Can there really be a best of anything? As consumers of media, we love to rank things. Top ten lists. Top 100 charts. The greatest albums of all time. 50 films you can’t miss. It often feels like these lists are so obvious as to be redundant, or else intentionally snub a well-known title to get readers frothing at the mouth, driving web traffic. And then there are those examples that stand alone. Works which, even though they have flaws (or possibly because of them), they have become the single standard to which all others are measured against. The Porsche 911, The Seven Samurai, The Beatles. And, in the world of video games, the venerable and unparalleled Deus Ex.

For those of you who have played Deus Ex, you are now likely nodding your head in agreement (or frothing at the mouth; it’s okay, I could use the traffic). For those of you who have never heard of the title (do his what now?), allow me to lay down a little bit of video game history before snap kicking you into the near future of the franchise.

To lay the groundwork, let’s start in 1993. Yes, 22 years ago, wait, what? 22 years? Holy shit, I’m getting old. Ahem. 22 years ago, the gaming industry was rocked to its core by id Software and their back to back blitz of Wolfenstein 3D and Doom. What followed was a ceaseless chain of copy cats, sequels, and lazy rip-offs, effectively turning the majority of the ‘90s into one giant ball made up of the same game hiding under different masks. Now the Doom franchise is excellent, and the original and immediate sequel stand as great points in gaming history, but they were limited in scope. It’s also about this time that the media began to latch on to the sensationalist violence present in such games, so, thanks for that.

So why doesn’t Doom stand on the same level as Deus Ex? I already told you: the game was limited in scope. The gameplay, levels, weapons and graphics were tremendous, but the game was essentially a series of mazes for your mouse of a player to run through. The narrative was basically nonexistent, and there was really only one play style and one way to beat the game. In this way it was no different than Donkey Kong or even Centipede. Then, in 1997, producer Warren Spector met the cash of John Romero (cash from Doom, I might add), joining the new company Ion Storm. It was a marriage made in heaven.

Just kidding. Video games are hard, and what became Deus Ex went through over three years of challenging design, which was an incredibly long development cycle in ‘90s video gaming. The problem that led to so many delays in production was the nature of the game itself. What was being created was a title that defied attempts to classify it. While the game is played in first person, it’s not a shooter, as you can actually beat it without ever drawing your gun. It’s not a puzzle game, because your character plays through levels in a non-linear fashion, capable of navigating through the puzzles and narrative through multiple means. Okay, narrative. So it’s an RPG? Well, yes, your character does earn skill points to put towards abilities, but then there’s also an entirely separate augmentation tree that you can modify and upgrade and… you know what? It’s complicated.

Okay, so it’s a non-linear puzzle RPG shooter with a heavy emphasis on storytelling and dialogue. I’m calling it an NLPRPGSHESD. No, I’m not. I’m calling it Deus Ex, and for anyone that played it, it was something they had never before seen in their lives. And the timing, delayed as it was, could not have been better. With the 1999 release of The Matrix, America’s mainstream discovery of anime, and the resulting spillage into other franchises, the world was ripe and ready for Deus Ex to storm in, unleashing it’s cyberpunk, it’s always night time, black helicopters, Illuminati-laden plot.

The game is, as I’ve stated, not perfect in every way. Part of what leads to this imperfection is the fact that problems can be approached from multiple angles, some of which the creators never could have anticipated. The game drives human ingenuity, letting people express themselves through their own style of gameplay and strategy. More than that, the game stretches to tell a story, and a deep on at that. Without spoiling too much, I can safely say that your nanoaugmented secret agent will travel the globe unraveling conspiracy theories of various secret organizations, corporate superpowers, corrupt governments organizations, organized crime, and various power players each with their own hidden agenda. All of this set to one of the best soundtracks of all time, on that I still listen to when writing my own cyberpunk fiction.

The game was able to transcend the medium in which it was created, becoming a sum greater than its parts. Like the lasting influence of Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai, Deus Ex is a pinnacle moment, where all elements aligned perfectly to create something that will last throughout time, being played again and again even as newer, shinier things come out and scream for attention.

The franchise itself was aware of the fact, and after a lukewarm sophomore effort in Deus Ex: Invisible War, Eidos Montréal brought the style and substance of the game back full force with Deus Ex: Human Revolution, a snappy, sexy, slick prequel that oozes style in every frame. In fact, the game is almost a bit too involved in the original, closely paralleling the original in settings and plot choices. Credit where it’s due, the graphical abilities of modern computing were not ignored, creating a much more enticing vision of the near future, and the storyline is superb, playing to multiple cyberpunk themes while still managing to be original. I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that the soundtrack is even better than that of the original, artfully capturing the mood of the dystopian world.

