Kwanhaeng

Many drops of water make a river. Write to Kwanhaeng at kwanhaeng@radsoft.net.

The year is 1997; the place is the line for the ATMs at a bank on Manhattan's upper east side; the time is 3:30 on a Friday afternoon.

About three dozen people are waiting to make their deposits or withdrawals, or to cash their paychecks, depending on their station in life. There are cab drivers, workmen, maids, doormen, doctors, lawyers, the independently wealthy and their accountants, all standing there, when suddenly the ATMs run out of money. A few people groan: they will have to walk another block to the next machine. But just then a young pretty well dressed bank officer flanked by two trainees opens the glass partition and tells everyone the machines are being refilled and will be functional again in only a few minutes.

And the ATM cash refill starts up, sounding like sandwiches being stuffed into a Horn and Hardart's automat. Everyone relaxes, some start chatting, and a young businessman chooses the moment to chat up the pretty bank officer. He goes straight in for the kill: he will impress her with his great computer skills and his hot new machine, no quarter asked, no mercy given. Soon she will be putty in his hands. He speaks in a very commanding and confident manner, salting his speech with the latest Microsoft jargon and all the buzz words. It is plain to hear he really 'knows his stuff', and anyone can tell that his machine is state of the art: several hundred MHz, 20GB HD, 256MB RAM, and more and more and more. The bank officer is left speechless at this display, and the businessman goes on, explaining the way of all things Microsoft and Wintel to her easily, confidently, and patiently. And by now the whole crowd is listening, for to be fair, they have little choice in the matter.

Finally a dirty middle aged workman can stand it no longer. He leaves the line and moves a few feet over to the businessman and stands there quietly, waiting for the businessman to notice him. And the businessman will notice him, sooner or later, as he is deliberately standing very close and is very very dirty. 'Yes?' says the businessman finally. 'You like computers?' asks the workman innocently, 'I have one too!'

'Oh you do, do you?' says the businessman in a derisive tone. 'What model?'

The workman speaks in a quiet voice perhaps a bit too precise for one of his station. 'Oh, it's an experimental model.' 'How fast is it?' asks the businessman, smiling at everyone. 'Well', says the workman, 'speed isn't everything, as you know, but I would say the processor runs at about one hundred English billion instructions per second, with about one hundred American billion processor units engaged in a continuous data transfer.' He pauses. 'An English billion is of course a million million, while an American billion is only a thousand million', he adds helpfully.

'How fast is that?' asks the businessman. 'Roughly one hundred times that of the fastest Cray', says the workman. 'Up to one thousand times as fast perhaps, depending on the task and measurement standard, and maybe thirty times faster than IBM's Deep Blue. And it has a full robotic peripheral set with about the same connected capability, so it's really hard to measure like that - speed is more a matter of function, the level of sophistication of the programming, and the level of sophistication the machine is capable of, which is often more meaningful than simple processor speed anyway, although speed as a practical matter determines some real-time parameters with respect to function.'

The businessman looks confused. The neighbourhood is one in which the uberclass sometimes appear in casual - even dirty - clothing, doing things like standing in ATM lines for reasons best known only to themselves, and his hold on the bank officer is already weakening. 'My computer will...' the businessman tries again, but he is interrupted by the workman. 'Yes, yes, I heard that, that is wonderful', the workman says. 'OK', snaps the businessman, 'What will yours do?'

'Well', says the workman politely, 'that all depends on how it's programmed. I suppose you could run all of New York City with it - or the whole country for that matter. Right now it's programmed for full 3D rendering at all scales, in real-time, and at any relative virtual speed, full data reproduction, wide band sonic and electromagnetic spectral analysis, single or group object movement recognition, virtual tactile engine, even an olfactory program, an entire virtual reality holographic environment with full sensory integration, full mobility of the robotic peripherals, in short, a standard function set that exceeds the most stringent current definitions for AI and AR, fully integrated OCR and voice recognition, advanced navigational sets, extensive self-repair capabilities, advanced choice emulation, all cloaked in excess of standard realtime absolute full-pass perfect-gray encryption mind you, and it comes with impressive physical data storage. I suppose it can run other computers too, and other machines at the same time, and it can perform all its operations either in situ or remotely. And there's more of course - this would still be using only about 10% of its total capacity.'

The businessman is annoyed: He's lost his audience, and this fair weather stevedore has stolen his thunder. The bank officer's legs look wobbly and her eyes are threatening to fall out of her head. 'Is there anything it can't do?' he asks sarcastically. 'Not much', says the workman with a smile, 'provided it's programmed sensibly. For there are some very simple things that a many thousands of times less powerful computer - like yours - can do much faster', he adds helpfully.

'How big is it? How much does it weigh?' the businessman asks, hoping to salvage a little dignity. 'It's smaller than a bread box and weighs a few pounds - without the peripheral system', the workman says. 'It's easy enough to carry around, and the power supply can last for days or even weeks, sometimes without even recharging - although that's not too good for the unit as a whole.'

This last bit is too much for the businessman. No one, let alone this casual fellow, could think up a lie this grand. 'He must be one of those wealthy scientific eccentrics', he says to himself as he leans against the ATM with a hungry look on his face, wondering if he will ever earn enough money to pay for such a fabulous thing. 'How much does it cost?' he asks weakly.

'Well', the workman says, 'it's very hard to get one at first - there's a very long waiting list - but you know how it is: hardware 'happens', but once it's there it just keeps on happening. And price is not the real issue here - it's all funded at first, and later the price goes down with the commonly perceived value in response to supply and demand. If you can run one of these things, an arrangement can always be worked out.'

'What about the software?' the businessman croaks. 'That's the hard part', says the workman. 'You pretty much have to program it yourself, although people sometimes help each other', he says. 'It takes a long time to learn', he adds sorrowfully. The businessman looks at the workman in total shock and disbelief. 'How much does that set of courses cost?' he asks in horror. 'It costs the Earth', the workman replies.

The businessman is finished at the ATM; the pretty bank officer is long gone; there is still a long line of people waiting. The businessman notices that the workman is pocketing his money and is getting ready to go.

'Wait! Wait!' he yelps at the workman. 'Your computer - what's it called? What's its name?'

The workman turns and grins at the businessman. 'It's called a brain', he says.

We ignite. The businessman looks around. We're laughing at him - and applauding the workman. The workman puts his palms together, bows gently to us, and walks away.