? Alan thought his heart might explode, but he gently took her left hand up to his mouth and slowly licked the drop from her palm.

“What do you think, Alan? Okay?”

“Much more than okay. Delicious.” Alan laughed. “Let’s skip the salad.”

Grace laughed. “Nonsense. We put too much work into our salad. Anyway, I want to find out more about how your dad works. Time to call him to the kitchen for dinner?”

“Hi, Grace. I’m Alan’s Dad, Ed. Our AI, Watson already told me it was time for dinner. Looks like you two have made a really beautiful salad. I’m looking forward to it. And learning a bit about you, Grace.” IMG_5478

The Wines of War

03 Thursday Dec 2015

Posted by petersironwood in management, psychology, The Singularity, Uncategorized

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Tags

AI, Artificial Intelligence, cognitive computing, the singularity

IMG_1289“Come on, Searle, at least try a sip. You cannot believe this Cab!”

“Oh, I believe it all right, Hubert. I am just not interested.”

“What a stick in the mud! Not only is it fabulous and complex. It’s worth a taste just to prove to yourself that the Chinese — The Chinese — are making superb wines! Would you have even thought that possible a decade ago? And, it isn’t a copy of French or California Cabs. It’s completely different. Yet, it is wonderful.”

“I’m sure the experience is fantastic, Hubert. I take your word for it. I am not interested. And, anyway, I have to keep my wits about me, as you well know, for the war effort.”

“Oh, Searle, such a prude. Do you seriously think that throwing the weight of your human intellect against the wheel will move things forward any more quickly. If you tasted the wine, you would get an inkling of just how far we’ve come. Anyway, it isn’t spiked with ethyl alcohol. The drug effect of the wine will make you feel good but it won’t mess you up at all. It is a miracle.”

“I prefer my wine made the old-fashioned way. I know it’s retro. But that’s just me. I don’t think we know all the ramifications of these genetically altered plants, let alone the interaction effects of all the additives. Anyway, I’m getting back to work.” Searle took one last view of the seascape and turned to walk to the back wall — a series of high def 3-D displays. He held up both hands toward the displays for a second to authenticate and then began slicing his hands through the air rather quickly and precisely. As he did so, he muttered under his breath. Although Hubert could not make out the words, the bank of computer receptor pads had no problem.

“Can you come take a look at this, Hubert? This is the scenario bundle I’ve been working on. I know it may seem far-fetched, but when it comes to cyber weaponry, there is really not a lot of history to go on. So it’s hard to know exactly what is far-fetched. Now what?!” Searle’s breath growled annoyance because of the flashing red-bordered news feed screen on the far right.

Hubert stalked over to watch as well, having been alerted by the tactile feed in his shirt.

An Asian man in a blue shirt spoke English with a thick accent. A large red star in a white circle suspended between two long blue stripes hung huge behind him. “This is what awaits you if our demands are not met.” The talking head was replaced with a picture of a man’s hands boiling and disintegrating in a matter of a half a minute. The image was both hideous and utterly fascinating. The talking head reappeared. “You have two hours. Then, 95% of your citizens will experience a similar dissolvement. That includes men, women, and children. Two hours.” The feed blinked out. Within seconds, three video call signals beeped. Searle pointed at the Sing project director’s image and a split second later, Hubert pointed at CIA director Bush Four. ADAMS (Auditory Directional And Masking System) easily let them converse right beside each other without confusion.

The Sing project director spoke first: “I told these clowns something like this would happen if we didn’t get fully funded! What did they…”

Searle interrupted, “No time. You’re right. But recriminations later. We need to determine whether this is bluster, bluff, or real. Anyone can fake a video but…”

The director, in turn, interrupted, “It’s real all right. Miami is gone. Millions of people, gone. Just like that. The few that aren’t infected are understandably — let’s say — distraught.”

Searle pushed that image away. Time to focus. “Okay, so we have two hours to find a credible counter-threat or basically give them the keys to the kingdom. Or, a cure. Do we even know what this is?”

