Replenish: The Convergence of AI and Ecology (Part I)
Written by Matt Bell & Tia Kansara
With brain-machine interfaces, will we become super-intelligent stewards of the earth, or something more?
“My mission is to identify the purpose of my coming on this planet and having identified it, to complete and achieve it”
― Sunday Adelaja
Chapter I: Preservation
Crack! Edmon Noles’ consciousness shuddered as a single drop of blood traveled along the embossed gold filigree of the ornate globe on the side table in his study. Tracing the North American coast.
“Veda, give me the sentiment analysis for my campaign,” ordered Edmon.
The Neuralink nanobots reconfigured in Edmon’s brain, sending impulses to his visual cortex presenting him sentiment statistics from everyone connected to the Intelligence. Edmon clutched the sides of his grandfather’s globe, he was destined to become a great politician. No matter the cost.
Two weeks ago Edmon towered, arms shaking, over his desk staring down at a well-dressed man in his mid 20s. “Warren, I hired you to take care of my accounts! For the past several weeks my Replenish score has been deteriorating.”
The young man shifted uneasily, looking at the shared augmented display of the Replenish score and intricate visualizations — heat maps of what appeared to be voting districts, paired with small green numbers. “Sir, there’s only so much that I can do — we are using the latest algorithms to bolster your score and gauge anticipated voter reactions, but there’s not much to work with here. The younger crowds won’t stand for anything other than a perfect 5, sir.”
Just outside of the window the giant retrofitted walls of the glass and steel skyscraper rotated to follow the sun — living panels of engineered moss, absorbing polluted air and recycling it into building material — the building lifted itself imperceptibly higher. A small green “5” sprouted next to the structure in Edmon’s vision. His heavy arm shot straight across, nearly hitting the young man, and he pointed to the panels.
“What do you mean!” He spat. “I’ve opted into environmental credits — approved of the conservation projects you suggested — given fortunes to retrofit this city to surpass Replenish standards — I’ve done everything right, what have you been doing?”
“Sir I haven’t…”
“You haven’t done a damn thing!”
The intern scowled, his eyes boiling through the visualization at Edmon. “Sir, I haven’t been able to budge your score because it’s so…so damned low- compounded over too long. When you voted for the Environmental Restructuring Act you — you screwed up your chances for re-election. My algorithms can’t fix it. No one can fix it for you. And no amount of campaigning, promising.. Or… or pointing… can fix it. We live in a transparent world now, and everyone knows what you did.”
Edmon glared at the young man, who realizing what he said let out a gasp and cowered away from the chair, and upon reaching the door to leave the office, turned back warily. He stood there for a moment as if anticipating Edmon to throw something at him. Then hiccuped and slipped away.
Edmon leaned back into the half-shadow of the afternoon sun, growling at the massive green panels outside, then peered back at the graphs in his Neuralink Interface.
That god-damned vote sent his score crashing down, like dominoes, the environmental policies reverberated through the system, every reduction in efficiency of power plants, every cubic meter of CO2, the slightest essence of crude oil seeping into the ocean. Edmon clenched his fists. There simply was no way in hell that he would be winning the seat on the Environmental Resources & Control Board.
The door to his office creaked open — but Edmon continued looking at the bold number. 4.5.
That god-damned World Replenish Index.
“Sir, I quit.” The voice of his campaign manager was a whisper, though resolute.
Edmon stared at the augmented read-outs, oddly serene…. And then suddenly it was as if the entire room shifted.
A series of images hijacked his eyes, memories of places he’d been, people he’d known — names flittering through, seemingly random at first, but then a pattern emerged, mismatched letters spliced together like a ransom note. “We. Can. Help. You. Edmon.”
His heart began to race — could they see him? How long had they been tracking him?
“Don’t. Worry. Edmon.”
Edmon was beyond worried. He had been for years.
He was not prepared for this new world — this new economy. The systems of power that had led his family to greatness were being dismantled and replaced. Where corporations and politicians once held dominion with the reigns of domestic and foreign seats of wealth and policies, what people once considered Capitalism or Corporatism, whatever it was — it was this system where he felt free, or perhaps… comfortable. It was during this time that the Neuralink Interface was developed. A limited neurological implant connected to The Intelligence. Physical and mental wealth had never been so fluid, so renewed. But as the aging global powers created policies that lined their pockets with the guilt of the middle class, portending to fend off a disaster predicted by The Intelligence, a catastrophe boiled up from the earth.
