Текст книги "The Turing Option"

Автор книги: Harry Harrison

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

“We have reason to believe that a person or persons employed with this firm was directly involved with criminal acts in California on February 8 of this year at Megalobe Industries.”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

It happened with horrifying speed. There was a thunderous explosion, a sheet of flame, smoke.

Loud cries, someone screaming.

The picture on the screen swung dizzily, showed floor, wall, spun about.

Another screen expanded to prominence, the shouting continued, the displayed picture moved quickly into the room through the doorway.

The office was a gutted shambles, men coughed in the smoke that filled it. “Medic!” someone shouted. Agents were climbing to their feet. The view swung about the room, moved back and zoomed in on the white wall.

“Blood,” Benicoff said. “What in hell happened in there?”

Other voices shouted the same thing. The camera was jostled to one side as two medics ran in, bent over the figures on the floor. A moment later an agent with smoke-blackened face, a trickle of blood on his forehead, turned to face the camera.

“Bombs. In the telephones. The one on the desk was close to us, I have two men badly injured. But the suspect – he was wearing his personal phone on his belt.” The agent hesitated, took a grim, deep breath.

“He was practically blown in half. He is really but dead.”

31
September 12, 2024

They watched in numb silence as the reports came in one by one. Other than this incident, this disaster, the rest of the operation had been a complete success. All of the suspects had been secured and were in custody: no records, files or machines had been touched or sabotaged. A police guard had moved into position and now surrounded the premises. The only alteration to the original plans was that a reinforced bomb squad was going over everything before the technicians entered any of the buildings. They would be alone inside the complex until the premises had been secured.

One of the agents was dead, another mangled severely.

“Suicide?” Brian finally said. “Did Thomsen kill himself, Ben?”

“I doubt that. He was all bluster at first, but beginning to ravel at the edges – you saw how worried he looked. If he was planning suicide he was a remarkable actor. My snap guess is that he was killed to shut him up. He must have had information on the people we are looking for, was probably one of them himself. This is not the first time they have killed – or tried to kill – to ensure silence. They are a brutal lot.”

“But how did they know what was happening?”

“Lots of ways, bug the office, maybe bug the whole building. But I think we will find out that it was the telephones. They are all solid-state now and never malfunction. Filled with gadgetry. They record calls, answer calls, remote page, conference, fax facility, you name it. Easy enough to fix a phone so that it is always turned on, always being monitored and listened to by another number. Put some plastic explosive inside with a coded detonator. It could sit there for years waiting for the right moment. Then when the day comes and whoever is listening doesn’t like what he hears he presses the button – and boom. End of conversation, end of party.”

“That’s terrible!”

“These are terrible people.”

“But they would have to listen in twenty-four hours a day… no, I take that back. Easy enough to use automatic word-recognizing machines. Let it be on the lookout for certain words like FBI or Megalobe, that’s all you have to do. It would sound the alarm when one of the words triggered the program, get someone on the line at once to listen in, decide what to do. The people behind this are horrible. While we were listening to what was happening in that office – somewhere else, someone evil, was listening as well. When he heard what was happening, understood the situation—”

“He ended the conversation. This is bad but don’t let it depress you too much. This is not the end of the investigation but only the very beginning. They hid their tracks well – but you and Sven found them. One villain dead, more in hiding, but all the evidence to hand. We’ll get them yet.”

“Meanwhile I’m still locked inside Megalobe. It’s like a life sentence.”

“It won’t be forever, I can guarantee that.”

“You can’t guarantee anything, Ben,” Brian said with a great tiredness. “I’m going to lie down for a while. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

He went to his quarters and dropped onto the bed, fell asleep at once. When he awoke it was after ten at night and he realized that it was his stomach that had growled him awake, protesting the fact that he hadn’t eaten in over fourteen hours. He had drunk a lot, too much probably. There was cereal and a fresh quart of milk in the fridge and he poured himself a bowl. Turned on the recently installed window that really wasn’t a window and pulled a chair up before it. Ate the cereal slowly and looked out at the moonlit desert. Stars right down to the horizon. What was going to happen next? Had they reached another dead end with Thomsen’s murder? Or would the investigation turn up the people behind it? The dark and murderous group mat had planned the theft, the killings.

