Progress Report
Doctor Hyman G. wore a dull golden skullcap that denoted his membership in the Church of the Golden Rule. It was not much different from the yarmulkes he wore as a child at Temple. Many of his colleagues were also members of the CGR, as it was now called. It was a popular religion. Even those who scoffed at the CGR and called it a cult did so quietly. The fact of the matter was that CGR members were quiet and didn't push their beliefs on anybody else. CGR members tended to be well-behaved, polite, and generally pleasant to work with. The Research Institute crowded its project teams in close quarters behind layers of physical and electronic security, and so having good-natured colleagues was a good thing—even if what caused them to be so good-natured was some cockamamie religion.
Today Doctor Hyman G. was in a good mood for a different reason: he was celebrating accomplishment of a major milestone, a significant breakthrough in the biotechnical project that he led. The latest tests were all positive: he and his team had moved the dream of human/computer interface forward this week. The dream of being able to upload human consciousness into a computer was within reach.
As he typed his report he reflected on how far the technology had come in the past few years. It had started with the neural lace—the breakthrough that had allowed Kara Lennier (now Kara Cummings) to walk even though her spine had been severely damaged—and then the technological advances had continued at a furious pace. Everybody had known the neural lace could do far more than transmit commands from brain to muscle; it could obviously receive as well as send. The trick had been to refine the interface from computer to neural lace, and to do so without massive signal degradation. And his team had just made that happen at a signal-to-noise ratio that would have been a science fiction dream only five years ago!
But of course there were those who would say his breakthrough was a sin against man and God. They would say that what made a human a human – the soul – could never be reduced to mere electrical signals and transmitted, and even recorded. They would try to stop the project if they knew about it, and so his team operated under the strictest security within The Research Institute, which itself had the strictest security that could be provided. Better to let the project succeed and then announce the success, rather than to report milestones and risk the ire of religious groups and the interference of paid-for politicians.
Doctor Hyman G. typed his report on a specially designed computer that was as secure as could be made. Everybody had learned from the ICE-9 attack. The computer was not connected to any outside port. In fact, it had an "air gap" of a full yard between it and any wall, to ensure that any stray radiation—such as that emitted by touching keys on the keyboard—did not leave the room. At the end of the session, the computer would encrypt two discs with the report and then erase all signs that the report had ever been typed. The 512-bit encryption algorithm was impervious to any known form of decryption—especially since the NSA's supercomputers had been turned into junk after ICE-9. The room itself was sealed from the rest of the Institute by multiple layers of security.
It wasn't only about religious nuts and stupid politicians. The Institute's sponsors were very concerned about theft of the intellectual property in which they had invested so much money. The Research Institute certainly was not the only entity seeking a proven approach to human/computer interface. Thus, the Institute's Technical Committee would receive one of the two disks, and the other would be placed in the Institute's archives. No other copies would be made. No information would be disseminated outside the walls of the Institute.
Doctor Hyman G. finished his report, smiled broadly, and clicked "publish". The drives whirred for a minute and then the two disks were ready. He put them into a pouch, sealed it, wrote his name across the seal, and then exited the room. He handed the pouch to a pair of security guards, who nodded and walked away. Doctor Hyman G. headed for the building's foyer, satisfied in the knowledge that the reports were going to make the sponsors very, very, happy.
He badged out and nodded to the security guard at the front desk.
"Plans tonight, Doc?" the guard asked.
"Church tonight, Eric." Doctor Hyman G. smiled. A good day's work followed by a thoughtful and reflective church meeting. You couldn't beat that.
The local CGR sanctuary was crowded, which was unusual for a Thursday night. There was a kind of electricity in the air, which Doctor Hyman G. quickly found out was because Kara Cummings was tonight's special speaker. The word had just gone out a couple of hours ago. Kara didn't give a lot of advance notice because of security. There were many people who wanted to stop her message, and so better to not tip them off where she was going to be.
Doctor Hyman G. had heard her speak before, of course. And he had downloaded and watched many of her videos. He had even seen the now-famous CNN special, the one with the miracle – the one where Kara looked at an anonymous email and knew right away who it was from and who it was about. Of course, most people didn't believe that had been a miracle; they thought it was some kind of trick or maybe CNN had tipped her beforehand. But CGR members knew better. They knew, or believed, that Kara had a direct line to God. As far as they were concerned, that email was simply the first of the many miracles she had performed.
