Текст книги "The Turing Option"

Автор книги: Harry Harrison

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

“He is,” Ben said firmly. “I can assure you that a real AI has been designed and that it will be built.”

“If that is the case, then I do want to be part of it! This is such a momentous and important development that there is no question in my mind.” She frowned. “Are there many others applying for the post?”

“I’m seeing someone else tomorrow,” Ben said. “That’s the entire list.”

“I am sure that I can control my impatience for a while. But if you will let me help, there is something I can do to be of assistance right now.”

“We won’t be able to get into the lab for some time yet,” Brian said.

“That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about the overall security matter.” She turned to Ben. “That report you showed me of the theft – is it complete?”

“I took out all the references to artificial intelligence. Other than that, yes, it’s complete.”

“I don’t mean that. I’m referring to the investigation of the crime. Do you know who was in charge of it?”

“I certainly do. Me. I can guarantee that that part of the report is complete.”

“And since the theft and Brian’s being shot – there have been two other threats on his life?”

“That is correct.”

“Then it seems to me that solving the crime should take top priority.”

Benicoff did not know whether to laugh – or be insulted. “You do realize that I am in charge of the investigation? That I have been working on it full-time for some months?”

“Sir, please don’t misunderstand! I was not denigrating your efforts – just offering to help.”

“And how will you do that?”

“By writing an Expert Program with only one aim in mind. To solve this crime.”

Benicoff dropped back into his chair and rubbed his jaw in silence for a moment – then nodded happily. “Captain – my thanks. I have been very, very dumb about this. I don’t intend to be in the future. How soon can you transfer here?”

“I’m part of a team. They are very good and I know that they’ll be able to carry on without me. I could be here in a day or two. I’ll first have to make some notes of developments that I am working on so they’ll have that input. Then, as long as they can contact me in the future, I could transfer here almost immediately. The end of this week if you want. The work there is important – but not as important as this. If you would let me I would like to develop this Expert Program for you. And keep myself available for further work on the AI. Is that agreeable?”

“Perfect. I’ll organize all the material so you can access it at once. And I’m going to kick myself around the block for not thinking of it myself. An investigation like this one is mostly a dumb, boring, sorting of facts and running down endless leads. Which is a job for a computer – not for a human being.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I’ll be back as soon as I can. And thank you again for asking me.”

They stood when she did, shook hands, watched her leave – as did the marine guard who allowed only his eyes to follow her.

“She is one hundred percent right about that program to solve the Megalobe crime,” Brian said. “If we can get my first AI back it will make my job an awful lot easier.”

“Your job will be a lot easier if you stay alive. I want to stop the attacks – and solve the case.”

“When you put it that way – I agree.”

20
February 15, 2024

Benicoff looked at his watch. “The good news is that as of today you’re out of this hospital. Dr. Snaresbrook says that you are fit as a fiddle. You ready to make the move?”

“I’m ready whenever you are – and rarin’ to go,” Brian said, closing and locking the suitcase and putting it on the floor next to his computer. “How about this case! Looks like leather – but it’s made of cross-linked teflar and boron nitride filaments. Can’t rip or tear and will last forever. A present from Dr. Snaresbrook…”

Ben sighed. “I know. She curled her lip with scorn when she discovered that I had brought your clothes here in a plastic bag. And that you were happy enough to carry them away again in the same bag.” He glanced at his watch. “We have some time yet. That’s the good news.”

“Now what’s the bad news?”

“About your assistant. The MIT post-doc lead didn’t work out. He was qualified all right – except he was married with three kids and no way was he going to leave Boston.”

Brian rubbed at his jaw and frowned. “Then – that means that the Captain gets the job?”

“On paper she is equally good. If you want her and think that she’s qualified. The decision is yours. I’ll go on looking for more candidates if you want me to.”

“I don’t know, Ben – I guess that I am just being stupid. If the Captain, Shelly, were a man I wouldn’t hesitate for a second. It’s a gut feeling, nothing else.” Ben was silent, leaving the decision up to Brian. Who paced the length of the room, came back and dropped into the chair.

“She’s good?”

“None better.”

“I’m being sexist?”

“I didn’t say that. The decision is still yours.”

