Icarus Mind , livre ebook

Marshall Cavendish International - Royce Lockwood J

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138 pages

English

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Thirty years from now, the bulk of humanity lives in hyper-connected, automated urban centers around the world. But Michael Quinn and the small rustic community in the Driftless Reservation in the US are living lives apart. Michael was delivered to this off-grid reservation as an infant by a mysterious foreigner known only as Dr Lim.Michael is gnawed by the mystery of his parents' untimely deaths, and he is compelled to flee when his presence is detected by nefarious governmental actors. Michael's search for answers takes him to Chicago and then Singapore, where he unearths secrets about his father, Simon Quinn. Simon had, decades earlier, been the subject of ethically dubious brain imaging experiments carried out in Shenzhen, China. The knowledge gained from these experiments would ultimately fall into the hands of a powerful Singapore-based corporation, becoming the foundation of a ubiquitous artificial intelligence infiltrating every corner of the virtual world.As Michael engages the intelligent network, he finds it has now become host to a familiar consciousness.The AuthorJ Royce Lockwood is an American businessman and author living and working in Singapore. Hailing from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, he has spent the last two decades serving in management roles at several multinational aerospace firms in Singapore and Taiwan. His formal education ranges from an undergraduate study of intellectual history and Chinese language at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, to graduate work in international relations and business management at the University of California-San Diego. This combination of travel, work experience and education has contributed to the development of this novel, which explores the question of what it means to be human in the context of the commercial, technological and ideological trends currently underway.

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Science fiction

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Publié par	Marshall Cavendish International
Date de parution	15 octobre 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9789815009514
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

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2022 Marshall Cavendish International (Asia) Pte Ltd
Text J. Royce Lockwood
Published by Marshall Cavendish Editions
An imprint of Marshall Cavendish International

