Life Boat

By Steve Alan Wilson

Having to move indoors away from the killing rays of the sun has forced the world to reevaluate its priorities. Because of an accident that fried the sky, humankind will never again walk freely out in the open. Most are resigned to living underground.

Bill Smith is just an average guy living in one of the underground cities in the Freeland District in the old state of California. After some convincing, Bill finally accepts an invitation from a friend to take a trip in an old amusement park ride named the Lifeboat. When he finds himself helplessly trapped inside the mind of the ride’s sentient biological computer, he must summon help from Christ to rid the machine of evil and destroy its brain before Satan gains control. But will God’s messenger find a way to complete his mission or will evil triumph over good in the Lifeboat?

In this entertaining post-apocalyptic science fiction novel, a man who becomes trapped inside a machine learns that he cannot defeat evil without help from Jesus Christ.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Sep 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781480865587

Steve Alan Wilson

Steve ALAN Wilson is a born-again Christian whose writings bring the reader closer to Jesus Christ through the genre of science fiction and fantasy. His love of the Lord is expressed in his quote, “Jesus Christ is the hero of my life and the hero of my books.” Steve resides in Ankeny, Iowa. This is his first novel.

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Copyright © 2018 Steve Alan Wilson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-6559-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-6560-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-6558-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018956882

Archway Publishing rev. date: 09/17/2018

CONTENTS

PART 1     THE SET UP

Chapter 1     Hello, My Name Is Bill

Chapter 2     Oops

Chapter 3     Abel Jackson

Chapter 4     The Interface

Chapter 5     The Machine Brain0

Chapter 6     The Uniweb

Chapter 7     Wasting Disease

Chapter 8     The Boat

Chapter 9     Adrift

Chapter 10   Sentience

PART 2      THE ATTRIBUTES

Chapter 11   Compassion

Chapter 12   Lost

Chapter 13Dark Man

Chapter 14   Out Of Time

Chapter 15   Courage

Chapter 16   Strength

Chapter 17   The Underground War

Chapter 18   Knowledge

Chapter 19   Faith

Chapter 20   Hope

Chapter 21   Love

PART 3     THE TASK

Chapter 22   EviL

Chapter 23   Hall Of Doors

Chapter 24   Tunnel Vision

Chapter 25   Reconciliation

Chapter 26   Death Of Innocence

Chapter 27   The Sword Is Mightier Than The Pen

Chapter 28   We Can Fix This

Chapter 29   Cares Of The World

Chapter 30   Rocky Ground

Chapter 31   Mission Trip

Chapter 32   Betrayed

Chapter 33   Iron Sharpens Iron

Chapter 34   Confession Is Good For The Soul

Chapter 35   Into The Lion’s Den

Chapter 36   Sold Out

Chapter 37   Snatched Away

Chapter 38   Salvation

Epilogue     The New Earth

To my late wife Martha, who lost her battle and is now home with the Lord.

She was the strongest person I’ve ever known.

PROLOGUE

We are convinced that we live in a real and tangible world. Things have substance. One feels the table top; sees evidence that the wind blows, hears the train whistle. But the truth is that what we perceive, what our senses pick up from our environment is simply the result of electrical signals interpreted by our brains, and, like it or not, our brains can be fooled.

Electrical stimulation of specific locations in the brain can mimic the flow of impulses through natural neural pathways. For example, stimulation of the visual cortex produce bursts of light or color, while stimulating areas associated with motor control produces arm, leg, or other body movements. Stimulation of areas of the brain linked to association can evoke memories.

Why is this important? I propose that someday, in the not too distant future, science will endeavor to affect the human brain to such a degree that the receiver—or victim depending on your viewpoint—will be unable to tell. The technology will be so good, the effect so seamless, it will be impossible to determine whether what one is experiencing is real or something generated in a computer. When that day comes the future of man will be at risk should Satan gain hold of the technology.

