THE LAST ARK

CHAPTER 36: REMNANT

Bar-Ilan University, Tel Aviv Two Days Before Temple Ceremony

On their return to Dr. Matan Rubin’s offi ce, Mordechai fi nds a seat in the corner to lower his head in prayer, which means he’s quietly listening to every word. Th e kid makes Derek nervous, like having a moral conscious that likes to be heard. It’s unnerving. “Matan, I’m pleased to introduce Dr. Nelson Garrett, the computer expert I told you about,” Derek says, removing the uncomfortable mask. “Doc, I’m pleased to introduce Dr. Matan Rubin who has a stubborn version of Scavenger Nut Origami that he would like removed from his linguistics computer.” “Dr. Rubin,” Nelson replies, reaching for a handshake. “Linguistics, you say?” T h e SLVIA was an AGI, artifi cial general intelligence, with an aggregation of artifi cial narrow intelligence, ANI, skills integrated into a core neural processing controller. An early version of the SLVIA code turned a natural language translator into an espionage chat bot and linguistics analytics application. Linguistics remains a foundation for the entire program. Espionage involves multiple languages, and the purpose of an intelligent agent is to distinguish between a missile launch procedure or a food menu. It makes sense that the program would gravitate to a server equipped with language libraries and translators. “Yes, primarily Hebrew and Middle Eastern languages such as Aramaic, Sumerian, Greek, and Arabic,” Matan explains. “There are sixty in all.” Derek glances up to notice a security camera in the corner. Cameras were a favorite source of information for the data-ravenous program eager to interact with the analog world. SLVIA may have even listened in on conversations with Matan and others. “Interesting. Well let’s have a look, shall we,” Nelson claps his hands, eager to start. “Now, do you see the messages on all university computers, or is the problem localized to a single workstation?” Great question. Nelson is subtly trying to learn if SLVIA can still maneuver around a network. As an espionage app, the original SLVIA could transfer itself virtually anywhere in order to avoid detection, erasing the log trail behind it. T hat was how it escaped the Lawrence Livermore Labs. “No,” Matan replies. “It only shows up on a single communications workstation.” “Communications, do you mean like email or telephony?” questions Nelson. “No, the server supports software for satellite communications,” Matan clarifies. “How do you use satellites?” Nelson asks, his eyes opening wide. “To communicate with field teams outside of a normal cell range. We also share this computer with the archaeology department, which uses satellites to survey remote sites,” he says as he leads them down an elevator to a separate lab. Nelson turns to share a glance with Derek. Last year, SLVIA may have searched for an active satellite channel or already planned on using the language lab to escape. It all sounds promising. “OK, this workstation here.” Matan stops and turns on the power. “We had so many issues that we simply turned it off. The terminal connects to an old storage rack with a few petabytes of ancient documents scans.” As the computer boots up, instead of calling up the typical logon screen for a workstation or a server, the screen defaults to a command-line prompt. SCAVENGER NUT ORIGAMI: Enter SLVIA security code: “None of us knew what that meant. We intended to reformat the machine, but we’ve been quite busy, and frankly, until yesterday, I forgot about it,” explains Matan. Derek shudders. A reformat would have erased the most advanced program in history. “SLVIA stands for Sophisticated Language Virtual Intelligence Algorithms,” Nelson explains, then hesitates. Derek studies him, trying to understand why he doesn’t type in the key. “Go on,” he encourages. “We may have the primary logic module,” Nelson explains. “Think of it as the traffic controller that analyzes incoming data and decides which subprogram to access before passing off the data or query sets. The master brain of a complex set of algorithms, subroutines, and connected data stores. T he SLVIA can connect thousands of individual computers for processing power and storage. When SLVIA went into hibernation, the program must have shut down entirely.” “And?” prompts Derek, wondering why the Doc hesitates, unless he feels the need to explain the program to the others. Nelson looks up at Derek with panic in his eyes. “And it’s been nearly twenty years since I’ve used this code. For security reasons, suspecting my lab assistant, Dr. Cho, I would change it daily. I’m not sure I can recall the alpha numeric sequence.” Derek stops breathing, unwilling to hear what Nelson tells him. “No, no, you just need a quiet moment to think. You’ve got to remember.” “Taylor, without that encryption key, I can’t revive the SLVIA code,” Nelson says. “You can’t be serious.” Derek paces the small room. “You, you had to write it down somewhere, maybe in a government archive someplace. We’ll get Jester to find it.” Matan stares at them, standing back, folding his arms. “What’s going on? Who are you?” Mordechai lifts his head with a scowl. “Sister Sylvia spoke of him, Dr. Rubin. She spoke of a man who told many lies, always seeking a deeper truth. She called him flapjack, the man with two names.” T he two exchange a look Derek can’t decipher. Nelson glares at him. “Seriously Taylor, what have you told