All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. Requests for permission should be addressed to the Publisher, Marshall Cavendish International (Asia) Private Limited, 1 New Industrial Road, Singapore 536196. Tel: (65) 6213 9300. E-mail: genref@sg.marshallcavendish.com Website: www.marshallcavendish.com
The publisher makes no representation or warranties with respect to the contents of this book, and specifically disclaims any implied warranties or merchantability or fitness for any particular purpose, and shall in no event be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damage, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.
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Marshall Cavendish Corporation, 800 Westchester Ave, Suite N-641, Rye Brook,
NY 10573, USA Marshall Cavendish International (Thailand) Co Ltd, 253 Asoke, 16th Floor, Sukhumvit 21 Road, Klongtoey Nua, Wattana, Bangkok 10110, Thailand
Marshall Cavendish (Malaysia) Sdn Bhd, Times Subang, Lot 46, Subang Hi-Tech Industrial Park, Batu Tiga, 40000 Shah Alam, Selangor Darul Ehsan, Malaysia
Marshall Cavendish is a registered trademark of Times Publishing Limited
National Library Board, Singapore Cataloguing in Publication Data
Name(s): Lockwood, J. Royce.
Title: The Icarus mind / J. Royce Lockwood.
Description: Singapore : Marshall Cavendish Editions, 2022
Identifier(s): e-ISBN: 978 981 5009 51 4
Subject(s): LCSH: Artificial intelligence--Fiction. | Conscious automata--Fiction.
Classification: DDC S823-dc23
Printed in Singapore
This book is dedicated to the memory of my father,
Royce D. Lockwood
CHAPTER 1
CALIFORNIA DREAMIN
Simon
Present day
Simon Quinn eased off the throttle, slowing his new Harley Sportster to a rolling California stop. He had reached the end of Interstate 8, and found the edge of a continent. This arrival marked the end of a long and tiring journey that had begun in Chicago nearly ten days before. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Simon merged onto Sunset Cliffs Boulevard and accelerated down the road toward the Mercury Motel, the diffident motor court that would become his new home.
The name was misleading. The building had indeed been a motel at one time, but had long since been converted to studio apartments; twelve rooms stacked in two levels of six, perched upon the main thoroughfare tracing the edge of the Point Loma peninsula. It now served as a de facto home for wayward youth and older folks at crossroads in their lives.
Simon rolled up to the curb and dismounted. He removed his helmet, running a gloved hand through a mat of sandy brown hair. The tousled locks fell carelessly across his brow, framing a pair of squinting sea-gray eyes. Setting his helmet on the seat of his bike, Simon regarded the building before him.
A steep metal staircase jutted out from the second-floor landing which doubled as a balcony for the upstairs apartments. The first door to the right of the stairway opened, and a shirtless young man in khaki shorts and flip-flops emerged. Simon smiled at his old friend, a somewhat tanner and blonder Bill Jameson than he remembered from college.
Well, you finally made it. Bill leaned over the wrought iron railing. I ve been idling all morning waiting for your sorry ass to roll in here.
Check your phone, ya jackass, said Simon, or did you bring it with you into the ocean again?
Bill didn t answer, but flashed a toothy grin as he trotted down the staircase to greet Simon. He was noticeably leaner than he had been two years earlier, the result of sun and surf and outdoor activity afforded by the favorable San Diego weather. Simon was struck by the casual air of Bill s attire. He felt suddenly constrained, burdened by the heavy leather jacket and jeans he had worn on his long journey.
The two young men embraced and exchanged a few more friendly barbs. Well, come on up and I ll show you the place. Bill gestured toward the upper level. Simon followed his friend up the narrow stairway and into a small studio apartment. The apartment was cramped and noisy, fronting a busy street with little privacy. It was perfect.
This is it, said Bill. Debra will be by this afternoon to take care of the lease. I have to say, I m going to miss this place. Oh, here. Bill handed a small brass door key to Simon. All yours.
Are you sure you have to head back right away? Simon pressed. Can t you stay for a few days at least?
Nah, I m sorry. Bill shook his head. I ve been goofing off long enough. My dad has offered me a job with his firm in Chicago. Figure it s about time I start taking things seriously.
Well, not just yet. Simon removed his backpack and opened the main compartment. He fished around inside the bag for a moment, finally producing a bottle of tequila. I figure this is a suitable way to mark the end of one California adventure, and the beginning of another.
Jose Cuervo, nice! Bill smiled. He retreated to the kitchen, reemerging with two shot glasses.
Simon filled the small vessels, and held one aloft. To new adventures.
After a second round of spirits, Bill guided Simon through the neighborhood, introducing him to the local scene. They ambled down broken sidewalks toward the beach, arriving at an intersection, buttressed by two small retail banks and a large chain drugstore. Until recently, these had remained the only visible encroachment of big business into this decidedly localized neighborhood. But now this holdout from a former era was under siege, and it seemed inevitable that Ocean Beach would succumb at last to a tide of corporatism and homogenization that felt unstoppable.
Simon allowed his thoughts to wander as they rounded the corner and stepped onto the eclectic shop-lined Newport Avenue. This storied boulevard served as the commercial heart of Ocean Beach, a scene casually referred to as OB by locals. Newport was the domain of surfers, bikers and iconoclastic acolytes of all stripes. Simon reveled in the unique counterculture that sprouted precociously here, like so much grass through cracks in the pavement. Street musicians and love children, anachronisms of the 1960s, abounded. Artists, bikers, and the odd pan-handler all engaged in the ritual, ceremoniously resurrecting the zeitgeist of a forlorn optimism.
The two friends spent the remainder of the afternoon visiting OB s many haunts, exploring the various bars and restaurants, alleys, and institutions: the Jetty, the Pier, the Dog Beach where the San Diego River emptied into the ocean. When they grew tired, they made their way back to the Mercury Motel, this time walking along the narrow pathway hugging the bottom of the rocky Sunset Cliffs. The two friends passed the remainder of the evening in pleasant conversation - Bill on the bed and Simon making the best of it on the tiled floor.
Simon was tired, but sleep eluded him. The passing traffic was still frequent and loud. Vintage Volkswagens and ill-tuned Harleys announced themselves without apology and the occasional skateboarder click-clacked his way along the sidewalk, the volume rising and falling in a slow-moving wave of sound.
This reminds me of freshman year. Bill smiled. That dorm room at Northwestern. So many hours spent in conversation.
Simon nodded. Bill had always been an idealist, ever eschewing the straight and narrow path. But now, having waded through the hedonistic world of jobless drift, Bill sought the finer pleasure of smaller things - a fiber optic network connection, a sixty-inch television, decent furniture. Simon could hardly fault him. To see those of lesser talent and imagination succeed and thrive was enough to inspire anyone to dreams of mediocrity. But if the best minds of a generation could be destroyed by madness, how much worse to be stifled by mundanity?
Do you think we ll ever hang out like this again? Simon asked.
Bill leaned up on his elbow. Sure, we will. We re part of the same Karass. He chuckled. You re stuck with me.
Karass? What, you mean like Kurt Vonnegut, Cat s Cradle that kind of thing?
Yeah, I ve always liked that idea, said Bill, the notion that we have a cohort of kindred spirits, bound together by some hidden force, creating associations that are not immediately obvious. It reminds me of constellations.
How so? Simon was fully awake again.
Well, when viewed from Earth, the stars look like they re on the same plane, but in reality, they re totally spread out in space. They only make sense together when we observe them and integrate them into a coherent picture. It s we who imbue them with meaning.
So are you saying that our relationships are actually arbitrary and incoherent? Simon asked. That s kinda depressing.
No! Bill sounded hurt. On the contrary, I m saying that there is a meaning and coherence holding them together which only becomes apparent from the right distance and point of view.
Simon lay on his back with that thought sounded in his mind, staring at the ceiling as if it were the open sky. At last, fatigue overwhelmed him and he drifted off to sleep, oblivious to the traffic noise still emanating from below.
*
He woke to the sound of a suitcase zipping and the smell of fresh brewed coffee. A kaleidoscope of sunlight flitted through the shifting spaces between the blinds as they swayed in a gentle ocean breeze. Simon sat upright and stretched. What time is it?
Time to get up. Bill handed Simon a steaming cup of coffee. It s seven o clock - my car is on the way.
Right on cue, a triplet of impertinent beeps sounded from the parking lot below. Come on. Bill took his suitcase in