Ivan Hightower – The Science of Reality, 2017

I realize in a moment of lucidity that I am drifting in a boat. No. Not a boat, a Life Boat. I remember now. I’m being carried along by the digital waves of the Master Program. There is nothing I can do while I am under the influence of the Boat. This is terrible; somebody should do something about it. Suddenly, I’m overcome by a feeling of helplessness; my mouth is filled with cotton as panic washes over me. Steady. I mustn’t lose hope! The Boat I’m in may have a defective program lock. If that’s the case, this will eventually end, and I’ll go about my life, no harm done. But then, there is the alternative; someone, or something, purposely set me adrift.

Bill Smith – Life Boat, 2057

PART 1

THE SET UP

CHAPTER 1

HELLO, MY NAME IS BILL

Year 2057

WELL, SINCE I’M THE ONE GOD CHOSE, I SUPPOSE I’D BETTER INTRODUCE MYSELF. I consider myself an average guy. After all, how special can you be with a name like Bill Smith? When I was young, everybody called me Billy, unless I was in trouble, and then it was William Edward! Now that I’m older, I prefer just plain old Bill.

I’ve had a pretty good life, up to now, but more on that later. I’m the only son in an upright family with a few rough edges like everyone else’s, living in a small place on the third level, close to public couches and not far off the central hub. I live about thirty meters from the center shaft, past two rows of squats. Ours is thirty-three for number three in row three.

I still live with my parents, and I know what you’re thinking. I’ve been to the Beginners Training Center and then high school, so you’re wondering what’s wrong with me. Why am I still living at home? Well, besides the food—my mom’s got a real handle on chow prep—I’m still waiting for my evaluation. Every year, the city fathers assess my situation to determine whether I’m a match for any of the overseer positions. It’s driving me crazy. I really want to work. If I get a job, I’ll be able to get married. I’m hoping that day will come soon so I can finally marry my girl, Martha.

We’ve lived underground ever since the accident. It was the largest construction project in the history of humankind. I’ve accessed the history. There are now twenty thousand holes punched into the earth, fifteen hundred large-scale undersea habitats, eighteen space stations, two lunar cities, and a handful of other unique ways to avoid the sun—all created during the two-year period when the sky fried and people died. With the ensuing negative crop impacts, and eightyfold increase in cancer, large numbers of people didn’t make it. Of course, that was a long time ago. Having to move indoors away from the killing rays of the sun forced the world to reevaluate its priorities. Humans haven’t always been real smart, but in this case, survival won out over creature comforts, probably a good thing. What we Homo sapiens lack in intelligence, we make up in ingenuity. A solution may not be easy, but when death is our only alternative, we tend to find it.

I live in one of the underground cities in the Freeland District in the old state of California. In a race against time, vast armies of earth-movers dug out the final resting places for the cities intent on saving as much of the human race as possible. Humankind would never again walk freely out in the open; most resigned to living underground. Oh, did I mention the mountains? If you did go above ground, you’d easily see where the cities are located. Just look for the man-made mountains of dirt, rock, and construction debris next to the huge blast doors, the only indication there might be something below. The mountains continue to grow as those whose lives have come to an end are carried through the blast doors and dumped, unceremoniously, onto the ever-growing pile.

The central hub is like a huge elevator connecting all fifty levels of the city. There are a dozen transport tubes stationed at equal intervals around the large center-shaft elevator. The elevator was the first thing built once the shaft was dug, 2,000 meters deep! It was used to move materials and personnel during construction.

It’s pretty much the same on all levels: dwellings for 2,500 circle around the hub, education centers and medical nodes are next, then hydroponics and growing operations, food processors, and work nodes. Next are the entertainment venues, and finally maintenance and sanitation are farthest out. Almost no one goes to the entertainment areas anymore, now that anything we could possibly want is available in our heads. The city fathers keep the amusement areas open more for a diversion than anything. Law enforcement overseers say they’re places for the rabble-rousers to congregate, but my dad says they’re nostalgic.