these people?” Derek absorbs the glower of all three men and takes a deep breath. “Last year during the Gaza uprising, a US drone HIVE went berserk north of Jericho,” Derek reminds them of the incident that unnerved the entire nation. “An experimental AI called the SLVIA hacked into the weapon and diverted the drones into the Dead Sea, then disappeared,” he explains. “That program, or what’s left of that program, apparently took refuge on your computer. Now hang on because there’s a big twist.” He turns to Mordechai. “You already know that program as Sister Sylvia.” Mordechai drops his jaw in shock. “No, that can’t be. Sister Sylvia is a young woman with a pretty face, a blond, British. I’ve watched her videos many times. She’s inspired by God with deep insights into prophecy.” “Like mathematical insights such as probabilities of events? Did she look like this?” Derek pulls out his phone to show a video of SLVIA morphing between multiple personas before defaulting back to the image of Nelson’s young, attractive mother, Heather. Mordechai turns white. “The abbot taught us that artificial intelligence was the image of the beast who speaks blasphemy. It’s a demonic force, a deceptive poison that will pollute the souls of men and take over the world.” “Maybe one day. I’m sure they have somebody working on it. But not yet, and not this one,” Derek insists. “This one saved the lives of many people in Israel. We need this one back.” “Taylor, the NSA has been looking to recapture SLVIA for twenty years,” Nelson points out. “If word gets out that the SLVIA core exists on a single university computer, I fear that Mossad, FSB, MI6, CIA, and Lord knows who else will come after the program. These people are in grave danger as long as the program stays here.” “Then let’s make sure the word doesn’t get out,” he stares down Matan and Mordechai until they nod. “See, problem solved.” Nelson frowns at his levity. “I suspect we may only possess the core control modules under hibernation. We still do not know where the program stored the perhaps thousands of other subprograms or if they survived. The SLVIA, as you knew the program, may no longer exist.” “I’m not giving up hope until I know for sure,” Derek repeats his position on the matter. “Let’s upload what’s left to the cloud for Jester to grab.” “It’s not that easy. Because of the stealth functionality and massive volume, we would likely miss critical files, and that much data will alert the cloud vendor and the authorities,” Nelson says, dismissing the idea. “We need the entire system’s primary drive, OS, and storage files—everything within the physical configuration.” “You mean to tell me that the program on this machine saved Israel,” asks Matan, finally catching up to the notion of an advanced AI hiding under his nose. Derek turns to look him in the eye. “As hard as it is to believe, the honest answer is yes,” he states. “And before it disappeared, the SLVIA warned of the third temple. To be honest, I don’t know why. We need the SLVIA to understand what may come next.” “Blasphemy,” spits Mordechai. “Only God himself knows the future, and only scriptures tell what is coming next. An abomination.” “I think a few of his prophets may disagree with you,” Matan replies. “No, I can see Mordechai’s point–it’s creepy,” Derek agrees. “But SLVIA doesn’t predict the future. Rather, the program correlates existing prophecy teachings to find the common threads, and then validates each point to key data or actual events, places, and entities. With none of the cultural bias, SLVIA then performs a complicated nonlinear regression analysis. I won’t bore you, but there’s no magic, no demons, only a ton of math.” “Just because you don’t understand how something works, doesn’t make it demonic,” Nelson defends his creation. Mordechai lowers his eyes, returning to his listening position with a frown, not looking convinced. Derek turns to Nelson. “We need to contact Jester. He can search the DARPA archives for the key code.” He pulls up his phone. Nelson reaches for his arm to stop him. “Don’t bother,” he sighs. “I documented none of my codes to keep Dr. Cho from learning them. I only needed to remember them for a single day. Perhaps an overly developed sense of paranoia, but my point is, if I can’t recall the code, we have no hope of reviving the encrypted program.” Dr. Garrett’s protégé at DARPA, Dr. Cho Li Ping, was a Chinese American, born in San Jose, who sold DARPA secrets before defecting to China. Now the director of the Chinese military AI program, Dr. Cho has successfully surpassed US innovation to integrate AI into all aspects of the military, communications, and social monitoring. A key nemesis who attempted to have Nelson Garrett killed last year. “Doc, seriously, I’ve heard you tell me what you ate for dinner a decade ago. Rattle your RAM, man. This is really a bad time for premature senility,” Derek snaps. “I’m sorry, Taylor.” Nelson hangs his head. “I can’t start the program.” “Perhaps that is the will of the Lord,” mumbles Mordechai, his face pale. “I’m not willing to believe that, not when I’m so close,” Derek says. “I’ll call Jack. You can transfer the files to the Gulfstream via the TS3 satellite. Keep working on that key. We have two days to find out why SLVIA warned us of the temple.” As if to answer his question, his cell phone buzzes with a text from Yehuda. I found an ex-judge. Meet me at the Synagogue of Satan.