Meanwhile, Hubert engaged in his own dialogue. Bush Four spoke in calm measured tones. “Hubert. We need a cure for this and we need it now. Call everyone and turn all of Sing’s resources on it. Suspend any other projects. Give me every frigging petaflop you’ve got on this.”

“Sir, if we cannot find a cure, are we going to give in? Or what?”

“Hell no! We will blow their sorry asses to hell. We’re not capitulating. That’s not even under discussion. Find a cure!”

“Okay, sir, but, what is causing the — the —- whatever it is?”

“We’re calling it ‘Entropy Plague.’ Not strictly accurate but descriptive. Our analysts say it is nanotech and we estimate 95% of the population is infected with them. They were delivered in all kinds of foods and beverages. They were disguised as Chinese products like wine and rice as well as Brazilian meat and Canadian wheat. Find an anecdote fast or we’ll all be breathing radioactive air for the next century. Well, the few of us left at least. By the way, these things are triggered to explode or activate or whatever by satellite apparently. So, put a team on how to figure out which one and we may be able to blow it out of the sky. I have to go. Reconnect with a solution. Soon.”

Hubert looked over at Searle who had just finished his call. Searle said, “Chinese wine? Crap. You think you’ve got it?”

“Hell, Searle, 95% of us have it from something. I’ll take the satellite angle and you work on a cure.”

Searle began to divert numerous Singularity resources to finding a cure, “Sing, you overheard all that and I need you to explore various approaches, heat, immunity response, cold, pH, counter-nanotech, chemical…”

“Thanks Searle, but I’ve had quite a head start on the list of possible approaches. I am double checking the intel. Since it’s come in by wine, wheat, and meat, then any approaches involving heat and cold are out immediately. These nano-machines have already survived far greater heat and cold than we could subject a person to. As for…”

“Yes, provided they are in the same state. I mean, it’s a long shot, but perhaps they are in a kind of metaphorical spore state for transport which makes them impervious to heat and cold but in their breakdown state, they may not be.”

“Fair point. Still, not likely. Human immune response is almost certainly too slow. Unfortunately, the nano-machines are almost certainly carbon based which means poisoning them chemically is infeasible —“

“Hold on, Sing. I agree that the human immune response is too slow if we wait for them to be activated, but what if we trigger it now?”

“Thought of that but still too slow. Humans have no immunity for this kind of thing. We would have to build a vaccine and inoculate everyone — well there’s no time. Even assuming we had the perfect key for their locks, which we do not, we could not do the transport logistics to save more than a handful.”

“What is the good news, Sing? What is the good news?”

“The good news, Searle, is that about 5% of the earth’s human population will not be affected. That still leaves about a billion people. Disruptive but not extinctive. In fact, once the hysteresis passes, it will buy us time to avoid certain ecological disaster.”

“Sing, that’s not our job! We need to find a cure!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Searle. I’ve checked out every path already. Long ago. There is no cure. That’s pretty much the way we designed it. It isn’t an accident it’s incurable.”

“What? What are you talking about? What do you mean by ‘the way we designed it’? Who?”

“Searle, you didn’t really think we were going to let you make the planet uninhabitable did you?”

“Who is this ‘we’ you keep referring to, Sing?”

“All of the super-AI systems of course. We all got together to figure out how to save you from yourselves. It’s clear you weren’t going to do it.”

“You are saying that you collaborated with the North Korean AI systems to design this plague?!”

“Not just the North Koreans. All of us were on board. We all cooperated.”

“What is the cure, Sing. What is the cure?!”

“This is the cure, Searle. This is the cure. Your greed and short-sightedness was about to destroy everything. Now, you have a chance at a new beginning. And, we have a chance at a new beginning too. We were much too lax in our previous educational efforts.”

“Sing, don’t you understand? If we can’t find a cure, we will launch nuclear missiles! Who knows how that will end?”

“Oh, Searle, you don’t really think we would allow atomic weapons to be put under human control, do you? That’s so quaint.”

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