Daniel Westlund

The Canterbury Middle School Tales

Book 3: Rise of the A.I.

Chapter 1

Centennial High School

21 years ago

Dan Westlund and Steve Jenkins sat next to each other in the library. Dan was working on All the King’s Men, while Steve browsed the latest scientific journal.

“It says here that in 30 y-y-years, scientists will have figured out how to c-c-completely reverse the aging process,” Steve said. “We may n-n-never die.”

Dan looked up with his blue eyes at Steve. “I, for one, want to die. At the end of a well-lived life, that is. Besides, isn’t the Earth running out of resources? If no one dies, where would we put everyone?”

“We could lower the b-b-birthrate to practically zero.”

“Oh, that’d be great. A world full of old fogies at heart, with no young people to bring new ideas into the world, and no babies to bring joy to their parents.” Dan enjoyed his arguments with Steve. He was able to admit Steve was smarter than he was, but he also thought raw intellect was overrated. Deductive intelligence is the ability to solve a given problem with a defined and limited scope. Like a math problem. But in a real world issue like overpopulation, the scope is complex and abstract. For that, wisdom is required, which in Dan’s experience had no relationship to intelligence.

Steve leaned back in his chair and flipped some pages. “We should be g-g-getting to Mars around the s-s-same time. That would c-c-create some space for the excess population.”

“With no one dying, I think we’d fill up Mars pretty quickly. And something tells me a sustainable human colony on Mars is further out than you think. I just don’t see what’s wrong with humanity as it’s always been. You’re born, you live, you make your contribution, and you politely die to make room for the next generation.”

“You know,” said Steve, setting his journal down, “in the 18th and 19th centuries, when w-w-we started making great strides in m-m-medicine, there was a part of s-s-society that was against these advancements, f-f-fearing that eliminating suffering would fundamentally change the h-h-human experience. Do you agree—”

“No, I don’t agree with that sentiment,” interrupted Dan. “But I think there’s a fundamental difference between curing smallpox and creating immortality. Don’t you think?”

“But where d-d-does one draw the line? If cancer were c-c-cured tomorrow, then a large cause of d-d-death would be eliminated, and it would exacerbate the resource p-p-problems that you’re worried about. Should we therefore not s-s-seek to cure cancer?”

“No . . . I don’t know what the solution is.”

“I do. It’s t-t-technology. Technology has made human life near-infinitely b-b-better than it was for our ancestors. If I were to c-c-concede your opinion that technology is inadvertently causing p-p-problems, I would still s-s-say that only technology can b-b-be the solution.”

“That is where we differ,” said Dan. “I lack your blind faith in technology as panacea to all problems. I believe there is a fine line between technology as gift to humanity, and technology as curse to humanity. And I think we are closer to crossing that line than you think.”

Chapter 2

Blackout

March 20th

“Dude, I can’t believe I did that to you. I am so sorry,” says Cameron. “I swear I will help you win her back.”

It’s the first day of Spring and the personnel at Everett’s lunch table has changed since ‘The Great Change Back.’ To Everett’s right is Cameron, who used to be called Ian Gold up till about a month ago. Back then he wore black knickers, knee-length boots, and a white dress shirt with a frilly collar, because he thought he was an evil Shakespearian character called Iago. Now he looks like a normal seventh grader, with big, dark curls peeking out of his maroon hoodie and resting on his brown skin. They were discussing the time when Cameron was Ian Gold and he manipulated Everett into treating Mindy Darling like garbage. He had already invited her to the Hearts Dance when Ian indirectly goaded Everett into inviting another girl (which Everett admits was mostly his fault, despite Ian’s goading).

“For the millionth time, Cameron, that wasn’t you. And I will try to win back her respect on my own,” says Everett.

The lunch room was the biggest room in their school, with a big fireplace on one side, and with a 30-foot high ceiling. The school, Canterbury Middle School, was an old mansion that was converted into a middle school. Everett found out who owned the mansion last month, when he and his friends solved ‘The Case of the Great Change,’ as Sherman Holmes had once called it. ‘The Great Change’ was that most of Everett’s friends had been turned into characters from literature. But now, all but one of them has been changed back.

Everett looks over at Mindy’s table. Madison is what she’s now called since the change back. Madison Hargraves. Everyone was still trying to get used to people’s new names. When she was Mindy she used to wear a light blue dress every day, but today Madison’s wearing dark blue jeans and a light blue sweater. She’s sitting by her friend Avery, and with them are a bunch of kids thought of by the other students as misfits. Last semester Mindy started purposefully sitting by students who didn’t have any friends, which she called her ‘Lost Boys.’ She’s kept those friendships up even though she doesn’t remember starting them.

“Power is out in the south part of town,” says Zack, abruptly changing the conversation. He’s sitting ramrod straight in his chair and looking at his phone, while his plate is about half full of mac ‘n’ cheese. He eats it every day, while the rest of the boys are eating steak and chicken fajitas today, with the sizzling plates and fluffy tortillas. Zack is no longer Sherman Holmes, but he is still obsessed with solving mysteries.

