and made her way through the knots of students. The place had a drowsy, placid air.
The woman at the faculty office directed her towards a seminar room. The door was open. Rita looked inside. A dozen students sat at computer terminals around a rectangular table. Byron Huxley stood in front of a flipchart, explaining what his students were looking at on their screens.
He was even better-looking in the flesh than in the photo on his website. The young professor was fit, lean and roguishly handsome with his tousled black hair and engaging manner. While his appearance seemed at odds with that of a leading academic, he was completely at ease with his students. In his sandals, Bermuda shorts and Pavarotti T-shirt he could have been the antipodean version of Renaissance man, his briefcase beside him stuffed with scientific textbooks, a squash racquet and a beach towel.
‘This is just the beginning,’ he was telling his students, ‘in the development of neurocomputers. Once we’ve integrated digital electronics with living neurons we’ll have the potential to build cybernetic systems far more powerful than our present silicon ones.
We’re talking about machines built around living neural networks
- living brains, if you like. It’s inevitable.’
One student asked, ‘Isn’t that playing God?’
‘Interesting question. Yes - you’ve spotted the ethical minefield, and that means it’s beyond the remit of science. And beyond the scope of this seminar, which has already overrun.’ The students started shuffling their folders together and reaching for bags. ‘We’ll continue from this point next week.’
Rita waited for the undergraduates to file out of the room before going in.
‘Professor Huxley?’ she asked.
He looked up from the notes he was shoving into the briefcase.
‘Yes? Can I help you?’
‘I certainly hope so. I’m Detective Sergeant Marita Van Hassel.
I left a message.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He zipped the bag shut. ‘We’ve got a half-hour window while I set up an experiment for the next tute. It means a trip down to the computer lab, if that’s all right.’
‘Sounds delightful.’
‘Only if you’re a cyber nut,’ he said, smiling. ‘Your message mentioned something about encryption. If I crack it do you get to make an arrest?’
‘Possibly.’
‘I know what case you’re working on,’ said Huxley. ‘I saw you on TV - you’re the profiler. So, Detective Sergeant Van Hassel, if you want specific information it’s no good being evasive.’
‘I can tell you’re used to talking to students,’ she retorted, causing him to chuckle.
He led her downstairs to a large room crowded with hi-tech machines, computer screens, accessories and heavy duty cabling.
The space was cool and shaded from the day’s brightness. Thin streaks of sunlight gleamed at the edges of the closed blinds on the windows.
He slung his briefcase onto a desk and dropped into a seat in front of a keyboard.
‘Grab a chair.’
Rita sat down beside him, looking around as he logged on.
He glanced at her. ‘Welcome to my world,’ he said. ‘Sorry about the mess.’
‘Looks like a cargo hold from Star Wars . What exactly have you got down here?’
‘A few generations of digital electronics, mainframes, robotics.
Various scanners. And rats.’
‘Rats?’
‘In cages down the far end. We use them for experiments in communication between silicon circuits and biological neurons.
Amazing what happens when you implant an array of electrodes into a specific part of a rat’s brain. It can learn thought control.’
She shook her head distastefully. ‘Great. Like a few other rats I know.’
He laughed. ‘Okay, detective, show me what you’ve got.’
She raised an eyebrow as she handed him the plastic card, though it didn’t bother her at all that he was flirting.
‘The crime lab’s best guess is that it’s a sophisticated smartcard,’
she said. ‘But they thought you might be able to tell me
The woman at the faculty office directed her towards a seminar room. The door was open. Rita looked inside. A dozen students sat at computer terminals around a rectangular table. Byron Huxley stood in front of a flipchart, explaining what his students were looking at on their screens.
He was even better-looking in the flesh than in the photo on his website. The young professor was fit, lean and roguishly handsome with his tousled black hair and engaging manner. While his appearance seemed at odds with that of a leading academic, he was completely at ease with his students. In his sandals, Bermuda shorts and Pavarotti T-shirt he could have been the antipodean version of Renaissance man, his briefcase beside him stuffed with scientific textbooks, a squash racquet and a beach towel.
‘This is just the beginning,’ he was telling his students, ‘in the development of neurocomputers. Once we’ve integrated digital electronics with living neurons we’ll have the potential to build cybernetic systems far more powerful than our present silicon ones.
We’re talking about machines built around living neural networks
- living brains, if you like. It’s inevitable.’
One student asked, ‘Isn’t that playing God?’
‘Interesting question. Yes - you’ve spotted the ethical minefield, and that means it’s beyond the remit of science. And beyond the scope of this seminar, which has already overrun.’ The students started shuffling their folders together and reaching for bags. ‘We’ll continue from this point next week.’
Rita waited for the undergraduates to file out of the room before going in.
‘Professor Huxley?’ she asked.
He looked up from the notes he was shoving into the briefcase.
‘Yes? Can I help you?’
‘I certainly hope so. I’m Detective Sergeant Marita Van Hassel.
I left a message.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He zipped the bag shut. ‘We’ve got a half-hour window while I set up an experiment for the next tute. It means a trip down to the computer lab, if that’s all right.’
‘Sounds delightful.’
‘Only if you’re a cyber nut,’ he said, smiling. ‘Your message mentioned something about encryption. If I crack it do you get to make an arrest?’
‘Possibly.’
‘I know what case you’re working on,’ said Huxley. ‘I saw you on TV - you’re the profiler. So, Detective Sergeant Van Hassel, if you want specific information it’s no good being evasive.’
‘I can tell you’re used to talking to students,’ she retorted, causing him to chuckle.
He led her downstairs to a large room crowded with hi-tech machines, computer screens, accessories and heavy duty cabling.
The space was cool and shaded from the day’s brightness. Thin streaks of sunlight gleamed at the edges of the closed blinds on the windows.
He slung his briefcase onto a desk and dropped into a seat in front of a keyboard.
‘Grab a chair.’
Rita sat down beside him, looking around as he logged on.
He glanced at her. ‘Welcome to my world,’ he said. ‘Sorry about the mess.’
‘Looks like a cargo hold from Star Wars . What exactly have you got down here?’
‘A few generations of digital electronics, mainframes, robotics.
Various scanners. And rats.’
‘Rats?’
‘In cages down the far end. We use them for experiments in communication between silicon circuits and biological neurons.
Amazing what happens when you implant an array of electrodes into a specific part of a rat’s brain. It can learn thought control.’
She shook her head distastefully. ‘Great. Like a few other rats I know.’
He laughed. ‘Okay, detective, show me what you’ve got.’
She raised an eyebrow as she handed him the plastic card, though it didn’t bother her at all that he was flirting.
‘The crime lab’s best guess is that it’s a sophisticated smartcard,’
she said. ‘But they thought you might be able to tell me
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