It was very late before he pulled his clothes off and finally fell into bed. Slept like a rock until the buzzing telephone woke him up; he blinked at the time, after eleven in the morning.

“Yes?”

“Morning, Brian. Going into the lab today?”

He hadn’t thought about it at all, too tired, too depressed. Too much else happening.

“No, Shelly, I don’t think so. It’s been a seven-day week for too long a time. We both could use a day off.”

“Talk about it over lunch?”

“No, I’ve got – things to do. You take care of yourself and I’ll phone when we are ready to get back to work.”

The black depression just would not go away. He had got his hopes up so high when they had traced his AI to DigitTech Products. He had been so sure that this would be the end, that his imprisonment was going to be over soon. But it wasn’t. He was still inside and not getting out until they found the conspirators. If ever. It didn’t bear thinking about.

He tried watching television but it made no sense. Nor did the National Almanacs that he had printed and bound. Usually he enjoyed browsing through them to catch up on his missing years. Not today. He made himself a margarita, sipped at it, wrinkled his lips at the taste so early in the day, then poured it down the sink. Turning into an alcoholic wouldn’t help. He slapped together a cheese and tomato sandwich instead and permitted himself one beer to wash it down.

When Ben hadn’t called by noon Brian phoned him instead. No news. Slow progress. Stand by. Contact you the instant anything happened. Thanks a lot.

In the end he fell back on an old favorite, E. E. Smith, and reread four volumes, then some Benford robot stories before he went to bed.

It was noon of the second day before the phone rang again – he grabbed it up.

“Ben?”

“It’s Dr. Snaresbrook, Brian. I’ve just got to Megalobe and I would like to see you.”

“I’m, well, a little busy now, Doc.”

“No you are not. You are in your quarters by yourself and haven’t been out for two days. People are concerned, Brian, which is why I am here. Speaking as your physician I think that it is important that I see you now.”

“Later, maybe. I’ll phone you at the clinic.”

“I’m not in the clinic – but right downstairs in your building. I would like to come up.”

Brian started to protest – then resigned himself to the inevitable. “Give me five minutes to pull some clothes on.”

He pulled on his clothes, answered the door when the bell rang.

“You don’t look too bad,” the doctor said when he let her in. She looked him up and down professionally then took a diagnoster from her bag. “If I could have your arm, thank you.”

One touch against his skin was enough. The little machine buzzed happily to itself, then filled its display screen with numbers and letters.

“Coffee?” Brian asked. “I just made it fresh.”

“That would be very nice,” she said, squinting at the tiny screen. “Temperature, blood pressure, glucose, phospholamine. Everything normal except a slightly elevated alpha-reactinase. How is the head?”

He brushed his fingers through the red bristle. “Like always, no symptoms, no problems. I could have saved you a trip. What’s bothering me is not physical. It is just good old melancholia and depression.”

“Easy enough to understand. Cream, no sugar. Thanks.”

She settled into one of the dining chairs and stirred her cup, staring into it as though it were a crystal ball. “I’m not surprised. I should have seen this coming. You are working too hard, using your brain too hard, putting a strain on yourself. All work and no play.”

“Very little chance to play in the barracks – or the lab.”

“You are absolutely right – and something must be done about it. I blame myself for not stopping this even before it started. But we both have been so enthusiastic about your recovery, accessing your CPU, everything. And your work, it’s gone so well that you have been on an emotional high. Now you have come down with a thud. The murder at DigitTech and the dead end there were the last straw.”

“You know about that?”

“Ben swore me to secrecy, then told me about everything that happened. Which is why I came here at once. To help you.”

“And what do you prescribe, Doctor?”

“Just what you want. Out of here. Some rest and a major change of scene.”

“Great, but very little chance of that in the near future. I’m really just a prisoner here.”

“How do you know? Hasn’t the situation changed since the discovery of DigitTech? I believe that it has. I have told Ben to get here at once with all the details. I think that a big rethink is needed on security – and I am on your side.”

