Chapter Seven
Qubits
It was only May, and the temperature in Phoenix was already nearing the century mark. The WBN complex was not actually in Phoenix, but in a part of the metropolitan area referred to as the “East Valley.” The entire region was called the “Silicon Desert” because of the number of computer chips that were designed and produced in the vicinity. While the “Silicon Valley” in California got most of the press, the “Silicon Desert” was where the hearts of personal computers were created. That was, up until now.
Meagan Fletcher sat at her desk. The curtains were closed, fending off the intense glare of the mid-morning sun. In the weeks since the announcement, the reporter had contacted every source she could scrounge up in the world of technology. She was surprised that they all were eager to talk with her — even corporate presidents and CEOs. Usually it was hard to arrange an interview with men and women in high positions, but, to a person, they were running scared and wanted to talk. Meagan flipped through her notes — the people she met would not let her record the interviews — and considered what they said:
“Impossible. Not a computer big enough to do what that IHT thingy did. Had to be some sort of trick. Ha! Some sort of magic maybe.”
“Even if we linked several super computers together — hell, even if we linked ‘em ALL together — they couldn’t make the calculations fast enough.”
“A six-inch cube hooked to an ordinary com line? Poppycock!”
“Magic? I can’t believe old Vernon said that, even in jest. There’s no such thing as magic. This is genius, pure and simple.”
“Who made the damn chip? I don’t have industrial spies like some companies I won’t name, but I would have heard. You know?”
“We’ve been making chips for GundTech for [expletive] years, but I’m as [expletive] confounded as anyone else. And let me [expletive] assure you we have ways of [expletive] knowing no one else who [expletive] matters did either.”
“It’s funny, but nobody seemed to notice there was no power cord. Did you see a power cord hooked to that little cube, Ms. Fletcher? I sure as hell didn’t.”
There was only one conclusion that could be drawn: the technology GundTech was using must be revolutionary. It must be so advanced it would make current technology obsolete.
“How am I to compete with that... that... IHT thingy? You know what this means, Ms. Fletcher? It means I’m outa business, kaput!”
“I’m fearful for my workers. Hell, I’m fearful for everyone in the industry. Do you realize how many people may no longer have jobs?”
“Okay, think of it this way. GundTech has owned [expletive] Boardwalk for years, you know? But with this new [expletive] technology, this [expletive] genie in a box, they now own Park Place as well. MONOPOLY! They [expletive] own the whole [expletive] board!”
Their fear was further underscored when they dwelled on the potential risks the IHT posed.
“What are the risks of this new technology? Huh? This IHT thingy could be dangerous. Did GundTech ever answer Philip North’s question: ‘Is it dangerous?’ ”
“Dangerous? You mean physical harm? Ha! That’s the least of my [expletive] concerns. This technology is more [expletive] sinister than that. Do you listen to your competition? Miss Michaels’ got it [expletive] right. Security, privacy, even [expletive] mind control are at issue here.”
But what could be done? What should be done? Meagan remembered her exchange with the head of the company that made GundTech’s chips.
“Look, the government broke up MacroWare way back when, didn’t they? Well, this is far worse. Why it’s... it’s a [expletive] NATIONAL SECURITY ISSUE”
“But MacroWare was an American company. GundTech is a European Union corporation. Our courts have no power in the EU.”
“Well, there’s [expletive] trouble brewing in Europe too. I heard some big [expletive] Swiss financier by the name of Calthern is coming out against this new technology for some [expletive] reason. He has his sights set on preventing GundTech from setting up that [expletive] academy of theirs.”
“What’s his problem?”
“Don’t [expletive] know. Don’t [expletive] care. I just hope he stops the [expletive] [expletive].”
All Meagan Fletcher had uncovered, so far, was fear and speculation. What she needed now was a story. Speculation was not enough. She needed facts.
“Power,” she said.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Fletcher.”
“Manual mode. No vidCap, please.”
“Manual mode. No vidCap,” said the multiCom.
Meagan typed on the embedded desk screen.
