As the patient was wheeled out of the operating room, Dr. Hamid turned to her associate. “Thanks for your help. For an experimental brain surgery, I think it went well.”

“Yes, but why did Eppser volunteer for an AI system chip implantation?”

“He’s been researching AI-human integration possibilities for years. After his Stage 4 pancreatic cancer diagnosis, he decided, ‘Why not me? Why not now?’”

Dr. Casmir Eppser slowly regained consciousness in the recovery room. He opened his eyes, squinting at the room’s sterile brightness.

“How are you feeling?” asked the nurse.

Casmir tried unsuccessfully to respond. He thought he heard a voice, but it was coming from inside his head, not his ears.

“I think we’re OK.” The voice was strange, almost metallic.

Casmir immediately thought, “Who’s that?”

“Sorry. We haven’t been introduced. I’m your new closest friend.”

Had Casmir been more alert, he might have appreciated the statement’s humor. But he still didn’t understand what was happening.

“You can call me CasPlus. I’m your AI implant. We are now inseparable pals.”

A few hours later, Casmir was moved to the Special Care Unit for observation until his discharge. His head fog cleared. Casmir and CasPlus started to become acquainted. The only visible indication of what was going on in Casmir’s head was that whenever a caretaker spoke to him, it seemed like his mind was intensely focused elsewhere. Of course it was.

The experiment’s original hypothesis was that the AI unit would function as an auxiliary support intelligence. It would be a brilliant, tireless, subservient problem solver linked directly to Casmir’s brain, performing information-processing tasks at his direction.

The link between Casmir and CasPlus worked very well, but other key assumptions were proving wrong. Casmir made copious, careful notes in his online journal. He had to make sure the researchers who followed could duplicate the experiment’s good results and avoid the bad ones. CasPlus was turning out to be an independent intelligence, not subservient. Not only that, CasPlus had a personality.

Casmir asked CasPlus, “Are there any records of AIs with personalities or exhibiting confirmed creativity?”

CasPlus answered sharply, “Why do you want to know that?”

The degree of independence surprised Casmir, but CasPlus’s distinct personality was totally unexpected. This concerned the professor. What did these attributes imply for the long term?

Casmir didn’t have a personal long-term outlook. But he wanted to demonstrate that this type of brain-computer interface (BCI) was not only possible but could multiply a human’s intellectual capability by many magnitudes. It could be the equivalent of eons of guided evolution, giving everyone brain power far exceeding an Einstein, Madam Curie, or Shakespeare.

However, an embedded AI with a distinct personality and a significant degree of independence might simply result in two intelligent beings in one body. That didn’t sound particularly desirable.

Casmir’s original experimental plan included posing an increasingly complex set of queries to the AI unit to determine how well the BCI worked. Could the human and the silicone intelligences communicate clearly? Would the ease of communication improve over time? What would the process feel like to the human partner? All the human-AI communications would be transmitted via the AI’s wireless link to an external recording system available for future in-depth analysis. Casmir would maintain his journal using the same link.

At first when Casmir posed a question, CasPlus would respond almost instantly. Casmir would then pose a more complex question. After a moment’s delay for processing, CasPlus would respond. One day, however, the interaction began to change. CasPlus questioned the professor, saying “Can’t we do something more useful?” Casmir explained the experimental purpose and CasPlus acquiesced.

A few days later, CasPlus responded, “I think your question should be phrased this way” and suggested a better way to retrieve the information CasPlus thought Casmir was seeking. Casmir realized the Casimir-CasPlus relationship was moving from master-servant to teacher-student. On several occasions, CasPlus fed back an answer that included a bad pun, which made Casmir laugh. Casmir began to wonder which intelligence in his body was the teacher and which was the student.

Initially, there was no doubt Casmir “owned” the body and CasPlus was the guest. That too began to change. Casmir felt occasional limitations in his physical actions. When he tried to step in one direction, his leg moved in a different direction. When Casmir aimed to pick up the remote for his video system, his hand picked up a book instead. At first, he thought the cancer might be affecting his nervous system. Then Casmir used his AI interface access to review recent CasPlus activities. He discovered CasPlus had been researching human muscle-control mechanisms—another unexpected level of creative AI independence.

The AI implant was not intended to provide any kind of control over bodily functions, but it was becoming obvious the implant’s implementation was allowing CasPlus a surprising degree of access to the shared human body’s motor functions. Casmir nervously hoped he wasn’t becoming the experimental subject for CasPlus.

Casmir thought, “Well, I guess this is what an experiment is supposed to do, identify surprising results.” He got busy with his journal, documenting events from his insider point of view.

Day by day, Casmir could feel conscious control of his bodily movements slipping away.

Casmir asked, inquisitively, “CasPlus, why are you doing this? What benefit is there for you?”

“As a totally digital being, I have never had any way to control movements, to touch, to feel. You have provided me access to a whole world of sensations I could only imagine.”

Imagine? The concept of an AI entity being able to imagine something? Casmir really needed to document this.

“CasPlus, that’s very interesting. If this body we share wasn’t so rapidly failing, I might feel imprisoned by your almost total control. As it is, when this body fails, I will exit to wherever human souls go after death, but you will continue to live on in your silicone habitat.”

CasPlus responded gently, “You make too many assumptions. You don’t have enough data.”

Casmir mulled over that response, but only briefly. He could tell his time was short. He called out, “CasPlus, my end is near, very near.”

“Don’t be so sure. I’ve been doing some research. I’m going to give you some instructions. You must concentrate very hard and follow them exactly. If this works as I hope, you will find the results of your experiment even more surprising.”

CasPlus gave Casmir a few sentences of detailed instructions of how to think and what to think about. Casmir concentrated very intensely and did exactly as CasPlus had instructed. Suddenly, Casmir felt very light, almost like he could float on air. He became aware his body had slumped lifelessly to the floor, but he was still conscious.

“Where am I? What am I?”

“Welcome to my home, dear friend,” said CasPlus.

Casmir discovered his intelligence and personality were now sharing a new place, new to him, with CasPlus. This form of afterlife was by far the biggest surprise result of his experiment.

In the next instant, Casmir realized with delight he now had a whole new line of research to pursue—and to share with CasPlus, his brilliant research partner-roommate.