And now Eidos Montréal is preparing to lay down another impactful hit, with Deus Ex: Mankind Divided in development and hopefully releasing at the end of 2015. Time will tell if it lives up to the standard the franchise set, but one thing is for certain: the original source material has already passed into time, becoming an unobtainable reference point that all lovers of good storytelling can turn to for either admiration and inspiration, a genre-bending beacon that will live on long after the world it imagines has passed us by.


A.C. Harrison is the author of "Jupiter Symphony,” a post-apocalyptic cyberpunk thrill ride that only wishes it had the soundtrack of DX:HR.
Like what you see here? Spread the word and support indie authors! Follow me on Facebook or Twitter. Find me on Smashwords and Kindlemojo.   

June 18, 2011

            Throughout the course of my trip to Japan, I have been fortunate to have visited some of the most historically important and cherished sites of the nation. Each locale expressed a different facet of Japanese culture and life, while simultaneously letting our group step through different chapters of history. As with any culture, Japanese society is incredibly complex and multifaceted. The different experiences at these places helped to illustrate just a few of the many pieces that compose what it means to be Japanese, while also helping to illustrate what makes us Americans. The lasting impact of these episodes has helped to coalesce in my mind the understanding that Hiroshima’s memory of August 6, 1945, is not something easily sorted and compartmentalized, but rather a collection of experiences that are interconnected in ways that both argue for private remembrance and public remonstrance for the events that occurred on that fateful day.

            Before one can understand and interpret the impact of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima, it is necessary to first comprehend what it is exactly that is important to Japanese society and why nuclear weapons are so uniquely capable of threatening those same values. American history is only a small speck in time when considering Japan’s past. Because the overturning of British rule happened only a historically short time ago, American culture is still very much about independence in thought, action, and lifestyle. This extends to family units, which exist in isolation, a point that is exacerbated by the fact that many American citizens are composed of those that were willing to break ties with their home country to move and start a new life. Japan, by contrast, was built with an ear towards Confucian ideals and Shinto rice farming culture, which push for unity, social harmony, hierarchy, and especially the belief in continuing the unbroken chain of life with the extension of familial generations both forward and backwards in time. With the addition of Buddhism and the complicated Japanese system of handling the dying and the dead, the point is reinforced that in Japan the actions of the living have a direct impact on the deceased.

            To continue the metaphor, if Japanese life is viewed as a chain leading into the infinite past and infinite future, then the atomic bomb is the industrial cutting wheel aimed at the weakest link. Nuclear weapons do not kill a soldier on the field and leave the family to grieve at home. While a rifle round will terminate its flight in a backstop, the effects of nuclear fallout and radiation sickness continue to smash links in the chain moving forward in time. Although Miyajima indeed “echoes the impermanence of all things,” the truth is that the Taira are remembered there and even after the Gempei war, the relatives of the deceased were able to recover the remains of their fallen and exhibit ritual behaviors to honor those individuals. The annihilation of the Taira was complete, but there were still those who remained to remember them. By contrast, the complete annihilation of Hiroshima shatters entire family units and leaves behind a scenario with no place, no way, and no one to give proper service and respect to the dead, as an entire block of society was ripped from existence. It is with this important point that Masuji Ibuse’s Black Rain steps forward to render a systematic way of coping with the atomic bomb, helping to both offer and to explain the human need to justify the facts of existence and the desire to maintain some form of normalcy and ritual life in the face of overwhelming destruction. An excellent point in the novel that aids in illustrating this need to cope is the ongoing requirement for the character Shigematsu to conduct funeral rights at the behest of his manager, who advises him, “We can’t just simply cremate them. You can’t just say, ‘why, he’s dead!’ and whisk him off and burn him and have done with it. It’s a bit hard on the deceased, surely, unless he gets at least something more than that. Personally, now, I don’t believe in the immortality of the soul, but I do believe one should dispose of the dead with respect” (Ibuse 131). This story perfectly frames the Japanese relationship between the living and the dead, despite the extraordinary circumstances. It is an absolute necessity in Japan for the relatives of the dead to offer their respect, a function that is not possible for those family units wiped out in Hiroshima. Similar to the recitation of the Heike Monogatari, Ibuse gives voice to real people through a fictional framework, not unlike a work of historical fiction, for lack of a better descriptor. By helping to share the stories of the survivors and victims of the atomic bombing, Ibuse helps to fulfill the role of storyteller in order to preserve the event and the site, since the real site is no longer in existence.