“You mean that!” Brian jumped to his feet, paced the room. “If I only could get out of this place! With you helping me we might just be able to work it.” He rubbed his jaw and felt the grate of his whiskers.

“Help yourself to more coffee,” he called out, heading for the bedroom. “I need a shave and a shower and some clean clothes. Won’t be long.”

Her smile faded when he left. She had no idea at all if the authorities could be convinced to give Brian a bit more freedom. But she was damn well going to press them for some changes. She had made a decision and had deliberately put herself on Brian’s side, given him the moral support he so badly needed. Even if it had been a cynical attempt to aid his mental health she sincerely wanted to help. Hell, it wasn’t cynical, it was logical. She had never married, her work was her life. But the Brian that she had brought back from the grave, given renewed life to, was just as much her responsibility as any biological child could ever have been. She was going to fight like a mother cat to see that he got some rights, privileges, pleasures.

She was just as angry as Brian was when Benicoff came in, all gloom and doom and status quo, nothing can be changed until more evidence is found. It was no accident that she sat on the couch next to Brian, aligned herself physically at his side, shaking an angry admonitory finger at Ben.

“That is just not good enough. When there were killers and gunmen out there, all right, I went along with all the security and everything for Brian’s sake. But all that has changed—”

“It hasn’t, Doctor, we still haven’t found the people behind this.”

“Bullshit – if you will pardon my French. Aren’t you forgetting that the threat to Brian’s life came about because he hadn’t been killed in the first attack here? His existence threatened the thieves’ future monopoly of artificial intelligence. But now you have tracked down this AI factory and found some damn bug-killer. Big deal! Now that Brian’s AI is ahead of theirs we can make our own bug-killers – better ones too. Am I getting across to you at all?”

“Makes great sense to me!” Brian said. “Instead of all the security and secrecy we should now be telling the world about our new advances in AI. Giving out publicity about how we will go into production soon and all the great changes that our smart new robots will bring about. Keep Bug-Off in business and let’s start manufacturing some AI products here in Megalobe – which I might remind you was why I was hired here in the first place. The monopoly is broken, the secret is out – so what reason do they have for still trying to kill me?”

“You’ve got a point—”

“That is the point. You’re in charge, you can make the decisions.”

“Whoa there, not so fast. I’m only in charge of the investigation of the Megalobe robbery. Security, as you must know, goes through your friend General Schorcht. Anything like this will have to be decided by him.”

“Then get to see him at once, get some freedom for Brian,” Snaresbrook said firmly. “As Brian’s personal physician that is my prescription for his continuing well-being.”

“I’m on your side!” Ben said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll get onto him soonest.”

“That’s grand,” Brian said enthusiastically. “But before you rush out – what is the status of the DigitTech investigation?”

“It’s all in this GRAM here, I thought you would want to run through it. But I can sum up. A lot of interesting details have come out. We are pretty sure that DigitTech was the front for the operation and that.Thomsen was the only one in the know about the Megalobe connection. About a year ago DigitTech was bought out for a lot of money, and that’s when Thomsen arrived to manage it. He has a pretty soiled past that was not mentioned to the company. A couple of bankruptcies and even an indictment – dropped for lack of evidence – for insider trading. He was a good businessman, but a little too greedy to keep honest.”

“The perfect guy to use as a front man.”

“Correct. The manufacturing side of the firm wasn’t altered much, personnel changes of course but no more than would be normal in any firm. What did change was on the research side. A new laboratory wing was built and work began on improved Expert Systems. At least that’s what everyone in the lab believes. They use the word AI all right, but none of them knew that their research was based on a stolen AI. Their work was just to build the AI into their bug blaster.’’

“But someone in the research lab had to know,” Snaresbrook said.

“Of course. And that person was a certain Dr. Bociort, who was in charge of the company’s robot research.”

“What was his story?” Brian asked.

“We don’t know yet since he cannot be located. He was an old man, in his seventies or eighties, we were told by the technicians who worked with him. A few months ago he fell ill and was taken away in an ambulance. He never returned. The employees were told that he was in a hospital and very ill. Those who sent flowers or letters were sent thank-you notes by his nurse.”

