Robofootball: Doublespin
Chapter 48

“100 billion cells! That’s a rough estimate of how many cells make up the human brain, give or take a few billion. But that’s not all. Each and every single one has double digit connections, trillions altogether when you think about it, all in networks within networks. And do note that this is an organ that weighs a mere 3 pounds though male brains like young Mr. Robinson’s here is typically about 10% larger than a female brain,” Dr. Hobson went on. He was a scrawny, nerdy intellectual, 5’6” in height, at best 140 pounds wet with change in his pocket and a heavy belt, thinning black hair peppered prematurely with gray, dark big-lens glasses, and a black moustache and goatee each with a touch of gray though the beard had a higher percentage of it. The lines were prematurely pronounced in the corners of his eyes given his sporadic sleep habits and overall thinness.

“If we took a minute to individually or manually reconnect each cell’s link to the network, it would take 40 million years to perform by humans. Fortunately, we have the prototype of the da Vinci 2000 Computerized Surgical System that is run by the latest Cray Supercomputer, a similar model set up for America’s nuclear launch sequences,” Dr. Hobson was now in major lecture mode.

“Okay Doc,” said Reynolds, “I’m getting the picture, just tell me if it can be done, and in what time frame?”

“Well, I was getting to that,” Hobson chided. He was used to talking down to people and had been doing so for so long, that it simply came naturally and even unconsciously. “The da Vinci system in and of itself is basically a robotic device with several micro electric integrated circuit modules, each containing over 1,000 sensors and microprobes that intercepts all electromagnetic activity within the brain’s telemetric field.”

“Layman’s terms doc, where’s all the wires and terminals and that shit?”

Hobson sighed annoyingly, “That’s technology from 30 years ago, the sensors within the da Vinci system intercept the brain’s signals directly in the atmosphere or air pockets. Every brain generates a quantifiable electric field, and we can intercept them within picoseconds of discharge.”

“Picoseconds?”

“A thousand times as fast as a nanosecond; basically, down to the size of atoms and even into the subatomic quantum level, the realm of quarks and leptons.”

Reynolds was getting a headache, “Okay Doc, I’m getting the picture,” he outright lied in an attempt to speed up the process. In his opinion, academics or squints, especially in the science field were naturally socially inept, but the genius brainy ones like Hobson were even more so, the kind that could lecture incessantly not knowing, caring, or realizing that those they were talking to had been lost hours ago. “Can this machine do it?” Can you fix the brain or not?”

Dr. Hobson paused. “You have to realize that although the technology exists, and we have had some success with mice, rats, and chimpanzees, we have not progressed to the human stage just yet.”

“You have all the paper work, forms, signatures, permissions, i’s dotted, and t’s crossed,” went on Reynolds.

“Yes, but that does not signify success, only risk.”

“All liabilities, insurance, and so forth are taken care of as well.”

“Necessary formalities,” answered Hobson as a statement rather than a question.

“Then what’s the hold up?”

Dr. Hobson sighed again actually trying to think of a way to sum up the thousands of problems and intricate details when dealing with the human brain. He had one PhD in Neuroscience earned at age 21, another in Biomechanics at 23, along with 3 Masters Degrees obtained in his teens in Engineering, Cell Biology, and Nanotechnology with the latter being replaced at the pico level. Hobson was thinking of the various prefixes, milligrams were thousandths of a gram and relevant to most medication levels. The micro world began at a one-millionth part, nano at one-billionth, and now pico at one-trillionth. As a scientist, he was chewing at the bit to delve into a rather unique project, but caution was also one of his strong suits. He had spent well over a decade in either university or government research labs conducting theoretical experiments dealing with the brain.

Hobson finally replied, “As I alluded to earlier, we literally have trillions of connections to make. Say the da Vinci system can perform one million connections per second, and we have 20 trillion connections to make…,” he paused a few seconds doing the calculations mentally, “It may well take 232 days or so.”

“Well that was my next question,” said Reynolds.

“To correct an oversight earlier, there will actually be a single wire connected to an implant, sort of a central processing unit within the brain in order to connect with a computer. We can disguise the wire as a hair after we laser cut a precision hole….”