We get around on moves, moving walkways. Somewhere along the line, some smart person figured out the optimal speed for a move is four miles per hour. You don’t have to use the move, but on the move, you can just zone out on the Uniweb without having to activate your personal security shade. With everyone traveling at the same speed and going in the same direction you never worry about colliding with anyone, or anything. Thirty meters overhead is the sun, a huge array of artificial lights. I’m told the light is the same as the old Earth’s sun, but it feels canned and unreal. We have parks, but they’re not like the parks of olden days. Everything is genetically modified—grass, trees, and even waterways—to give the appearance of being outside without the need for maintenance. The trees don’t grow, and the grass never needs mowing. The creeks and streams are sterile; you could drink out of them. But I guess these parks are necessary. Another smart person figured we’d all go crazy if we didn’t have places that look like natural Earth environments. Too much rusty metal isn’t good for our psyche.

As I sit on the front step of my squat, I can crane my neck and stretch a bit to see all the way to the Beginners Training Center, and next to that is Jackson High School. Out the back is a clear shot to the hub. I don’t go there anymore; although, I’m not sure why. I suppose I’ve outgrown it. There’s really no place the hub can take me that I want to go. Every level is the same, and the exit was shut long ago, so there’s no sense going out even if I wanted to, which I don’t. You can always find kids playing around there. It’s a rite of passage, a part of growing up and exploring. I went through that phase with my buddy, Terry. He lives a few places down in number seven, and two places on from him lives Martha, the most beautiful girl in Brentwood Silo. We’re the Three Musketeers. When we were younger, Martha did some web research on historical groups of three. She said we had the choice of being the Three Stooges, the Three Amigos, or the Parisian Musketeers of the Guard (a.k.a. the Three Musketeers). When we checked it out, we found the Stooges were bumbling fools, as were the Amigos. We figured our decision was easy; after all, the Musketeers got to carry swords.

We have the basics: quality lighting with good efficacy and color rendition, adequate temperature and humidity control, and decent food closets. And Mom and Dad saw to it we had good couches installed, not the cheap ones like they have over at the Pubfac. The public interface facility is sort of like a library, but instead of books it’s filled with couches for people to use while they access the Uniweb. Our couches at home are soft and set up just right for long interface sessions.

Yep, I’m just a normal guy growing up in an average Freeland home, far enough underground to avoid the sun’s burning rays and with a solid interface with the web. So, no worries. Okay, that may not be entirely true. There is this whole God thing, and now this little hiccup going on, sort of jumping between lives. It’s like a scratched record skipping. It’s not supposed to happen, but it is. I’m not sure what it’s all about. Oh, I’m in no danger. I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine. No one’s ever died in a Life Boat, have they? A quick check of the web puts my mind at ease. Nope, nobody has ever died. Been driven crazy? Well, that’s another story.

I really don’t know why I’m telling you this. After all, it’s my ride. I suppose it could be all part of the Master Program’s construct. I guess I’ll have to relax and see. I hope it’ll be fun.

CHAPTER 2

OOPS

Year 2035

SO WHAT HAPPENED TO THE SUN? BACK IN 2018, LANCE GUNNAR, A COLLEGE EDUcated bright boy, got looking at the High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program (HAARP) and wondered if it could be used to produce electricity. HAARP was originally designed to access the ionosphere and explore the potential for enhancing radio communications and surveillance, so producing electricity didn’t interest the feds. That is, until they realized it was going to provide unlimited power and make the country that owned it, us, the biggest bully on the block. For the government, it wasn’t about cheap and plentiful energy; it was about control. We should have known. The conspiracy theorists had been telling us for years HAARP was actually a Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) experiment aimed at controlling the forces of nature, so being in charge of bringing down boatloads of energy developed into a logical extension of the government’s research. Of course, those in power in Washington didn’t understand what they had or how to use it.

Nothing new there.

During DARPA’s covert planning, the big boys at the Department of Defense (DOD) brought in Colonel Eldon Brill, who was out of the Military Intelligence Division in Washington, D.C., and assigned to the National Security Agency headquarters at Fort Meade, Maryland. He conducted a feasibility study, looking specifically at whether allowing another country to develop solar electromagnetic radiation collection would negatively impact national defense. Of course, it would, so they decided to fast-track the project. After all, DARPA’s mission was to prevent technological surprise to the United States and create technological surprise for our enemies. Colonel Brill and his staff of top-notch physicists decided if they placed three five-acre HAARP antenna arrays a hundred miles apart and aimed them at the sun, they would gather and focus enough electromagnetic energy to make the goal of unlimited power achievable. All they had to do was collect it.