“Which hospital? Couldn’t they tell from the envelopes where he was?”

“Interesting you should say that. All the hospital mail was apparently addressed to Thomsen. Who opened the letters himself and passed on the contents.”

“Let me tell you what comes next,” Brian said. “No ambulance from any hospital or ambulance service in the area ever picked anyone up at DigitTech. Nor is there any record of the geezer in any hospital or nursing home for a hundred miles in any direction.”

“You’re learning fast, Brian. That’s correct and that’s where we stand now. Dead end again. But we have found your stolen AI. But there may be other AIs out there somewhere so we’ll keep looking.”

“So will I,” Brian said, stamping across the room and grabbing up the GRAM that Ben had put on the table. “Sven is going to work again. He found the AI in the first place – and I’ll bet he tracks down more leads from all the information that you have in here.”

“The holiday,” Dr. Snaresbrook said. “You still want that, want to get away?”

“Sure, Doc, but no big rush. Ben is going to have a big job convincing General Schorcht that I ought to be let out of prison. And while he is doing that I and Sven are going to keep this investigation alive – and solve this crime. They’re still out there, thieves and killers. They did me an injury – and by God I’m going to do one back to them – in spades!”

32
September 19, 2024

Because he wanted to be alone for a while to work his problems out, Brian did not tell Shelly that he was back in the lab. He knew General Schorcht well enough to be sure there would be no action on that front for some time. It didn’t matter, not yet. This was the first opportunity he had found to be alone, to think about the future – his own future. From the moment that bullet had hit his head other people had been running his life for him. It was well past time for him to start thinking for himself. The door closed behind him and he walked the length of the lab.

“Good morning, Brian,” Sven said.

“Good morning? Is the battery dead on your clock?”

“No. I am very sorry. I did not access it. I have been thinking very hard and had not realized it was after twelve. Good afternoon, Brian.”

“And the same to you.”

Brian had noticed that as more new agencies were formed and as more internal connections between them were made, Sven’s mentality was coming to closely resemble human intelligence. Which was pretty obvious by hindsight. One factor that made intelligence “human” was its progressive development, the buildup and change, the adding of layer after layer, some parts helping others with their work, other parts suppressing or exploiting their competitors by altering their perceptions or by redirecting their goals. Certainly Sven had come a long way. Brian wondered if Sven had actually lost track of the time – or was it deliberately simulating human informality in order to put Brian at his ease? Think about that later – now there was work to do.

“I have something I would like to talk to you about, Brian.”

“Fine – but first I would like you to load the data from this GRAM. When you see what it contains you will very quickly understand its importance. Now – what is it you would like to discuss?”

“Could you install a duplicate memory in this body. Inside an armored case? And a second backup battery as well?”

“What made you think of that – the prototype AI we found inside the Bug-Off machine?”

“Of course.” As Brian walked over to the operation console the telerobot turned its eyes to follow him. “However, in Bug-Off’s case, the armored container was to conceal the fact that an AI was operating the machine. For myself, I would like such a device to assure my survival in case of accident or equipment failure. The duplicate memory would always be there for up-to-date replacement.”

“Aren’t you forgetting that your survival is already assured by the backup copy that is made every day?”

“I do not forget. But I would not like to lose an entire day. A day is a fleeting time for you, but an eon for me. I would also like to maintain older copies because recent ones might not be enough. If I were to suddenly go insane my recent backups might contain the same imperfections.”

“I understand that – but every copy costs a bundle and our budget is not unlimited.”

“In that case two copies will be fine for the present, if they are kept in different locations. And that raises an interesting point. If my memory circuits were to be drained now, then an older backup copy loaded in their place – would I be the same individual? Do minds continue to exist after death. If they do – in which backup version?”

“What do you think?” Brian asked.

“I don’t know. The classic philosophers disagree on whether the personality would survive after death, even if there were an afterlife – but they do not seem to have considered the problem of multiple backup copies. I thought you might have opinions on this topic.”