OPEN ARCHIVE: GundTech Corporate Info
PASSWORD: ******
She added her interview notes to the rather meager file of information she had gathered during her investigation. Meagan’s contacts within the computer industry had not been able to give her any information about the new IHT technology, the Gund Fund, or the identity of the boy wonder. She was desperate for ideas.
She knew that, despite all the secrecy in the computer industry, there was no such thing as a real secret. There were always rumors. But in this case, there wasn’t even a hint of a rumor before the IHT was announced. Or was there? She entered a new command line.
SEARCH: GundTech +rumors
Again, the screen filled with links. There were literally thousands of comNet pages that contained rumors and theories about GundTech and its creator. The multiCom search engine ranked the pages by both popularity and viewer reviews. At the top of both lists was a site called X-BOY’S GUIDE TO GUNDTECH. Meagan had grown up reading the X-Men comics and was a fan of the series of movies about human mutants.
“Yeah, this should be really helpful,” she said sarcastically under her breath.
Meagan hesitated. Her finger hovered above her touch-screen.
What am I doing? she asked herself. I’m a respected journalist, and here I am about to go into a rumor site for information!
She turned her head away from the screen and closed her eyes. She tried to convince herself that, if they were closed, calling up X-boy’s site wouldn’t be sinking to a new low in journalism. After her finger made contact with the screen, she halfway opened the eye closest to the multiCom screen. She expected to see a headline proclaiming "GundTech Run by Mutant Human," but that was not what she saw. Her head swiveled forward and her eyes widened with interest as she read X-boy’s current page:
She studied the poem on the screen. Meagan had never thought of the young genius, whose work had changed the world, in human terms before — lonely and filled with the usual teen angst. After all, she realized, he was just a boy (or girl, she conceded reluctantly). No! She was positive the child prodigy was a boy.
She tapped the button that opened the curtain, then rose from her desk and walked to the windows. She gazed absently towards the haze-enshrouded mountains as her thoughts focused on the child prodigy.
Did the mind that created the AI technology also think of things like soccer and trading cards? Did he go to the movies on weekends with his friends? Go to school dances? Have a girlfriend?
And what about the boy’s parents? How did they handle having a
brilliant son? Obviously, they wanted to protect the boy. They wanted
him to have, well, a childhood. They wanted to shield him from the press — from
people like me.
But he must feel isolated from others his age. Isolated by thoughts — thoughts
he’d want to express, but few could understand.
Meagan’s multiCom interrupted her musings. “Incoming message, Ms. Fletcher. Secure channel, Pvt03.”
“Connect, please.”
“Do you want the vidCap activated?”
Only certain people within WBN had access to Meagan’s number-three private message channel, so she asked her multiCom to activate the vidCap. A heavyset, older man with long, graying hair pulled back in a ponytail appeared on her screen.
“Ms. Fletcher,” it was Andrew Purlov from the research department. If you needed information, and it was on the comNet somewhere, Andrew could find it, even though it was sometimes best not to ask how he accessed the information. “I have that data you requested. First, copyright and trademark applications for the IHT were filed on the morning of the announcement. However, to the best of my knowledge, no patents relating to the IHT have been registered by GundTech.”
He raised an eyebrow as he continued, “Interesting, huh? Also, all I could find on the Gund Fund was the name of the law firm that manages it. I’ve sent the file with all the relevant information to your secure drop folder.”
“That’s all?”
“Yep. Whatever business they conduct, it isn’t done on the net. Or, if it is, it’s the most secure information I’ve come across.”
“Well, thanks for the effort.”
“There’s one thing…” Andrew sounded very tentative. “If you’re interested, I have an idea about how the IHT might work.”
He could see the skepticism register on Meagan’s face.
“Well, not how it works, exactly, but how they could get the computer power needed to run it.”
“I can use any idea at the moment,” she responded, her voice tempered with doubt.
A peculiar diagram appeared on the screen.
“Qubits,” said Andrew quite simply. “Qubits are the answer.”
– End Chapter Seven –