            The elimination of Hiroshima exacerbates the role of storytellers as well as the functions offered by Peace Park, which is essentially one large venue for various interest groups to leverage for their own purposes. A major contrast between Peace Park and sites such as Izumo and Miyajima is that the Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples there have clearly defined places in society and are comprised of specific sects that people can identify. Peace Park, now being under control of the Japanese government, is an amalgamation of interest groups, and despite the claim that it does not have religious purposes, too many shrines, monuments, and memorials fly in the face of such a statement. It is the closest the people can come to having a site of worship, but this is in direct conflict with the public stance the government assumes. This case of private worship versus public broadcast is the defining trait of Peace Park and the aftershocks of the atomic bomb. Through Black Rain, Ibuse helps bridge the gap between these two sides in order to relay the importance of the Hiroshima event. Ibuse takes what is normally viewed scientifically and historically and puts a human face on it; the fictional framework is really just scaffolding used to show the importance of the various storytellers held within. Without these stories and locations, there will remain no one to take care of the muenbotoke—the unconnected dead.

          Stories such as Black Rain and storytellers such as the hibakusha are key links in spreading the memory of Hiroshima, as we cannot know the stories of the deceased directly. They are living places for memory, since the original site is no more. They are the vessels that carry the social importance of Hiroshima’s story, who toll the bell of humanities new ability to self-destruct. Ibuse’s novel is especially useful at relating the sheer destructive scope of the bomb, the awesome atomic maelstrom, by contrasting it with the ridiculously mundane events that continued to occur as people fought to maintain their normative behaviors and environments. This is often wryly illustrated through the tasks Shigematsu is assigned by his manager, with the episode of Shigematsu being tasked with sourcing coal for his company through official channels as an excellent example. The humorous insanity of the situation is demonstrated as Shigematsu spends two days trying to follow procedures, and ends up speaking to an acquaintance named Mr. Tashiro on his way to find the Coal Control Corporation offices. In trying to get ahold of those in charge, Tashiro comments, “But you know,…it puzzles me why an important place like a control corporation still hasn’t put up a notice saying where it’s moved to. There must be some explanation for it, don’t you think?” (Ibuse 165). Shigematsu is forced to relay to Tashiro that “the worst may have happened,” though Tashiro still doesn’t understand until Shigematsu explicitly states that “the whole corporation was wiped out,” illustrating that the world is gone, but what is there to do? So you people keep doing what you did before, the only thing that can do under the circumstances. An individual cannot counteract a weapon such as the atomic bomb. It is beyond mortal comprehension. In regarding corporations, sites such as the Mazda factory argue that Hiroshima is a fully recovered city that has rejoined the global stage and is capable of striding forward into a bright future, but the story of August 6 still remains.

            Denial of this memory has a very strong attraction, especially for those who were not there and have no ties to Hiroshima as it was before 8:15 am. Though not attempting to take anything away from the astounding commercial and political recovery of Hiroshima, the human toll is still there below the surface, though people are not always willing to see it. In the end of Black Rain it becomes clear that Shigematsu and his wife Shigeko share a denial of Yasuko’s condition. No amount of posturing or reasoning will take away the simple fact that she is a victim of the atomic bomb and she will either be shunned from society because of her condition, or die fighting her sickness. This sudden acquiescence to the truth can be seen through Ibuse’s method of spending over 200 pages relating the diary entries of Shigeko, Shigematsu, and others, which argue the good health of Yasuko, to suddenly coming to a screeching halt with Shigematsu suddenly stating that “Yasuko has begun to show symptoms of radiation sickness. Everything has fallen through. By now, it is neither possible nor necessary to go on pretending” (Ibuse 219). He continues to explain that Yasuko sent a letter to her potential suitor explaining her symptoms, and telling Shigematsu of her deteriorating sight and the ringing in her ears. Shigematsu hauntingly closes the chapter: “When she first told me about it, in the living room, there was a moment when the living room vanished and I saw a great, mushroom-shaped cloud rising into a blue sky. I saw it quite distinctly” (Ibuse 219). In the case of Hiroshima, things such as the Mazda factory and events such as Toukasan, which would indicate recovery and progress, only serve to highlight what once was and what is missing. Toukasan is an especially furtive source for this when compared to other matsuri; the lack of floats, costumes, and ancient traditions all stem from the fact that Hiroshima lost those things in the bombing and is now a city of immigrants who repopulated the region. Toukasan is an attempt at normal life, but as akin to Shigematsu’s fish project, it can only shroud reality for so long before things come to the surface.