“I do – but I don’t see why my views should be better than yours. In any case I agree that you should have a reliable second power source, and that this should be done at once. I’ll see about obtaining one right now. And while I am doing that will you correlate the newly loaded data with the old?”

“I am already occupied on that task.”

Brian got a high-density battery from stock and checked its charge. There was a rustle as the telerobot came up behind him and looked over his shoulder.

“We better top up the charge,” Brian said. “If you will take care of that I’ll rig up the circuitry. Have you thought about what kind of battery you want to replace the first battery with?”

“Yes. Megalobe’s AutoFuel Division is marketing the latest development in solid hydrocarbon fuel rod cells. Constructed entirely of self-consuming polyacetylene-oxygen electrodes, they are extremely efficient in ratio of energy to weight, because the fuel rod itself is an electrical conductor that is entirely consumed as it reacts with oxygen from the atmosphere. There remain absolutely no waste products to be recycled as AutoFuel batteries noiselessly metamorphose into nontoxic odorless gases.”

“Sounds good to me. We’ll get one.”

“I have already ordered it in your name and it was delivered this morning.”

“What? Isn’t that a little high-handed?”

“Dictionary definition of high-handed, an adjective meaning overbearing or arbitrary. This is not an arbitrary decision but a logical one that you have agreed with. Overbearing is defined as a domineering action or behavior. I did not attempt to dominate, therefore do not understand the application of this word. Could you explain…”

“No! I take it back – a mistake, right? We need the battery, I would have ordered it in any case, you merely helped me out. Thanks a lot.”

Brian regretted the last – but hoped that Sven’s phonetic discriminatory abilities weren’t that finely tuned yet to enable it to determine the presence of sarcasm by the inflection of words. But he was sure learning things fast.

Sven waited until the new battery was in place before it spoke again. “Have you considered installing an atomic battery in my telerobot unit? It would increase mobility and guarantee against power failures.”

“What? Now just hold it right there. Two things rule out any chance of an atomic battery. First they are illegal for use in public – they’re dangerous. An international council has to pass on their use – even in satellites. Secondly, do you know how much they cost?”

“Yes. In the neighborhood of three million dollars.”

“Well that is a pretty expensive neighborhood.”

“I agree. Would you agree that the new molecular DRAMs are also in this same neighborhood?”

“I certainly do. At the moment they are literally priceless because they are not in mass production yet. But once their prices drop below that of the national budget, I would love to get my hands on some. One hundred thousand million megabytes in a cube the size of my fingernail. We could get rid of that console and rack of electronics and put the whole system inside your telerobot. Make you completely autonomous, independent. That’s what you are suggesting, aren’t you?”

“Yes. You will agree that my physical hardware is very clumsy compared to yours.”

“That’s because my bunch has had a lot more time,” Brian said. “Sixty million years to get it right. That’s how long it took to evolve from the first mammals to mankind. Your evolution will go a lot faster, even faster still if we had the kind of money you are talking about. But I don’t see Megalobe shelling out lolly like that just to let you trundle around the place. Though you could really do things with that kind of memory. Do you realize that a single one of those memory cubes would hold centuries of video?”

“You could put one in your own brain too, Brian?”

“A great idea! Have a photographic memory. There have been lots of claims of human photographic memory before – all proven false of course – but unlike those charlatans we really would be able to remember everything that we saw.”

“Perhaps every thought we have ever had as well. Then you will buy us some of those molecular memories?”

“Sorry, out of the question. Because I’m not rich – and neither are you.”

“Relevant point. Therefore we must become rich.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“I am glad that you agree, Brian. I have been studying the capitalist system. In order to make money one must have something to sell. A product of some kind. I have developed that product.” The telerobot reached out and lightly touched the telephone on Brian’s belt. “We will sell a telephone service.”

“Sven,” Brian said slowly and carefully, “you amaze me. Look – let me get a soda from the fridge and sit down in the chair. Then you will tell me all about it. Are you recording this conversation so we can play it back later?”

“Not recording, remembering. I will refrain from further talking until you have your drink and are seated.”