Tonight's sermon was different. Kara didn't seem to have any prepared remarks. She just got up on stage and sat in a chair, and looked at the crowd. Her husband, Silent Chuck, waited over on the side of the stage, silent as ever, holding the hand of their daughter. The daughter looked at Kara with love, while Silent Chuck's eyes roamed the audience and the stage and everywhere else, looking for trouble. Doctor Hyman G. knew that Silent Chuck had stopped several attacks aimed at Kara, and at least one kidnapping attempt aimed at the daughter.
Did Kara look a bit different tonight? Was that a baby bump? Was she expecting baby number two? Maybe that was why she was sitting down instead of standing and delivering one of her famous sermons on reflection, or empathy, or compassion.
Kara looked at the audience and asked, "Who wants to share?"
In CGR lingo that meant did anybody want to report progress made in living up to The Golden Rule? Did anybody have any good news to report to the rest of the members?
Doctor Hyman G. was tempted to raise his hand but security and the Institute's Non-Disclosure Agreement required him to stay silent. Although he would love to be able to share news of his team's progress, he would lose his job if he did so. So he sat quietly in his seat and listened to other Church members report their good news. Everybody in the audience clapped after each report, encouraging the people to keep going in their efforts to spread The Question and to help others live up to The Golden Rule.
Finally the sharing was over. Kara's eyes searched the audience, and she paused once or twice to smile at people she obviously knew. But it seemed that she was looking for somebody, some specific individual. Finally her eyes settled on Doctor Hyman G. She looked at him and he would swear she knew how much good news he had to share—if only he were permitted to do so. She looked right at him and said, "Are you sure there's no more good news tonight?" He stayed silent—what else could he do? She nodded and her eyes moved on.
The local sanctuary leader stood up and gave a passionate sermon about righteous action. He called for action to help others live up to The Golden Rule. Doctor Hyman G. had heard this one before, so he tuned out the leader's voice and kept his attention on Kara. She motioned to one of her people and said something; that person walked off the stage and slowly walked into the audience. He was unobtrusive and most people in the audience didn't notice him, but Doctor Hyman G. watched him come closer and closer, and finally stop right in front of him.
The lackey leaned down and whispered into Doctor Hyman G.'s ear, "Kara would like to see you after the service is over, if you have time."
Doctor Hyman G. muttered, "Of course," because who was going to turn down a private meeting with Kara?
After the service was over and people wandered out to get refreshments or to head home, he stayed where he was. Silent Chuck suddenly appeared from nowhere and made a gesture for Doctor Hyman G. to follow him backstage to where Kara was waiting.
Yes, it was definitely a baby bump. He wanted to say, "Congratulations! Mazel tov!" but he didn't know them and it would have seemed impertinent. So instead he nodded at Kara and said, "Pleased to meet you," and waited.
"Doctor, I've heard some great things about you," she said.
"Oh, really? From whom?"
She just smiled and ignored the question. "You didn't share any good news tonight. Mind telling me why?"
Doctor Hyman G. saw no need to say anything other than the truth. "I have NDAs and employment restrictions that prevent me from sharing my work. Believe me, I'd like to share good news – but I'm not allowed to."
Kara nodded at that. "Well, that makes sense. I wouldn't want you to violate any agreements." Then she paused for a second, and then asked, "But would you be able to engage in a discussion – purely theoretical – about aspects of your research problem? I'm not talking about divulging your work; I'm talking about a general discussion of the problem and various potential solutions."
Doctor Hyman G. thought about it and nodded. "Yes, that should be possible. Not unlike general discussions with colleagues at technical symposia. I don't have a problem with that."
Kara said, "Great." Then she led him into a room that had a big computer screen and seated him in front of it. Then she walked out of the room, to join her husband and daughter.
"Wait," he said. "Where are you going? What about the discussion?"
She smiled back at him. "You're not having the discussion with me. I'm not even qualified to understand one percent of your research. Instead, you're going to have the discussion with some technical specialists from around the globe. It's all been arranged. Just hang on a second and they'll be joining you."
Then she walked out and the door closed, leaving Doctor Hyman G. wondering what he had just agreed to.
And then the screen lit up and he saw the people on the video teleconference, and he relaxed, because these were his friends and colleagues. People he respected. People whose work he had followed. Soon they were lost in the technical challenges of brain/computer interface.
He didn't notice the security cameras in the ceiling of the room.