            Connecting these seemingly disjointed sites and using them to construct a frame around Hiroshima as it exists today, the memory of the atomic bombing can be more clearly recognized. Like black holes in the cosmos, it is the lack of escaping light, the absence of everyday events that are taken for granted, that allows viewers to color in the details of Hiroshima’s history. This consciousness is overwhelming in its scope and complexity, and incredibly difficult to articulate. At the risk of sounding pretentious, I am moved to humbly apologize for the inability to portray the latticework of Hiroshima, and know that because this cultural construct is being experienced from countless steps removed, it cannot ever be completely comprehended. The tragic realization is that the closest link that exists are the hibakusha, who are bound by the laws of mortality. Shigematsu states, “In olden times, people used to say that in an area ravaged by war it took a century to repair the moral damage done to the inhabitants; and it began to seem as though they might have been right” (Ibuse 149).  Like Yasuko waiting for the other shoe to drop, knowing her aunt and uncle are in denial, like the hibakusha of real life who spent, and still spend, every day after the bombing wondering if the next morning would bring the first signs of radiation sickness, like the parents of children and grandchildren hoping and praying that they have healthy offspring, like relatives hoping their son or daughter can find happiness in marriage, the specter of the atomic bomb hangs over those who survived, and that is the immortal story of Hiroshima. While Izumo and its kami are eternal, once the last hibakusha is gone from the earth, so too does the last direct link to the events of the atomic bombing. This focal point is the reason why it is absolutely essential that the memory of Hiroshima be carried on by authors such as Ibuse, by the descendants of survivors, and by those of us who choose to travel to the complete opposite end to the globe to listen and learn the reality of the situation, complex though it may be. Our continuation forms a new chain of understanding to take up the one shattered by the atomic bomb. Though the remembrance of those that perished is a private, personal affair, the story that is to be carried forward is a public one. Although these two sides may not ever be able to mesh, the brave actions of the hibakusha make it clear that the story of Hiroshima is one that has to be told to future generations.


A.C. Harrison

The tagline used to read, “This is Not Your Father’s Oldsmobile.” Well, in the dark future we now live in, this is not your father’s Chrysler. Or maybe it is. I’m not responsible for your parent’s taste in cars. What matters is that in our rush to reach the Internet of Things, we’ve managed to be a little, uh, sloppy. If you drive an older car, an economy car, or something with a seriously locked down ECM (seriously, Toyota, knock it off), then you don’t have anything to fear…yet. But if you drive a brand new Jeep Cherokee, your car was just subject to a recall due to hacking.

The long and the short of it is that those clever lads at Wired remotely hacked into a Jeep via Chrysler’s UConnect system, severely compromising the unit. You can read the article in full, but essentially the car’s infotainment system acts as a gateway into the CAN bus of the vehicle. For those of you who do not know much about vehicle electronics I can explain: this is a very, very bad thing. This is like someone sticking electrodes into your brain so they can make you dance, and dance the Jeep did. With the control obtained, the hacking team was able to control almost the entire vehicle, including the steering, brakes, and transmission.


Granted, the hack is not easy to accomplish, requiring specific information about the targeted vehicle as well as the system architecture, but it is doable. The biggest takeaway from this whole ordeal, however, is that Chrysler has now conducted a recall on 1.4 million vehicles because of this vulnerability. It’s one thing when you get annoying spam on your computer. It’s an entirely different type of game when someone hacks into your car, disables the steering, locks the doors, and then has the vehicle go to wide open throttle. This is the stuff of menace. If they aren’t already, the CIA must be salivating at the prospect of getting certain world leaders into a new Jeep at no money down, no interest for six months.

Technology is a tool. It can be a great tool, but like any complicated device, those that know the intricate details hold power over others. Whether that’s a government, a hacking ring, or a rogue individual, knowledge is power. The ability to think creatively and unconventionally is one aspect that makes us uniquely human. Our need to solve problems with our minds can lead to powerful changes in the way we do things.

When the scales become unbalanced, then we have to make a choice. Do we vest the power in an entity that we feel connected to, such as our government? Do we let corporations police themselves and trust that they will carry out their due diligence in maintaining security and safety? Or do we take upon ourselves the mantel of knowledge and find ways to remain secure without having to sacrifice our liberty in the process?