The DOD tried to keep it secret, but everybody knew what was happening. It was pretty obvious something was going on when the three arrays, one in Death Valley, one in the Mojave Desert, and one just outside the Angeles National Forest between Victorville and Palmdale, were being built. It turned out the biggest challenge wasn’t erecting the collector; it was building transmission lines from the receiving station at Fort Irwin to a Southern California Edison substation just outside Barstow. The power intake requirements were staggering, making the electromagnetic wave absorber elements huge. The voltage produced by the electric field was so large the wave to DC and DC to AC rectifiers had to be built on site. Once they placed the collector, made the receiving station operational, and had a place to send the power, all that was left was to throw the switch.

So, on that fateful day in the fall of 2035, President Rubio threw the ceremonial switch.

With the turning on of this Mag Wave Collector, he said, we embark on a new journey, one that I am convinced will truly be the salvation of mankind!

The media was upbeat. And there you have it; President Rubio sounding jovial and confident in front of the crowd estimated to be five thousand hearty souls braving heat and dust to witness the beginning of a new era of cheap power for all, unlimited power to feed unlimited potential!

The band played, military men saluted, and women with babies released balloons. Everyone in the control room intently watched their gauges and dials, expecting to see evidence the system was indeed able to reap the benefits of collecting electromagnetic radiation from the sun. But there was a slight problem. It didn’t produce energy. It came perilously close to killing the planet. The brain trust didn’t count on the world-wide electric grid acting like a huge Faraday cage. Electromagnetic energy bypassed the collector and dissipated charged particles around the earth.

What it did was collect enough wave particle pressure to slow down the earth’s molten iron-nickel core, which instead of providing energy, shut down ninety percent of the earth’s magnetic field. Left unprotected, solar radiation from the sun stripped away most of the ozone from the stratosphere. Suddenly, being outside was akin to boiling a lobster, and humans were the lobsters. From then on, we became inside people, and if you did go outside, you needed a protective suit. Believe it or not, it was because of the protective suits that our outside is now inside our heads.

CHAPTER 3

ABEL JACKSON

Year 2000

ABEL JACKSON IS CALLED THE FATHER OF THE UNIWEB. ABEL GREW UP ON A FARM NEAR Gibbon, Nebraska where his father, Mason, taught him to work hard and appreciate rural living. He was a self-conscious and shy boy, not helped by his tall and gangly stature. He acquired the nickname scarecrow in the fifth grade, and it followed him the rest of his life. Abel was often ridiculed. It was common to hear other children scream, after bumping into him, Jackson’s germs! as they ran to touch someone else. The act of touching another supposedly transferred Abel’s germs to that person, freeing the toucher from a fate worse than death—association with anything Jackson. Led by the local bad boy, Jason Sturgis, the derision continued through grade school.

While children can be cruel, it never seemed to bother Abel. He went about his business and kept pretty much to himself; although, there was that one incident just before the seventh grade. No one could ever prove Abel had anything to do with it, but the taunts stopped soon after. On a particularly warm and humid summer night, someone backed a manure spreader up to the front door of the Sturgis home and unloaded. The only thing found, besides the manure, was a note written with pencil in capital block letters, JACKSON’S GERMS.

The next morning, Mr. Sturgis went to the Jackson farm. He was extremely upset, blaming Able for the smelly atrocity, and demanding compensation for the removal and clean-up. But Mason didn’t let on that Abel had anything to do with it, even providing his son an alibi for the night before.

He was home all night sleeping. Our spreader is right where I left it, hasn’t been used in weeks.

Mr. Sturgis, seeing he’d get nowhere with Mr. Jackson, turned and with a curt wave of his right arm walked away quickly, red-faced and sweating profusely beneath his Dickies overalls and John Deere hat. He left in a hurry, missing the yard hen by inches, his car fishtailing and throwing gravel as he went.