“She stays then. How is she coming with the Expert Detection Program?”

“Very well. You want her to tell you about it?”

“Sure – as soon as it gets rolling. And it will give me a chance to see how she works.”

Ben looked at his watch again. “It’s time. I’ll phone down and let them know we’re ready. And I want you to meet the man who will be in charge of your security. Name of Wood. Very experienced, very reliable. I don’t say that lightly because your life might very well depend upon him. I think – no, I know that he is the best.”

Major Wood knocked and entered. A big man, built like a boxer with a narrow waist and wide shoulders. The scar on his right cheek made a ridge on his black-brown skin, ran down to his mouth and tucked up the corner of it to give him a tiny perpetual grin.

“Brian, this is Major Wood, who is in charge of security now at Megalobe.”

“Pleased to meet you, Brian. If it is going to be first names my friends call me Woody. But not in front of the troops. We’re going to take good care of you. Better than the last bunch.” His nostrils flared slightly with anger. “The only thing good about the security that they used to have at Megalobe is that we can learn from their mistakes. Their one big mistake.”

“Tell me,” Benicoff said. “I’m still investigating what happened.”

“Security is people – not machines. Anything one man can build another man can trick. Of course I’m going to use all the security apparatus that has been built in and installed there – plus some additions of my own. Machines and wire fences help. But it will be my men who will be guarding you and the others, Brian. That is security.”

“I feel better already,” Brian said – truthfully.

“Then stay that way,” Dr. Snaresbrook said as she entered. “This is going to be a stressful day whether you realize it or not. Five hours maximum – then you lie down. Understood?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.” Her smile softened the imperiousness of her command. “I’ll give you a few days to get into your work. I’ll need that time to move my equipment to the Megalobe infirmary. Since you won’t be coming to this hospital anymore we’ll do the machine sessions there. See if we can give you access to all those technical memories you are going to need. Now – take care of yourself.”

“I will, Doc – don’t worry.”

“Are you ready?” Major Wood asked as soon as she had gone.

“Just waiting for orders.”

“That’s the correct attitude. Do what I say and you’ll get there safely – and will stay safe. Sergeant.”

The soldier entered the room an instant after the sharp-barked command and handed the Major one of the two stubby, ugly automatic weapons he was carrying. Benicoff grabbed up Brian’s bag and computer and they all left together.

Although this trip lacked the showiness of the Marine transfer that had brought Brian to the hospital, everything still proceeded with professional efficiency. A squad of soldiers moved into place, surrounding them when they walked down the hall; others kept pace before and behind. The officers’ parking lot had been cleared of all vehicles – despite a lot of high-level protests – and a large transport copter now sat in the middle of it with its rotors turning. It lifted off as soon as they had all climbed in. Fast attack choppers circled them as they rose, getting altitude before they headed across the bay and over the sweep of streets and homes of San Diego. They followed the freeway west, then turned and went even higher to get over the mountains. It was a beautiful, sunny day with visibility apparently unlimited.

Away from the hospital at last, Brian felt elated and confident. He liked the view, first the craggy and bare mountains, then the parched colors of the desert beyond. They passed over the buildings and golf courses of Borrego Springs, then on to the desert. The slashed and desolate badlands drifted by below, then greenery appeared ahead. The squared-off area of low buildings and grassy plots grew larger as they dropped down toward it, settling easily onto the helipad. The attack copters dipped in one last protecting circle, then hurtled away – tracked automatically by the SAM radar. A soldier opened the copter’s door.

Brian climbed out with no qualms, no fear. He would never remember what had happened to him here, was confident that it would not happen in this place again. What he wanted to do most was to get to work.

“Want to see your quarters?” the Major asked. Brian shook his head.

“Later if you don’t mind. The lab first.”

“You’re the man. Your personal gear will be in your room. I’ll walk you about today so the troops can see you.”

“No ID needed?”

“Everyone else is going to be heavy with it. You don’t need it. All the security is designed with one end in mind – keeping you safe. I hope that you will get to know the men. They’re a good team. But right now it is more important that they know you. If you will just wait here for a minute I’ll be right back and we will get started.”

He moved quickly away toward the buildings. Ben pointed.