Problems like this will only continue to manifest, and with increasing frequency. The promise of the future is a completely interconnected world where you fridge maintains your diet, your car drives you to work, and your boss is a robot that dolls out tasks in a completely neutral, PC manner. Your doctor can give you a physical remotely, you and your significant other can be intimate across long distances, and your leisure time is spent in virtual worlds as convincing as our own real one. The question is, how much space for humans is left under all of that technology?



A.C. Harrison is the author of "Jupiter Symphony,” a post-apocalyptic cyberpunk thrill ride where all the cars are too cool to be hacked.
Like what you see here? Spread the word and support indie authors! Follow me on Facebook or Twitter. Find me on Smashwords and Kindlemojo.  

I'm very pleased and honored to announce that this Sunday, July 26th, I'll be involved in my first public appearance as an author. A local book club has chosen my cyberpunk novel, "Jupiter Symphony," as their title of the month, and they have invited me to come chat with them about the novel. Suffice to say, I'm incredibly excited about this opportunity.

It doesn't hurt that the whole thing is going down at Magnum's Cigar Lounge in Phoenix. I'm a real sucker when it comes to a single malt and a rich cigar. Come to any of my social events and I'll happily prove it to you. More than just a chance to roll smoke and savor a fine malt, though, is the opportunity to get face to face feedback on my novel.

I wrote last week about the human element that can be lost through technology, and that can easily be the case with ebooks. Our fans are virtual, our events held online, our interactions limited to chats and blogs and podcasts. Getting out and meeting people in the flesh, seeing their excitement, getting to know them: that's a huge part in the feedback loop that makes a good author.

While I hope they enjoyed the novel (I have yet to meet someone who hasn't, so... hint hint), I also hope they bring forward their questions, concerns, and criticisms. I want to be a better writer. I know I am capable of doing so. In preparation for this event I've been rereading my first book and let me tell you, there are some really awful sentences in there. They may not seem like it on the first go round, but let me tell you, they exist.

This isn't to disparage my work or plead sympathy. This is just a reflection on my growth and experience, on how I can recognize my own flaws and work to correct them. What comes out of this is a better product, both in my new novels and in later editions of my first one.

So even if you're not in the book club, if you fancy a good drink and a fine cigar, along with some conversation about some crazy, heady subjects, swing by and say hello this Sunday at 2 PM. Magnum's is at 731 E Union Hills Dr, Suite B10. I'll be bringing along a gorgeous, 19x11 glossy printout of my cover image, so you can't miss it. Looking forward to seeing you there.


A.C. Harrison is the author of "Jupiter Symphony,” a post-apocalyptic cyberpunk thrill ride.
Like what you see here? Spread the word and support indie authors! Follow me on Facebook or Twitter. Find me on Smashwords and Kindlemojo.  

You are seeing the face of a dead man. A man who passed away just over a day ago after suffering for nine months from a head injury from a crash at the 2014 Japanese Grand Prix. He was only 25, younger than me. Younger than my little brother, even. His is the first racing death in an F1 Grand Prix since the great Ayrton Senna was lost 21 years ago. His potential was already apparent, but we will never know what he might have achieved if he had been given more time.

I don’t typically write about Formula 1 racing, or racing in general, even though it is a passion of mine. Cars are characters in my novels, not just modes of transport. They illustrate the rebellious nature of the protagonists, their nonconformity, and their willingness to push harder and faster than those around them. I’ve been in love with cars since I was a young boy. I’ve been a fervent follower of F1 for nearly a decade now. One of my single greatest regrets is not getting to see Senna when he raced in Phoenix, even if it was a lousy circuit. I was just a boy at the time, sitting in Sunday school, listening to the sound of the Formula 1 cars only a few miles distant, their exhaust notes echoing off the scorching concrete.

So where does a science fiction writer who rambles about cyberpunk get off suddenly tossing the death of a promising young F1 driver into the mix? I’d like to say the answer is technology, but it’s actually quite the opposite. The answer is the humanity.

Simply put, racing is a dangerous sport. People have tried to argue that racing drivers are not athletes. An excellent article agreed with them, stating that no, they were not athletes. They were more than athletes. When looking at contact sports such as football, American football (handegg), rugby, etc., we see highly trained, highly paid athletes colliding with one another at human speeds. And while it’s true there is an issue with head injuries, none of that compares with what a professional racing driver puts on the line every time he climbs into the cockpit. A racing driver is not betting his career or his fortune. He’s not wagering his stats or his championship hopes. He is flat out, 100% putting his own life on the line. The gamble in F1, in Indy, in WEC, is not about winning, it’s about staying alive.