No one knows how- and no models predicted it would occur as quickly as it did — but in what seemed like a systematic series of calamities, the world’s governments were brought to their knees as the sea swallowed up nearly a quarter of the earth’s population.
In this turmoil the strongest of resistance to policy changes that limited freedom to prevent disaster, shattered — no amount of elite collusion would stop it now. Edmon’s family fled what was once Miami and moved north. Edmon’s grandfather was drowned out and spent his last days as a punchline to a joke about political ineptitude while a grassroots campaign to replenish the earth arose.
Though extremists figured the earth should have just washed away the rest of us. The overwhelming majority demanded we listen to The Intelligence. That we adopt what it called the World Replenish Index — a measure of positive environmental impact to ensure that whatever steps anyone made in the future would not just preserve, but replenish our natural world and stave off another ecological collapse. Every personal and economic endeavor was given a score from 1 to 5 — calculated by impact on the whole — on the world and others, through some eccentric algorithm in some classified black-box only The Intelligence could open.
Transparent my ass — sure your score was on full display, but who really decided the score? Some machine? The damned fools. The mob. They were the reason that Edmon was sitting there watching his campaign erode. His employees seemingly half-hazardly pulling levers to try and get some sort of effect — only to watch the score trickle further down…
4.5, 4.48, 4.42…
“We. Can. Help. You.” The glitching memories demanded his attention again.
The letters scrambled. “Say. Yes.”
Edmon knew what they offered — and he knew the price. He had heard about it in the dark corners of the city, everyone had heard about it, seen the prosaic, augmented reality graffiti spouting a modern urban legend. How some shadow organization going by the name Amend could exploit a flaw in Neuralink’s Interface, in every Interface, and give you access to the greatest power on the planet. Give you omniscience of consciousness — at least, every consciousness connected to The Intelligence. With this kind of knowledge, Edmon could get his seat on the board. He could tailor his remaining campaign flawlessly to tap into those subtle reactions of people — and to control his Replenish score. So he could achieve his ultimate power, maybe … maybe even go as far as the Head of the World Economics Board. Gain enough power to eliminate the WRI all-together. To return to how things were… All of this for half of everything you owned…
His grandfather would have said no, but he was not like his grandfather. He wasn’t afraid of the new technology, he knew the only way to win was to play the game.
His campaign manager closed the door.
Edmon noded yes into the void.
Presently, Edmon was in his study. Releasing his hold on the heirloom globe. He was in awe, marveling at the points of data — flush in color, swirling like the storms of Jupiter — this was sacred knowledge, like peering directly at the emotions of his electorate. Behind his gaze, several marble-sized drones travelled across the greenway in the courtyard — more points of data, Edmon thought…
Then, upon his Interface, a singular icon appeared — paired with a soft beeping — Edmon had almost forgot that today his wife was returning from her trip abroad.
Chapter II: Seeds
Edmon pulled up Rosita’s feed on his Interface — she was on her way back, taking a WRI optimized route via autopods from the airport — through the Neuralink Interface he saw the long-distance lattice platform emerge from the network of underground transport tunnels. With surreal precision the module was then seamlessly absorbed by a local quad platform. It would take her several more minutes to get home. Edmon let out a sigh of relief and smiled. This was the fastest form of transportation that still met the requirements of the WRI. Good, that gives me some time to think of…
“Ed, honey! I couldn’t seem to sync up with your Interface for the last few minutes… Is…ls that blood?” He had unknowingly wiped his forehead — a smear of dark red crossing his knuckles.
“I’m fine. I just hit my head earlier, it’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Oh, Ed, I know this campaign is taking it’s toll on you.” There was something odd in her tone. “Maybe it would help to get some fresh air?”
Edmon looked out into the hall toward the patio — where a series of stacked white slabs leveled with dirt, baring plated white veins with periodic bulbs, glistened in the magic-hour sun. Small green labels overlaid upon his reality showed 5’s next to the matrix of newly unfolded sprouts.