“That’s the lab building,” he said. “The big one with the gold-sputtered windows. Your own lab entrance is around the back, a special wing.”

“It looks great! You know – I really can’t wait to get my hands on more computer power, to debug the new systems described in the notes. I have already worked up some opening programs on the portable – but it simply isn’t adequate for the kind of debugging I need to do. I need much more speed than that old portable laptop has. And much more memory. I am using some extremely large knowledge bases – which must be maintained in memory. Without memory, there can be no knowledge. And without knowledge, there can be no intelligence – I should know!”

“Are you saying that intelligence is just memory?” Ben said. “I can’t believe that.”

“Well, something like that, but without the ‘just.’ As far as I’m concerned, you need two kinds of things for thought to proceed – and both are based on memory. I don’t care if it’s a man or machine. First you need your processes – the programs to do the actual work. And you need the stuff that those programs will work on – that’s your knowledge, your records of your experiences. And both the programs themselves and the knowledge they use must be embodied in memory.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Benicoff said. “But surely, you’d also need something else, beyond the purely mechanical. The me that is me must still be around even when I’m not using my memory.”

“What use would a me be if it doesn’t actually do anything?”

“Because without it, we’d just have a computer. Working, but not feeling. Speaking, without understanding. Surely thinking must involve more than the simple processing of memory. There must also be something to initiate the wanting and intending – and then there must be something to appreciate whatever is accomplished and then to want something more. You know, the central spirit-thing that seems to sit in the center of my head, that understands what things really mean, that’s aware of itself and of what it can do.”

Dolly is not the only superstitious person, Brian thought. “Spirit my eye! I don’t believe we need any such thing. A machine doesn’t need any magic force to make it do whatever it does. Because each present state is sufficient cause to carry it into its subsequent state. If there were that spirit inside your head, it would only be getting in your way. Minds are simply what brains do. The hard part is that, as good as technology is, we cannot make an exact duplicate of the human brain.”

“Why not? I thought that was exactly what you were doing.”

“Then you thought wrong. We only have to get parts that have similar functions, not exact copies.”

“But if you don’t duplicate all the details, it won’t think the same way, will it?”

“Not exactly – but why should that matter as long as it does the right sorts of things? My research is only to discover the general principles, the general patterns of function. Once the machine is able to learn the right sorts of things, it will fill in the small details itself.”

“It sounds awfully hard. I’m with you – and don’t envy your job.”

The Major returned, then led them toward the building. The guard at the door snapped to attention when they approached. But instead of staring directly ahead of him in the approved manner, he turned as they passed, watching Brian closely, remembering.

“I’ll take you inside,” Major Wood said. He handed Brian an identification bracelet. “But first – I would appreciate it if you would put this on and wear it all the time. It’s waterproof and pretty indestructible. I hope you won’t mind – but once I lock it on, it will have to be sawn off. It doesn’t unlock.”

Brian turned it over, saw that his name was engraved on it. “Any particular reason for this?”

“A big one. Squeeze it once and you will get me – twenty-four hours a day. But if you squeeze it for more than one second the alarms go off everywhere and all hell breaks loose. Can do?”

“Can do. Seal it on.”

Woody put it on Brian’s wrist and joined the open ends together; it closed with a metallic clack. “Give it a try,” he said, stepping back. “Be enthusiastic, a little push like that could happen accidentally. That’s it.” A rapid bleeping sounded from his own communicator; he thumbed it off. “That will do just fine. Now I’ll show you the new laboratory – and I hope that you are not claustrophobic.”

“Not that I know of – why?”

“I saw the lab where you used to work. It’s a disaster – a security shambles. Too accessible in every way. You’ve got a brand-new one now. Only one entrance. Completely self-contained power supply, air-conditioning, the works. And belowground for the most part. That’s the door you’re looking at. Most of the equipment has been installed.”

“We were in luck there,” Ben said. “We located a Russian technical exchange student who has never been out of Russia – or even out of Siberia – before. He never even considered studying here until we approached him. There is absolutely no chance that he could have been compromised by any industrial espionage agency.”

“I’ll get him,” the Major said. “If you would wait here a moment.”

He pulled open the unlocked door and went in, returning a moment later accompanied by a tall young man with a full blond beard.