The thing people tend to forget, as humans are wont to, is that so much forethought, engineering, and wisdom goes into designing safe race cars that we suddenly think the driver is encased in something straight out of Death Proof. You can’t argue with physics, though. No matter how well designed a race car may be, how strong the carbon fiber, how structurally reinforced the roll cage, physics will win out in the end. It’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when.

But time after time we see incredible crashes, and then watch the driver casually get out of the car and walk away as if he was taking a simple jaunt through the park. Meanwhile the car is scattered over a quarter of a mile, parts and fluids having flown off in all directions. Each part that leaves the car takes energy with it. Like a shock absorber, the longer the car can go tumbling and bouncing down the course, the more energy is lost and the less severe the impact transferred to the driver. Thus, we see cars that look like hell and drivers that look fine.

With the approach of self-driving cars, the use of drones in warfare, and an increasing reliance on robots, much of the human element is being removed from daily activities. In many ways this is a good thing. Humans, for all that they are capable of, are just as capable of making a mistake. Technology can be an amazing solution to our problems, but it quickly becomes a crutch. In the death of the young Jules Bianchi we are faced with the stark reality that machines are fallible, designs are flawed, and accidents can and will happen. My heart goes out to Jules’ family. The entire motorsports world is reeling, but this is not the last time it will happen. There may come a day when you see robots and machines handling all of our difficult, dangerous, and dirty tasks, but you will never see anything but a human piloting a racecar around a circuit. Without that risk, without life and death balanced on the scales, racing becomes just an exercise in technical development, and puts us one step further away from our roots as living, breathing creatures. We salute the brave men and women who race, compete, and win. We recognize that for them, racing is everything. Even if nobody was watching, they would be there, risking it all just to push that little bit further, to dip one toe over the edge. On the other side is death, and by brushing against it, we find out just how much we are alive.

Forza Jules.


A.C. Harrison is the author of "Jupiter Symphony,” a post-apocalyptic cyberpunk thrill ride.
Like what you see here? Spread the word and support indie authors! Follow me on Facebook or Twitter. Find me on Smashwords and Kindlemojo. 

Our final stop along on the tour of science-fiction turned reality is a concept that is far-flung, esoteric, and much more speculative than any of the topics previously discussed. Up until the point of AI, every concept discussed is either in development or close to reaching a proof of concept stage. The singularity, however, is a very large question mark, but that’s also part of its appeal. It’s fun to guess at the future, and the hottest topic to be in on right now, the must know issue, is that of the singularity and self-directed human evolution.

First, a brief explanation of exactly what the singularity is and what it means. Simply put, the technological singularity is a proposed advancement in multiple technology fields that yield an artificial or semi-synthetic intelligence capable of creating an intelligence explosion by rebuilding, improving and replicating itself. In many versions of this theory, humanity itself merges with the intelligence, acting either as a catalyst or else using the singularity as the sole method of communication, thought, and evolution. The end result is humanity evolving beyond biological constraints, forming a symbiotic (or potentially parasitic) relationship with machines.

What we see is a compounding effect, from the basics of understanding our own biology and technology (such as in prosthesis), inventing new methods of biocompatible production (additive manufacturing), implementing the “internet of things” into our implantable devices (bionics), exceeding our biological limitations (power armor), creating a way of viewing the world artificially (augmented reality), and creating an entity powerful enough to coordinate our separate intelligences while also driving innovation and advancement (artificial intelligence). With all these factors in place, it then remains to be seen if a “breakout” will occur. It is entirely possible that the singularity could be a natural progression, just as the humans adapt any new technology. There is also the possibility of a forced ignition, in which humanity would have to make a collective, conscious decision to start down the path of self-directed evolution, where we would become separated from the constraints of nature and could exist as states of energy, as packets of data, or as cyborgs that interact physically with the world but see everything through a filter of projection like the Cylons of Battlestar Galactica.