Mason turned from the door and looked at his son sitting at the breakfast table. Now, you know what you did was wrong, and I’ll have to punish you. You understand that don’t you?

Yes, Daddy, came the quiet reply, head down.

I’m docking you one week’s allowance. Don’t let me hear about any more trouble with the Sturgis’ or anyone else, you hear me?

Yes, Daddy, he said, quieter still.

And then came the thing that cemented Abel’s love for his father more than anything else. As Mason left the kitchen he said, Nice one, son, shaking his head and smiling.

Abel watched his father disappear around the corner down the hall, and he smiled too. Abel was quiet and unassuming, but inside he was filled with the conviction that he was better than others. He always knew he’d do great things, and he did.

Abel’s high school years were uneventful, due in part to the rumors that if you crossed him he’d get even. The manure story morphed into one where the target of Abel’s anger would end up inside the spreader, never to be seen again. It was told countless times around campfires on dark nights to scare little children; it became an urban legend, on par with the one where kids found an insane one-handed man’s hook stuck in the trunk of their car and realized they’d escaped from a grisly death by seconds. During those years, Abel’s only claim to fame was that he was the winner of the Gibbon High School Science Fair his senior year when he put together a concept model of a new way to milk cows on a moving treadmill. He called it Milk Mass Produced, and it wowed the judges, who, it so happened, had all grown up on farms.

After high school, Abel attended the University of Nebraska, majoring in the relatively new field of bioethics. His college career was uneventful, and he graduated in the middle of his class. He had intended to find a bench job in medical research, and he would have, had he not met his future wife, Irene. She was the polar opposite of Abel, outgoing and popular. They met at a fraternity mixer. He said he was interested in joining Delta Upsilon, but all he really wanted was an excuse to be around others his age. Irene was a Tri-Delt. Jackson didn’t have the personality to be in a fraternity, and he knew it five minutes after he arrived. But he did see a beautiful young woman across the room who held his attention the entire evening. He couldn’t stop looking at her. She would lock eyes with him, and Abel would quickly look away, blushing, feeling like he’d been caught peeking in someone’s window. Irene was interested. After all, Abel wasn’t bad looking, and he was tall. She liked that. She also liked her men to be sensitive, and his shyness appealed to her. So, she walked across the room and introduced herself.

Irene was from Sheldon, just five miles west of Abel’s Nebraska farm on highway 30. They talked farming, animals, and the future. He fell head over heels in love with her that night. It took Irene a little longer, but she soon made Abel her exclusive boyfriend. Most folks had difficulty understanding what a pretty girl like Irene saw in a stiff and gangly recluse like Abel. Most figured Irene felt sorry for him, and that she had made it her mission in life to break him out of his shell so he could really experience what the world had to offer. But Irene saw inside Abel’s heart, where caring and kindness resided, and into his mind, filled with creativity and intellect. When she finally fell, she fell hard.

Abel and Irene were married the week after Abel graduated, and they lived in campus housing. Their friends, mostly Irene’s, explained their relationship away by saying opposites attract.

Irene was two years behind him in school, and while she finished her degree in psychology, Abel took some business courses, thinking they’d be easy, and he’d have plenty of time to spend with Irene. Abel loved Irene, and he proved to be a doting and devoted husband until the day she died of stage four peritoneal cancer twenty years to the day after their wedding.

Abel never remarried, but he carried Irene’s spirit with him; they had been soulmates. And those years with Irene had changed Abel. Irene had broken him out of his shell, and she had helped him develop an outgoing personality. He always remained quiet and unassuming, but he found the ability to freely interact with others. Had it not been for Irene, the Uniweb may have never existed. As it turned out, he had a real knack for business, and he liked it. He excelled at interpreting market driven economic pressures. He also understood the concepts of new product development, and how to manage large projects.

Abel was trained as a bioethicist, and when the earth’s magnetic field failed, he immediately understood the medical and clinical ramifications of exposure to dangerous amounts of solar radiation. His business sense helped him identify an opportunity to make a fortune in a way that wouldn’t conflict with his deep-seated moral feelings that created in him a desire to do no harm.