“This is Evgeni Belonenko, who installed all the stuff in there. Evgeni, Brian Delaney – your boss.”

“A great pleasure,” he said, speaking with a thick Russian accent. “Fine machines you got here, the best. May I assume that you are prepared to begin operations now?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Koroshow! Good. I have installed this MHC matching machine here. Wonderful machine! Never saw one before but specs seem clear and complete. Adjust for input first—”

Evgeni had the metal plate in the wall swung open and worked the controls inside it. When he was satisfied he closed the door to the lab and pointed to a black-ringed indentation in the plate.

“Be so kind, Mr. Brian Delaney, to touch your fingertip here. Fine!”

The green light above the opening flashed for a few seconds, then turned red.

“Locked!” Evgeni said, closing the access plate, then pushed on the unyielding door. “Locked – and only you can open it, since it is coded to your DNA. The same goes for this access plate – only you can unlock it to change the DNA.” He pushed his own finger into the opening and the light blinked but stayed red. However, when Brian touched it the green indicator flashed and there was a clack as the door unlocked. He pushed it open and they followed him in.

With great enthusiasm Evgeni pointed out all of the equipment that he had installed, the latest computers. Brian looked about but did not recognize most of the machines – finding out about them would be the first order of business. There was a good view from the large window that looked out onto the desert.

“I thought the lab was underground,” he said – pointing at the roadrunner that scuttled by.

“It is,” Ben said. “That is a five-thousand line high resolution TV screen. The camera is mounted on the wall outside. This screen used to be in the Chairman’s office but I thought that it had more practical value here.”

“It does, many thanks.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Major Wood said. “Will you let me out, please, Brian? You are also the only one who can ever open that door. It may be a pain – but it is damn good security.”

“No complaints. And thanks for what you have done.”

“That’s my job. You’ll be safe here.”

“Okay. Then I better get started working on my old AI ideas. I mean not my ideas, the ideas the old Brian was working on.” Many of the sketches were bits of code in a language he did not recognize. It must have been written in some computer language that his earlier self, the old Brian, had designed for the purpose.

Brian walked over to the computer, took the GRAM from his pocket and plugged it in. The screen came to life and the computer spoke with a clear contralto voice.

“Good morning. Will you be operating this machine?”

“Yes. My name is Brian. Speak in a deeper voice.”

“Is this satisfactory?” it said, now a deep baritone.

“Yes. Keep it at that.” He turned to Evgeni. “Looks good.”

“Is good. Latest model. Costs millions in Russia except not available there. Boy will I have stories for the hackers in Tomsk when I get home. I got other work to do if you don’t need me.”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll give a shout if I have any questions.”

“The same goes for me,” Ben said, looking at his watch. “I make it over four hours since we started this trip – which is deadline time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your orders from Dr. Snaresbrook. This is when you stop working for the day and lie down. No excuses accepted, she said – but there is no reason you can’t lie down with your portable computer.”

Brian knew better than to protest. He gave one last long, lingering look at the laboratory – then led the way to the door and locked them all out. Major Wood was waiting outside.

“Just coming to get you,” he said. “I had a call from Dr. Snaresbrook that if you were not yet in your quarters that you were to be taken there immediately.”

“We’re on the way,” Brian said, putting up his hands in surrender. “The long arm of the doctor reaches everywhere.”

“You better believe it,” Ben agreed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Brian was not surprised to discover that he was quartered in the barracks with the troops. “Right in the middle of the building,” Woody said. “You’ve got dogfaces on all sides, not to mention the guard stations. Here we are.”

The apartment was small but comfortable; sitting room, bedroom, kitchen and bath. His computer was on the worktable and his bag had been unpacked.

“Just pick up the phone when you want dinner – it will be brought up to you. Tonight’s meat loaf,” the Major added as he closed the door.

21
February 16, 2024

Brian could not fall asleep. It was the excitement of the move, the new bed perhaps, all of the things that had happened that day conspired to keep him awake. At midnight he decided to stop twisting and turning and do something about it. He threw back the covers and got out of bed. The room circuitry detected this, checked the time, then turned on the dimmed lights that were just enough to enable him to walk without stumbling. The medicine chest was not as kind to him. It had been programmed not to let anyone take medicine in the dark – and he blinked in the sudden glare when he opened the door. If you can’t sleep take two with a glass of water, the doctor had printed on the label. He did as instructed and made his way back to bed.