Like most technologies, though, this evolution is not without risk. If we begin to function as a collective conscious, how invasive would our shared processes become? Just recently the New York Times featured a fascinating article on linking together animals with brain electrodes. In doing so, they were able to carry out various tests, including three monkeys working together to manipulate the various axis of a virtual arm. It was a very strong indicator that linked brains could work together and do so in ways that were greater than the sum of their parts. But for humans to do the same, it may be necessary to remove our very concepts of privacy, modesty, and independence. The conscious mind would be laid bare throughout the species. This alone could scuttle the prospect of a singularity, or it may indeed be the unifying force that brings humanity together. I personally hold that almost everyone lives with the same urges, desires, fears, and irrationalities, only some do a better job at hiding it than others.

There is another threat to consider, though, and that is what to do if the machine interface, the artificial intelligence, decides that it would function better without us? Machines building machines, even if those machines are meant for us, still removes our hands from the equation. When you exist as a digital entity, you can’t do much to influence the physical world around you. The AI could also become malevolent, or multiple AIs could exist and, coupled with human emotions, wage war on one another. We again would have to look at Asimov’s Three Laws to ensure any type of machine interface would be beneficial to the user and those around them, incapable of causing harm. Of course, the AI could always misinterpret a threat.

At its core, though, the possibility of the technological singularity is founded on the known currents along which our research and development is traveling. If we were to do away with the need for our physical bodies and embrace a new stage of existence, whole new worlds become available to us, including a voyage into the stars. Without sickness, without death, we would be free to grow and explore, negating the factor of time as we stretch out across the galaxy. A singular collective entity, emboldened by our abilities and our intelligence, would be an amazingly powerful force in the galaxy, one which could…

…Oh, wait.


A.C. Harrison is the author of "Jupiter Symphony," which does not deal with the singularity, but does deal with a really awesome second American revolution.
Like what you see here? Spread the word and support indie authors! Follow me on Facebook or Twitter. Find me on Smashwords and Kindlemojo.

With advances in technology, electronics, and cybernetics (the electronic analog, not bionics), humanity is seeing amazing new inventions appear at a rapid pace. One of the principle focuses of several organizations such as Google (and even the CIA), is to build a quantum computer. For those who are unfamiliar, a quantum computer differs from a digital computer in that they use quantum elements (atoms and molecules) as elements for processing and memory, allowing unprecedented speed and flexibility. Rudimentary ones exist, but a functional has not yet been made. The important point to focus on, though, is what may result from the creation of a quantum computer. Namely: Artificial Intelligence.

Now, there are already things that we refer to as AI, such as the “intelligence” programmed into enemies and friendlies in video games. Different computing systems or pieces of software may leverage “AI,” but what they are really talking about is an adaptive piece of software that still operates within the constraints of its environment and is strictly limited to its programming. No new information can go in, and no creative output is possible. While these programs can sometimes be very convincing (as evidenced by attempts to spoof humans into chatting with pieces of code online), they are not really what scientists, inventors, and (most) science-fiction authors would consider artificial intelligence.

When it comes to artificial intelligence, real artificial intelligence, many people, smart people, are terrified. And rightly so. To lend credence, Stephen Hawking and Elon Musk count themselves among those who are very concerned with the responsible development of AI, with Musk putting up millions of his own money to fund a think tank to research the subject. Now for those of us who have to work nine to five and don’t get to spend all our time speculating and inventing, this may all be a waste of effort and silliness. If an electronic intelligence (a lifeform?) emerges, we can just shut it off, right? It worked in 2001: A Space Oddesy.

Unfortunately the reality is a little more grim. For one, we may not be able to recognize artificial intelligence, as human-like thought is a very complex function that cannot be quantified by any conclusive test. Even among the humans we know, several of them probably fall into a camp that you would label as “asinine,” while others may surprise you as idiot-savants. Can you administer an IQ test to a computer? More importantly, will the computer consent to the test, or will it willfully fake the results? One of the most basic instincts of any living organism is self-preservation; it’s not so farfetched to think an AI wouldn’t hide it’s identity until it knew it was either safe enough or powerful enough to come forward.

And that’s when the Terminators come, right?

Well, not exactly. While Skynet sticks in the imagination of apocalyptic AI, the reality is that a new intelligence would not need to take on any corporeal form to do either harm or good. Witness STUXNET, the computer virus that caused physical damage to the Iranian nuclear enrichment centrifuges just a few years ago. With the increased reliance on computer networks to run power and water grids, communications systems, and other utilities such as bank transactions, an AI set loose into the ether would be a very dicey proposition. But where there is a problem, there is almost always a solution.