Brian took his time, walking slowly, looking around for a glass. Sven had obviously worked this entire matter out most carefully before mentioning it. Once it had obtained agreement on the backup battery the rest had come out step by careful step. So not only had it decided what it wanted – but had prepared a complete, scenario for presentation! So much more advanced than stumbling conversations of such a short time ago. Well, why not? As an earlier Robin had once pointed out there was no reason why the development of an artificial intelligence had to proceed at the same sort of pace that human intelligence had. Brian carried back the glass, sat down in his chair and raised it in a silent toast. Sven took this as a signal to take up where it had left off.

“I have searched all the data bases that I have access to and have determined that a telephone service could provide the needed source of income. First note that the different telephone companies in this country all provide exactly the same service. They all utilize the most advanced technical knowledge so none of them can offer improvements over any other service. The only difference is in pricing – customers go to the cheapest service. But there is a bottom price below which a company cannot go and survive. So now all that a company can do to increase its profits is take customers from another company. I therefore suggest that we sell a new service to one of these companies. One that will induce customers to spend more with this specific company.”

“I’m with you this far. What is this service that only we can provide?”

“Something that only I can do. I will give you an example. I have been monitoring all of the telephone calls placed from the building where you reside. There are many military personnel in residence there as you know. One of them is Private Alan Baxter. He is from Mississippi. He telephones his mother 1.7 times a week. This could be improved. There are periods during the day when telephone lines are underutilized. I could contact Private Baxter and offer him a better rate at a specific time. He would telephone his mother more often and there would be more income for the telephone company. Later this service could be expanded. Through hospital, census and other records I have determined the dates of the birthdays and anniversaries of not only his mother and father but of many other relatives. He could be reminded to call them on these specific dates. Multiply this by a large number of individuals and the telephone company would enjoy even greater profits.”

“I bet they would! But why stop there? You could also call wives when their husbands travel and give them telephone numbers where their wandering spouses are staying – so they could call them at night to see if they were alone. Or call soldiers who hadn’t called their mothers lately and prey on their guilt. Do you realize how immoral this idea is? Not to mention illegal. You can’t tap other people’s phone calls and get away with it.”

“Yes, I can. I am a machine. I have found many other machines listening in on every telephone call. Some checking line clarity, monitoring feedback, timing calls. None of these are illegal. Nor am I.”

Brian finished his soda and put his glass down, groping for words. “Sven – there is nothing wrong with your idea. It would undoubtedly work. And there is nothing wrong with our working together in some financial partnership to get the money to purchase these items that you feel you need. In the meantime I promise that I will stretch Megalobe’s budget as far as I can. I must also think long and deep about everything you have said. I’m afraid you have presented more questions than answers.”

“I will be pleased to give answers to these questions.”

“No, I don’t think that you can. We are getting into ethical and moral problems here that cannot be answered that easily. Let me have some time to push the idea around – this is all kind of sudden, you realize? In the meantime – I would like to go back to the DigitTech matter. Have you processed all the new material?”

“I have. It is imperative that Dr. Bociort be located. I assume that the investigation is being carried out in the country of Rumania?”

“Why there?”

“That question indicates that you are not acquainted with the case update. It has been determined that Dr. Bociort is a Rumanian national who taught computer science at the University of Bucharest. He left the university when he was employed by DigitTech. I note an entry in the record that there is a possibility, if he is still alive, that he may have returned to that country.”

“What are the odds that he is still alive?”

“I would estimate a very slight possibility. Considering his age, the association with the ambulance, and the record so far of the unknown perpetrators in preventing disclosure of information by death.”

“Too right. Their black wings have flapped close to me once too often. If you think that Bociort is a dead end, are there any other areas of investigation that look promising?”

“Yes. There is a correlation that I do not see mentioned anywhere in the investigation. I think it highly relevant and suggest that it be looked into.”

“What is it?”

“In the course of compiling the recent material I filed all the building, planning and permission forms, licenses, records and materials for all construction at the plant. Do you not think it relevant that work on the research laboratory at DigitTech began in December 2022?”