He made his fortune selling protective suits, necessary for making the transition from being outside people to inside people. In a world completely dependent on sensitive electronics, everything important had to be covered and protected against the sun’s radiation. Workers had to go outside to do the covering, and without protective suits they were at the mercy of massive amounts of electromagnetic radiation. Unprotected exposure to the sun for more than a few minutes was fatal. Abel sold everything he and Irene had and bought a small company that made raincoats. He soon had the manufacturing process retooled to make protective outdoor wear. Protective suits were a dime a dozen, but what made his suit special was that he was the first to incorporate a cloud link to the old internet. He would later credit Irene and her desire to keep in touch with her friends as the impetus for adding the link to his suits.

The internet survived, thanks to the same military that fried the earth in the first place. For years, experts had been warning people about the threat of a massive coronal mass ejection from the sun and its negative effects on the world’s electrical systems. Add to that the real possibility of a nuclear armed third world country detonating a bomb with a sufficient EMP to cause everything to come to a screeching halt, and the government decided to place internet hubs underground.

The government also had the foresight to secretly work with manufactures to ensure the computer, phone, banking, and entertainment industries would survive as well. For years, huge underground facilities connected by a vast system of tunnels housed industry giants, producing, off book, the means to continue on, should such devastation actually occur on the surface. Under cover of military operations like Jade Helm 15, the internet was being reproduced in a safe place. Other countries were brought into the fold and soon began developing their own underground facilities. Looking back, it was the smartest thing the government ever did.

Each suit Jackson made had a built-in wireless skullcap in the hood that could be controlled by the wearer’s thoughts. You see, wearing the suit didn’t allow the fine motor skills necessary to handle devices. People were unwilling to give up their technology, so Abel incorporated all the popular hardware and software of the time into his suit and made it so it would be operated by the wearer’s brain. All the wearer had to do was think about it.

CHAPTER 4

THE INTERFACE

Year 2037

ABEL WAS A SAVVY BUSINESSMAN. I GOTTA HAND IT TO HIM. HE SAW IT BEFORE anybody else—the need to stay connected while spending all day in a suit. Once Abel had his manufacturing business running smoothly, he again pooled his resources and bought MindWire, a third rate Tech Company specializing in brain-computer interfaces. Nobody thought much of the company. Outside of developing a few simple thought-operated prosthetics, their promised brain-computer interface proved to be difficult to achieve. When MindWire went public a year after Abel’s purchase, it was terribly undervalued, and the talking heads announced it was dead on arrival. Wise investors would stay away. Abel became a laughingstock, the poor fool who bought a bill of goods and acquired MindLiar. They said Abel was a total loser relegated to the dung heap of failed tech companies. Not-so-Abel Jackson’s bubble hadn’t just burst, he’d never had one!

But Abel saw something in MindWire. They were a start-up company that came out of the Research Park at Iowa State University. Abel did his homework. He knew the people working at MindWire—mostly grad students from the fields of electronics, computer science, biology, and medicine—were sharp and determined. The science was sound, and Abel figured it was just a matter of time before he could get the interface to work. And he did it; the brain-computer interface became a reality on a cold winter day in 2037.

The big problem was making an interface accurate enough to access and affect brain signals. Once they stumbled on using light to excite neurons, things took off. MindWire discovered that by using computer controlled and color adjusted fiber optics, they could access and fire neurons that could influence motor functions and memory. It was really just a matter of tuning the color and intensity of light and sending them as signals into the brain through a module attached to the skull. This remained on par with a cute parlor trick, until they realized it was a two-way street. The brain couldn’t tell the difference between computer-generated impulses and its own, and neither could outside devices.

Brain mapping had been going on for years. A fairly simple algorithm converted computer language into light pulses and delivered it to the appropriate area of the brain via the interface. At first it was unwieldy, because the interface had to be attached to the skull with a hole punched in it to allow the light access to the brain. They perfected it in mice, and went on to human trials. Problem was, most people didn’t want to have a hole punched in their heads. So, Abel’s MindWire geniuses developed a pair of glasses—sort of like the old virtual reality goggles, but much smaller and very light—that received wireless instructions from the computer network router and turned them into light impulses. Interface signals were sent through the eyes and down the optic nerve at frequencies outside normal visual range. Program signals would make anyone hooked up to the system see and do anything that could be entered into a computer keyboard. It worked like a charm.