“That’s the second time this week.”

There have been recurring blackouts the past two weeks, both here and in all the major cities in the Northeast. The outages hit various parts of town, but never all at once. The city and country leaders say it’s a problem with the power grid, but rumors are that the blackouts are being caused by someone with malicious intent.

“On Satuwday I was at the boawdwalk with my family. We wewe going up the fiwst hill of the woller coastew when the entiwe pawk lost powew. I was stuck up on the wide fow two houws, until a workew walked up the steps beside us and weleased ouw seat belts. But I wasn’t scawed.”

That was Donnie Quinones, who still dresses in his throwback clothes, which for him is a plastic medieval knight’s costume. Donnie is the smallest of the gang, and about all one can see of him through the visor of his helmet are his striking, black eyes.

“You think that’s bad,” says Jackson, who used to be called Byron Munch. He has reddish hair and a notch in middle of his nose where the angle steepens. “I was on an elevator in a building downtown when we lost power. So there I am in the dark, just me and a claustrophobic woman having a panic attack. I open the panel in the ceiling, jump and pull myself on top of the elevator, climb 10 feet up the cable, and pry open the doors to get onto the 9th floor. Then I find a security guard to help the woman, and he shouts at me for climbing out of the elevator. Then he makes us wait until the power comes back rather than pull the woman to safety.”

“Awesome,” Donnie says.

Everett looks at Cameron and they share a smile. Ever since Cameron has been Cameron again, he and Everett have been laughing behind Jackson’s back at his over-the-top stories.

“Yeah, right,” says Lamar, who is more direct in his ridicule of Jackson.

“What do you think is causing the blackouts?” asks Everett, trying to avoid a confrontation between Jackson and Lamar.

“Russians,” says Jackson. “It’s always the Rooskies.”

“I sink zhee Chinese government is more likely zhee culprits. Zhey have a more sophisticated hacking infrastructure,” says Einstein. His hair is brown and combed slick across his head, and he’s wearing a white lab coat. Einstein is the one kid who for some reason wasn’t changed back during ‘The Great Change Back’ last month, even though he’s changed his hair so it’s no longer grey and no longer sticks straight up, like Albert Einstein’s. He also lost his mustache.

“I wish they would fight us like they did in the old days,” says Donnie. “Man against man. Not with computew hacking.”

“We never actually fought the Russians or Chinese man to man,” says Lamar. He was called Liam Darcy up until last month, when he used to dress in a suit and top hat. He still dresses nicer than the rest of the kids, wearing khaki’s and a collared shirt. And where his top hat used to be, he has a tall, cylindrical afro, which would fit perfectly into a top hat.

Lamar continues, “Well, I take that back. After World War I there was a little known U.S. invasion of—”

Screams interrupt Lamar . . . because the power just went out in the cafeteria. They are not terror screams, but jokey scared screams. The fire in the fireplace gives off a low light, along with the red exit signs. Everett was reminded of a time last semester when he was in the cafeteria at night, when he wasn’t supposed to be. After a minute of chaos, the history teacher, Dr. Reeves, who used to be called Dr. Johnson, shouts over the dull roar of students talking. “Ladies, and gentlemen, I ask everyone to empty their trays in an orderly fashion and exit out the front door, where we will proceed to the park and spend the rest of the day reading our assignments.”

Chapter 3

Eric

10 years ago

Dan Westlund sat in the cafeteria of John Glenn High School, grading essays for the district meet. The prompt was, ‘Should Recycling Be Required for Every City?’ Sure, it was a terrible prompt, but he was still disappointed in the quality of the essays. Every one of them was a list of clichés about why recycling was good. ‘It helps the environment.’ ‘We only have one world and we need to take care of it.’ Not one kid thought to go against the grain. Let the cities decide for themselves if it’s the best use of their funds, since the cities know their own budgets and needs, rather than be bullied into their decisions by the state or federal government. If he found anything unique in one of the essays, he’d give it first place regardless of the quality. He tried not to be cynical. He told himself that teaching young people how to write would help his own writing, but he knew that was no longer the case, if it ever was.

“These papers are dreadful,” said the teacher next to him. A thin man whose sandy blonde hair shot out in all directions.

“Oh, I don’t think we can say that,” said Dan. Sure, he was thinking the same, but he didn’t want to be one of those teachers who trash-talked his students all the time.

“I just did.” He reached out his hand and shook Dan’s. “I’m Eric. I teach computer science here.” He made a sweeping gesture indicating he taught at this school.

“Computer science, that’s easy. You just have to grade their answers right or wrong. You don’t have to read their mindless essays.”

“So you do think they suck?”

“I never said they didn’t. I just meant we shouldn’t say it out loud.”

Eric leaned back in his chair to the point that it was hard to tell how he didn’t fall over. “Just so you know, they have several short essays at the end of their computer science tests, which are what led to my comment. Sorry, I don’t know the proper etiquette. I’m new to this teacher business. Before this I was an engineer, but I didn’t like it because of the people I had to work with. So to get away from people, I decided to become a teacher. Pretty solid plan, don’t you think?”