“Yes, yes, fine, I don’t need all the exact details,” Reynolds cut him off. “Lets see, 232 days, that’s what, about 8 months?” It took him longer to do this calculation than it had for Hobson to figure out the days.

“There could be complications.”

“Like what?”

“Young Mr. Robinson’s brain has been severely traumatized. Severe concussions generally result in a multitude of broken connections that may take more time to repair or replace, if such a thing can be done at all. When I examined his brain scans, there did appear to be more damage to the left hemisphere. About 10% of the brain’s cells are neurons, and the left side contains approximately 186 million more neurons than the right. The left side is ordinarily responsible for language or communication. This maybe a vital setback when we are finished for what you propose, but on the bright side, it does appear that we can restore and enhance motor function.”

“Let’s face it doc, if he weren’t damaged, you wouldn’t get this chance.”

“That may be true for now.”

“And like I said, you have every permission and disclaimer you need. I have full custody and rights. The green light is on.”

“So it would seem.”

Reynolds was thinking again, the current season was over, plus 8 months time, would still give him a few weeks leeway for testing and practice. They did have a cheaper Gen 2 quarterback on order as the damn Jappers could not promise him a Gen 3. He wasn’t confident that the Kettering team, in their limited amount of time, could come up with a reasonable substitute at quarterback. Then again, he wanted something better than anything else, and that was why he had sought out Hobson and the boy. He decided to wave the ultimate carrot for Dr. Hobson, “All I want is for that kid to throw a football by our command, and better than any toaster or mixer out there on the field. If you can do it in 8 months’ time, I think we might be able to arrange a little bonus.”

“Oh?”

“Maybe fund your research here in Ann Arbor for say another year or two?”

“I’m listening,” answered Dr. Hobson. Like many researchers, he loathed the money game filling out reams of paperwork, catering to the wealthy, fighting with university administrators, speaking at charitable functions, and in short, being their lacky. If someone could give him money for a couple of years, then he could take a relief sabbatical from such beggardly activities. “Let’s lean toward that 2 year goal shall we?” Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Reynolds laughed finally getting somewhere, “You come through on this Doc and you got it. In fact, I’ll have the paperwork with incentive clauses based on time constraints to your secretary by this time tomorrow.”

“Good, you’ll have your quarterback then, but if you don’t mind, I need to get to work.”

“Whatever you say Doc,” Reynolds laughed again, shook hands, and left in a near trot. He had another stop to make regarding body armor. Of all the squinty types he had to deal with, he liked Hobson the least. There was something a little creepy beyond the cold distant unemotional Spock-like logical persona that Hobson gave off. Reynolds felt that Hobson could easily have been one of those Nazi or Japanese doctors back during the days of the world wars that used human subjects as guinea pigs for some of the most atrocious experiments man ever conducted on his fellow man. Pain tolerance, sexual torture at its most gruesome, experimental drug and poison injections, and deprivations far beyond the realms of human decency had all been part of the German-Japanese torture trials. Reynolds felt that Hobson was the kind of guy who would dissect his own mother if he thought that it would lead to some new significant scientific breakthrough.

Hobson was secretly elated when Reynolds left. A few more years and he might just realize his own ultimate goal of immortality. Who would’ve thought that the game of football played by machines would speed his timetable for such a lofty endeavor? A human brain integrated with a positronic neural net was not robotic nor even androidic, but more along the lines of a cyborg, an integration of the biological with the mechanical. From a very young age, he had spent his entire life with this goal in mind. The brain was the key as mechanically reproducing such things as limbs and joints was easy in comparison, organs like artificial hearts were more difficult but viable, but the brain, ah, that was the challenge, it couldn’t quite be done with the wave of a wand like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, but maybe, just maybe, with the help of the da Vinci 2000 powered by a Cray Supercomputer, he could make some serious headway to that elusive goal.

“Have you ever seen Stevie Wonder’s house?”

“No.”

“Well, neither as he!”

Antwan Randall Jackson

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