People were able to use their thoughts to do things like make calls and access information on the internet. Education, travel, economics, and entertainment changed overnight. Suddenly, Abel Jackson was the Steve Jobs of his time. Abel took his place among the richest men on the planet because everybody wanted his really cool suit with the brain controlled technology. People began to buy suits whether they worked above ground or not. And with all the government subsidies available, prices were cheap, and everybody had one.

It didn’t take long, and Abel was making more from the patented interface technology than from the suits. The technology spread and improved quickly, because he was selling the hardware to everyone who had a new idea about how to connect the brain to something. It was sort of like the previous generation’s apps for Android, Apple, Microsoft, and BlackBerry mobile operating systems; there were apps for the interface to access specific things on the web. But because the brain is the most comprehensive and complex piece of software in existence, the interface was able to access any operating system. It developed to the point where operating systems were unnecessary because each person’s brain, connected to the web via the interface, could organize data any way it wanted to. There were no longer boundaries or limitations.

What really changed things was Abel open sourcing the control software, and that’s what gave birth to the Uniweb. That’s what they called the universal web, Uniweb. Sort of like the old idea of The Cloud, except everything is in the Uniweb. It allows anybody and everybody to connect to every device and source every bit of data in existence simply by thinking about it. If it was out there and you could think of a request for it in your mind, the interface would take it into the Uniweb, grab it, and bring it back.

I’ve got an Uncle Ted, and he was a little different. I figure everybody’s got one, that eccentric family member who embarrasses everyone but doesn’t seem to care. Think about Uncle Ted. Okay, got it? Yeah, you see him in your mind’s eye, where he lives; you hear his voice, remember the last time you saw him do that silly jig and yell, Whoop, whoop! But you don’t just remember Uncle Ted, you see him; you’re in the same room with him. The interface with the Uniweb works like that. From the user’s perspective it’s just like your normal functioning brain, but it’s your brain on steroids. It’s like your brain is the Uniweb.

As the population grew and spent more time in the digital world, it became apparent we would run out of computer memory and reach a limit, a ceiling beyond which no computer could rise. Nothing could hold all of the data demanded by a technology-mad world. What we wanted was a computer with the capacity to match the raw computing power of the human brain. If we could do that, we would be gods. But, it’s an impossible task because each new development, new technology, and human interaction brought with it more data, so it was a forever moving target. What was needed was a computer that would grow to meet the ever increasing demand for more, a biological computer with unlimited potential.

CHAPTER 5

THE MACHINE BRAIN

Year 2040

THE GOAL WAS TO DEVELOP A WAY TO PULL A DECILLION BITS OF DATA TOGETHER IN one place, but at the time, the super computer wasn’t developed enough to handle it. Scientists eventually became frustrated by an arcane and limited silicone based computer technology. They began to concentrate on systems that could potentially mirror the brain. But how could that be done? As it turned out, Abel’s background as a bioethicist brought him into contact with some of the people who were doing the most cutting-edge work in biomolecular computing.

Abel hired the world’s foremost authorities on nanotechnology and a few chemical engineering and software development PhDs from Stanford to develop and construct an advanced biological transducer, a computing machine capable of manipulating genetic codes to allow two-way data transfer at the molecular level. All components, hardware, software, input and output, were molecules that interacted in solution following instructions provided via a chain of programmable chemical signals. A nanotechnology expert developed ender machines that maintained the programmed molecular structures given appropriate raw materials. The biological computer was born.

With Abel’s financial resources, it wasn’t long before the guys from Stanford developed core components within the biocom that looked and acted like the neurons in an actual brain. But developing a true hive mind meant each neuron in the system had to be able to access the others. Back to the nanotechnology expert: Abel worked closely with MindWire to develop nanobots that acted like the brain’s natural glial cells capable of supporting the biocom’s core components as they accessed the peripheral artificial neurons.

By incorporating the interface technology they