The dreams began as soon as he fell asleep. Confused happenings, bits of school, Paddy appeared in one of them, Texas sunshine, the glare of the sun on the Gulf. Blinking into its glare. Rising in the morning, setting in the evening. How beautiful, how wrong. Just an illusion. The sun stays where it is. The earth goes around the sun, around and around.

Darkness and stars. And the moon. Moving moon, spinning around the earth. Rising and setting like the sun. But not like the sun. Moon, sun, earth. Sometimes all three lined up and there was an eclipse. Moon in front of sun.

Brian had never seen a total eclipse. His father had, told him about it. Eclipse: La Paz, Mexico, in 1991. On July 11 the day became dark, moon in front of sun.

Brian stirred in his sleep, frowning into the darkness. He had never seen an eclipse. Would he ever? Would there ever be an eclipse here in the Anza-Borrego desert?

The equation to answer this should be a simple one. Just a basic application of Newton’s laws. The acceleration is inverse to the square of the distance.

Each object pulled by the other two.

Sun, earth, moon. A simple differential equation.

With just eighteen variables.

Set up the coordinates.

Distances.

The earth was how far from the sun?

The Handbook of Astronautics, figures swimming before him, glowing in the dark.

The distance from the earth to the sun at its nearest point.

The axes and degrees of inclinations of the earth and the moon’s orbits…

The precise elements of these orbits – their perihelions, velocities and eccentricities.

Figures and numbers clicked into place – and then it happened.

The differential equation began working itself out before him. Within him? Was he watching, living, experiencing? He murmured and twisted but it would not go away or stop.

Streaming by, number by number.

“November 14, 2031,” he shouted hoarsely.

Brian found himself shouting, sitting up in bed and soaked with sweat, blinking as the lights came on. He fumbled for the glass of water on the night table, drained most of it and dropped back onto the crumpled bed. What had happened? The experience had been so strong, the racing figures so clear that he could still see them. Too strong to be a dream -

“The IPMC. The implant processors!” he said aloud.

Had that been it? Had he in the dreaming state somehow accessed the computer that had been planted in his brain? Could he possibly have commanded it to run some procedure? Some program for solving the problem? This seemed to be what had happened. It had apparently solved the problem, then fed the solution back to him. Is this what had happened? Why not? It was the most logical, plausible, least frightening explanation. He called out to his computer to turn on, then spoke a description of what had happened into its memory, adding his theory as well. After this he fell into a deep and apparently dreamless sleep. It was well after eight before he woke again. He turned the coffeemaker on, then phoned Dr. Snaresbrook. Her phone answered him and said that she would ring him back. Her call came as he was crunching into a second slice of toast.

“Morning, Doc. I have some interesting news for you.” After he finished describing what had happened there was a long silence on the line. “You still there?”

“Yes, sorry, Brian, just thinking about what you said – and I believe you might very well be right.’’

“Then it is good news?”

“Incredibly good. Look – I’m going to shift some appointments around and see if I can’t get out there by noon. Is that all right with you?”

“Sounds great. I’ll be in the lab.”

He spent the morning skimming through his recovered backup notes, trying to get a feel for the work he had done, the research and construction – all of the memories the bullet had destroyed. It was a strange sensation reading what he had written, almost a message from the grave. Because the Brian who had written these notes was dead and would remain dead forever. He knew that there was no way that he at the age of fourteen would ever grow into the very same man of twenty who had written this first report, based on several years of research. In the end to build the world’s first humanlike intelligence.

Nor could he understand any of the shorthand notes and bits of program that his twenty-year-old self had written. He smiled ruefully at this and turned back to the first page. The only way to proceed was to follow everything, step by step. He would read ahead, whenever he could, to avoid dead ends and false starts. But basically he would have to recreate everything that he had done, do it all over again.

Dr. Snaresbrook phoned him at twelve-thirty when she arrived: he shut down his work and joined her in the Megalobe clinic.

“Come in, Brian,” she said, looking him up and down with a critical eye. “You’re looking remarkably fit.”