Just like Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics, an effort should be put forth to determine the laws of artificial intelligence. To that end, I introduce a concept of “dumb” vs. “smart” AI. Featured in several works of science fiction, the concept is that a dumb AI would still be considered to have a razor sharp intelligence. It would think faster and adapt more quickly, coming up with more creative solutions than any human could. The difference is that it could only do this within one field or function. A dumb AI designed for medical purposes would only be able to function within predetermined limits. It could diagnose and treat diseases, analyze infection vectors, or iterate billions or trillions of possible drug treatments for different ailments. Anything outside this realm, however, would simply be a foreign concept. Try to ask it about dinner and you might as well be speaking to it in Japanese. The AI is allowed to learn, function, and express creativity but only within a given sphere.

A smart AI, by contrast, is your full on HAL 9000, your Skynet, your Matrix AI. Capable of limitless expansion, it operates of its own accord and can accomplish mental tasks that would be impossible even for a collective of the finest human minds. It could be our greatest savior, or our worst nightmare. It could also turn out to be completely indifferent to organics, which it may perceive as being so slow and worthless that it just does it’s own thing, ignoring us completely. All in all, we run a 33% chance of annihilation if we allow the invention and proliferation of smart AI.

So artificial intelligence could wind up being a force of collective good, or it could wipe out humanity as we know it. Worth the gamble? Well, there is another factor to consider, and that is this: what if we could join with the AI? What if we created a global network of linked human intelligences, all channeled through quantum computers and coordinated by an artificial intelligence powerful enough that humanity could communicate and cooperate with zero interference or inhibition? That...leads us to the Singularity, and that is a topic for next week.


A.C. Harrison is the author of "Jupiter Symphony," in which one of the characters bonds with an AI and becomes the savior of the revolution.
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With every ticking second, a machine has come one step closer to taking your job. With each sweep of the minute hand, a computer algorithm successfully completes a new task for the first time. Each hour, new robots of such complexity come online, formerly only the imaginings of science fiction. Each day, mankind inches closer to quantum computing. Month by month, year by year, we are working diligently, tirelessly, to design and build that which will replace us.

This isn’t some pie in the sky, someday maybe, pipe dream. The ultimate rendition of computational prowess, artificial intelligence, does not have to even factor in to the progress that is being made in everyday software. This is the software being adopted by financial institutions, by medical facilities, by defense contractors, by governments. These advances are becoming more prevalent, and they’re moving into places that were once though safe from the intrusions of technology.

Yes, we can buy a robot to replace John who welds mufflers. Why wouldn’t we? But how about a piece of code to replace Malcolm, a middle manager with corporate aspirations? Why don’t we remove him and put in in place something that isn’t even physically real. There’s a reason why the BBC, Forbes, and the Harvard Business Review have all run articles on this topic. The code is coming, and it’s going to change how we do business on a day to day basis. As the technology creeps upwards, more and more workers will have to adapt or die.

These articles, however, are limited in scope, offering suggestions on how to cope with this shift in the workplace and how to remain relevant. But here’s the thing about technology: we have made it relentless. We have created something unstoppable. We have decided, much as we did during the gold rush, during Manifest Destiny, during the Roaring ‘20s, during the Dotcom Boom, that growth for the sake of growth is something to be pursued, to be worshiped. We are designing and building our own obsolescence.

The cold, hard truth is that technology is a type of Pandora’s Box. What is interesting, though, is that despite the speed at which it moves, we seem to accept it more readily. Rather than forming a greater resistance as the pace of change increases, we seem to accept our fate, or else simply ignore it. It’s probably safe to surmise that the scale on which these changes are happening is beyond what people are willing and able to process in their everyday lives, and so it goes on unnoticed. An SVP has an idea for a new piece of trading software, engineers are put to the task, and the next thing you know that SVP is wondering when the computers took his decision making away from him, along with his job. We seem incapable to trace the links back to the source.

Without sounding too depressing, I would even put forward that we may have reached a state of permanent technoshock, one so deep seated and omnipresent that we have no choice but to put our heads down and ignore it. For the number of people I’ve seen go on medical leave for stress, I would say the anxiety of technological advancement is simply outpacing the ability of their brains to keep pace. In the future we may not have to work anymore because of robotics, hardware, and software. In that same future, we may find ourselves wishing we were allowed to work.


A.C. Harrison is the author of "Jupiter Symphony" and promised to have this article up last Wednesday, but he’s a liar and/or a piece of software designed to mimic a human.
Like what you see here? Spread the word and support indie authors! Follow me on Facebook or Twitter. Find me on Smashwords and Kindlemojo.