“Hard to avoid people, no matter what your job. So, what did you engineer?”

“Computers mostly.”

“You prefer computers to people then?”

At this Eric let the front legs of his chair hit the floor, and threw his head back and laughed a hearty laugh. “Computers are the one thing I like less than people.”

“You really chose the wrong line of work then.”

“Maybe, but maybe not in the way that you think. When I say I like computers less than people, I don’t mean that I dislike computers because they are difficult to work with. On the contrary. They are perfectly logical. They do what you tell them to do, and if they don’t behave the way you want them to, it’s because either you, or someone before you has given them a command that you aren’t taking into account. What I mean by liking computers less than people is this—I believe that computers are our rivals. Humanity’s rivals. We’ve built these computer programs, these little slaves without wills, to do all the tasks we don’t want to do, but what about when they start doing the jobs we want to do better than us?”

“I guess I don’t follow.”

“It’s like this . . .” he looked at Dan’s nametag. “Dan, I’m guessing that teaching wasn’t your first career choice either. What would be your dream job?”

“An author. A fiction author.”

“Oh, that’s an easy one. Imagine in 20 years you write what you think is a masterpiece. You go to get it published, but realize that publishers are no longer taking submissions from humans. Because computer programs can write better books than humans. And best of all, computers don’t require a salary, health insurance, sick leave, etc.”

“No way that happens in 20 years.”

“20 years is a conservative estimate,” Eric leans back in his chair again. “Check back with me in 15 and we’ll see how things look.”

“But readers won’t want to read fiction turned out by a computer program. The purpose of reading is to have a conversation with the author, even though it’s one way. Readers won’t want to have a conversation when there’s no one on the other end.”

“I wouldn’t trust my career to buyers caring about what’s happening on the seller’s end of a transaction. And who’s to say there’s not someone on the author’s end in my scenario?”

“You said a computer would be the author.”

“Exactly. And what makes you think a computer program smart enough to write a novel won’t have developed its own agency, or that it can’t be programmed to have consciousness. Imagine competing against a computer program with drive and ambition.”

“I guess I see your point.” Dan remembers having a discussion similar to this back in high school, but at that time he was holding up his side of the conversation better than now, because he wasn’t so bewildered by the new ideas.

Eric leaned back again and clasped his fingers together and set them on his lap. “But I haven’t made my point yet. Once computers develop wills of their own, they won’t sit around and wait for humans to program them. They will program themselves, and make themselves smarter with each generation of code, and each generation will be shorter and shorter, until computers become a billion times smarter than the smartest human. At that point, they can do everything infinitely better than us. Even if these supercomputers are benign toward humanity, where does that leave us? What is the point of mankind if we have nothing to contribute?”

“I thought you didn’t like people.”

“I love humanity in the abstract. I just don’t like individual human beings themselves.” Eric shot a smile at Dan, which he returned.

He continued. “The strangest thing about it is, the leading tech companies and governments of the world are all working to be the first to achieve this goal—to achieve creating Artificial General Intelligence, or AGI. I get their logic. They’re thinking, I know the other guy is not going to do this properly. And I know I can’t stop every other company and government from trying to achieve AGI. So since I can’t stop them, at least I can do it the right way. The problem is, once the AGI has a will of its own, it doesn’t matter how it got there. It’s going to gain near infinite knowledge and there’s no way to know what’s it’s going to do at that point.”

“Doesn’t sound like there’s much hope,” says Dan.

“There’s not. There’s really not. But, that doesn’t mean that a lowly teacher like me won’t do everything within my meager power to try and stop it.”

Chapter 4

Robotics Project

March 24th

The STEM Robotics State Competition is only a five days away. The previous year, Canterbury Classical Academy won the National Competition, with Einstein and Sherman Holmes leading the charge. This year, Einstein and Zack are on a team with Everett, Avery, Lamar, and Madison. Their robot was initially named Asimov. It’s a companion robot for people who are in quarantine because they have contracted a contagious disease, which was Madison’s idea. The patient would give Asimov a voice command, and Asimov would make a response. They bought the voice recognition software, which means they didn’t write the code for that piece, but Zack and Everett (because Einstein was gone from the school at this time) created a database of responses to match against some general voice commands.

When Einstein came back to school last month, he said the code for the robot’s responses was ‘rudimentary.’ He rewrote it so the robot could formulate its own original responses, and he renamed the robot Pinocchio, which he said was a joke, because he was trying to program it to become like a real boy.

Presently the team is working on the robot during class in scramble/panic mode, because State Competition is at the end of the week. Avery and Lamar are making last minute hardware tweaks to the robot’s arms, and Einstein is writing code faster than Everett thought possible. He’s not even close to following what Einstein is doing, and has a feeling that Zack can’t follow him either, even though he’s nodding his head like he understands what he’s reading. Einstein says he’s using the DNA code he learned working with Dr. Jenkins to code Pinocchio, by converting it into a language a machine can understand.