“I’m feeling that way as well. An hour or two reading in the sun every day – and a short walk like you said.”

“Eating well?”

“You bet – the army rations are very good. And look at this…” He took off his cap and rubbed the fuzz growing there. “A mini crew cut. It’ll be real hair one day soon.”

“Any pain from the incisions?”

“None.”

“Dizziness? Shortness of breath? Fatigue?”

“No, no and no.”

“I’m immensely pleased. Now – I want you to tell me exactly what happened, every detail.”

“Listen to this first,” he said, passing over a disk. “I recorded this just after I had the dream. If I sound sort of stoned it’s because I took that sleeping potion you gave me.”

“That fact alone is interesting. It was a tranquilizer and that might have been one of the contributing factors to the incident.”

Snaresbrook listened to the recording three times, making notes each time. Then she questioned Brian closely, going over the same ground again and again until she saw that he was tiring.

“Enough. Let’s have a cup of coffee and I’ll let you go.”

“Aren’t you going to see if I can do it again – but consciously this time?”

“Not today. Get some rest first—”

“I’m not tired! I was just falling asleep from saying the same things over and over again. Come on, Doc, be a sport. Let’s try it now while the whole thing is fresh in my mind.”

“You’re right – strike while the iron is hot! All right – let’s start with something simple. What would be the square of… of 123456?”

Brian visualized the number, tried to find somewhere to put it. He pulled and pushed mentally, twisting his thoughts about it. Tried harder, grunted aloud with the effort.

“15522411383936! That’s the square, I’m sure of it!”

“Do you know how you did it?” she asked excitedly.

“Not really. It was sort of like groping for a memory, something like a word almost on the tip of one’s tongue. Reaching and finding it.”

“Can you do it again?”

“I hope so – yes, why not? I don’t know how it worked in the dream, but I think that I can do it again. But I have no idea how I do it.”

“I think I know what is happening. But in order to verify my diagnosis I’ll have to hook you up to the connection machine again. See what is going on in your brain. Will that be all right?”

“Of course. I must find out how this is happening.”

She turned on the connection machine while he settled into the chair. The delicate fingers made their adjustments and he leaned back, ordered his thoughts.

“Then here is what we will do.” She moved the cursor through the menu on her screen. “Here is an article I downloaded into my computer yesterday from a journal. It’s titled ‘Protospecialist Intensities in Juvenile Development.’ Do you know anything about the subject?”

“I know a bit about what protospecialists are. The nerve centers located in the brain stem that are responsible for most of our basic instincts. Hunger, rage, sex, sleep – things like that. But I don’t think that I ever read any article like that.”

“You couldn’t have, it was only published a few months ago. Then I am going to load it into your implant CPU’s memory – under that title.” She quickly touched the keys, then turned back to him. “It should be there now. See if you are aware of it. Are you?”

“No, not really. I mean I can remember the title because I just heard it.”

“Then try to do what you did a little while ago, what you did in the dream. Tell me about the article.”

Brian’s lip tightened as he frowned, struggling inside his brain with invisible effort.

“Something – I can’t tell. I mean there is something there if I can only get close to it. Get a handle on it…” His eyes opened wide and he began to speak, the words tumbling from his lips.

“…as the child grows, each primitive protospecialist grows level after level of new memory and management machinery and, at the same time, each of them tends to find new ways to influence and exploit what the others can do. The result of this process is to make the older versions of those specialists less separate and distinct. Thus, as those different systems learn to share their cognitive attachments, the resulting cross-connections lead to the more complex mixtures of feelings characteristic of more adult emotions. And by the time we’re adults, these systems have become too complicated even for ourselves to understand. By the time we’ve passed through all those stages of development, our grown-up minds have been rebuilt too many times to remember or understand much of how it felt to be an infant.”

Brian clamped his lips shut, then spoke again, slowly and hesitantly. “Is that… it? What the article was about?”

Dr. Snaresbrook looked at her screen and nodded. “That is not what it was about – that is it word for word. You’ve done it, Brian! What sensations are connected with it?”

He frowned in concentration. “It’s like a real memory, though not exactly. It’s there but I don’t know all about it. I sort of have to read through it in my thoughts before it is complete, understandable.”