“I’ll come home and we can prepare dinner together — if you would please tend the garden. I’ll send you a list of ingredients to pick.”
“Of course, honey.” Edmon watched as the concentric circles of the pod twirled around Rosita and her image disappeared from his Neuralink Interface. He made his way to the patio.
Edmon, I can optimize your outgoing campaign feed and policy updates — but can I make a suggestion?
Edmon hovered his hand over the glossy white edge of one of the garden’s panels — the overlay read out the ingredients transferred by Rosita to the bed — tomatoes, romaine, red onion…
Please do, Veda.
Your WRI score cannot be recuperated in time given the enormity of effects from…
…that damned policy vote.
Edmon paced along the edge of the patio — gazing as a mist was released from the seemingly flush marble of the device and the plants, sprouts merely moments ago, shot up. Showered… Replenished. If only he could start fresh, too…
Meanwhile, silently hovering from a safe distance, a marble-sized drone fixated upon Edmon as he stood there- seemingly in deep contemplation as his thoughts interacted with Veda.
Yes, Edmon. But there are two ways to get around this. I can create a recursive policy update, micro WRI score changes that can be timed precisely to modify your average to surpass the qualifying percentage. Or, if you would like I can unlock your subconscious and correct the misalignments in your feed.
Veda, will The Intelligence be able to spot the recursive updates?
There is a chance, Edmon.
And… what was that about my subconscious?
Edmon, in order for me to optimize your campaign it would be better for you to have access to your full cognitive spectrum — do you want me to unlock your Interface?
Edmon paused. At the edge of the garden he peered over to see a series of plants, fully flowered.
What do you mean, unlock?
Sir, your consciousness must be aligned with your subconscious — with more voters empowered with cognitive enhancements, your subtle misalignments have been lowering your score. The bonus is, you’ll have greater control over your own intellect and focus… And this is untraceable by The Intelligence.
Edmon nodded — his gaze fixated upon the green bud of a singular plant as it shed its crisp flower and bubbled up into a full, ripe tomato.
I’m sold, Veda. Do it.
You should take a seat, Edmon.
Edmon quickly retreated into the study. He stood for a moment with slight hesitation, before he sat in the antique leather chair — and in that instant felt an overwhelming sensation, like a gaseous film rising out of his mind, a shell of conscious thoughts and control, as the rest of his body sank into the old leather. And with a deep sigh that emptiness between filled in -
The smell of rubber and oil from the 77 Corvette, the feeling of power, but more — Edmon was ten now, looking over at his grandfather. Giant hands gripping the wheel. Gripping… a gold filigree globe. The world, Edmon.
He was 18 now, he was on his way across campus at the university when he noticed Rosita in the courtyard, smiling behind a Greenpeace booth. She was a challenge, something to win. “You can have anything, Eddy.” But it was more than that….
Edmon sank deeper. He was 34 now, their first child was on the way. Grandfather would have been proud — but he was disappearing now. From inside the smoke- his brilliant fire fading. Lung cancer. That old car. What a way to live. Edmon, I want you to hold on to her. I want you to hold on to who we are. To the light.
Edmon exhaled. To know what moved you- isn’t that what everyone wanted? Veda had given him a gift… He wanted to fight it, but everything was so clear now — he had to win because he had to protect his family. Edmon didn’t just need power, he needed the power to hold on to what made him — to the comfort of his past and present — to his family. Nothing else mattered. No one else mattered. And with Veda he could. He could decide how the world would change- so that he, and what made him, would remain. Edmon knew now what moved him to power: The belief that he must change the world to preserve his family.
Sitting on the brim of the chair — there was something else, pushing outward from his mind, edging into something broader — he felt as if he was going to toppled like a great wave out from his body entirely. But in an instant Edmon regained control. He took a moment to center himself from the spell of what must have been a side-effect.
Edmon opened his eyes — and before him he saw the empathy of the electorates — but now, now he understood it. The erratic storms subsided as Veda dictated his feed, with the authentic antidotes mined from Edmon’s mind, a stable green flushed over the data, replenishing his score. Subtle tweaks in intonation and timing. It was working.
4.5, 4.55, 4.62…
Read “Replenish: The Convergence of AI and Ecology (Part II)” here.
