Текст книги "The Turing Option"

Автор книги: Harry Harrison

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

“Not because of me?” He pulled his fingers free of hers, clasped his hands together in his lap.

“Partly, or mostly. I don’t want to be part of a military system that can treat someone so badly. And it is the work as well. I want to work on MI with you – if you will let me.”

Shelly’s voice was low, serious. Her dark eyes were worried, looking into his, searching for help. Brian turned away, seized up his margarita and took a tooth-hurting gulp. “Shelly, listen. I can’t take the responsibility for your decisions. I’m having enough of a job taking care of myself—”

“I’m not asking you to, Brian. You misunderstood. This is my own decision, my own doing, all the way. I know that things are a lot better with you now. But I also know what you have gone through. It shows at times. So please understand that I am resigning from the Air Corps no matter what you say. I’ve served two enlistments more than the agreed time, which means I have more than paid back anything I owe them for my education. And there’s a personal motive as well. I have been so wrapped up in my work that I haven’t noticed the years slipping by. Not that I’m an old hag yet!”

She laughed and stretched, ran her fingers through her hair, the fullness of her figure clear even in the darkened room. “Shelly, you’re gorgeous. You always will be. But I am too mixed up now, too much on my mind to go into this.”

“Hush,” she said, touching her finger to his lips. “I’m not asking you to do anything, say anything. I came here to tell you that I am through with the Air Force. I’ll drop you a note as soon as I am free of their clutches. With my background I can get work anywhere, double the salary I have been getting. Don’t worry about me. But if there is anything I can do to help with AI development – I want to do it. Be part of it. Okay?”

“Okay. You do understand?”

“More than you think, Brian…” His telephone bleeped. “Excuse me a second. Yes?”

“Sven here. Sven-2 has made some significant and highly interesting discoveries. Would it be possible for you to return here?”

“Yes, of course.” He slipped the phone back onto his belt, stood. “I have to get back to the lab—”

She jumped to her feet, angry and hurt. “You’ve hired someone else to work with you while I was away? That’s what all this was about.”

“Shelly – your paranoia is showing. That was Sven, remember, our AI. He’s running some programs and there are results he wants to ask about.”

She laughed. “You’re right. Incipient paranoia. Too many years in uniform. I’ll just have to get out.”

She took his hands in hers, stood up on tiptoe and kissed him warmly on the cheek, let go and turned toward the door. “You will call?”

“A promise – and I mean it. When I start developing the AI applications I want you there. Good luck to your father.”

He picked up his military guardians as he walked quickly back to the lab. He liked Shelly, liked to work with her – but did not want to think about that now. Later when and if everything cooled down. And what the blazes had Sven been talking about? No details on the phone of course because of security. But it had seemed insistent – and this was the very first time it had called like that.

Sven was waiting at the door when he came in, led the way across the lab.

“Sven-2 has been spending a long time on an analysis of the Bug-Off AI. The results are most interesting.”

“I am sure you will find them so,” Sven-2 said, picking up the conversation when they approached. “I believe that your plan has been to visit the country of Rumania. To search for any traces or clues that might lead you to Dr. Bociort. Is that not correct?”

“Yes.”

“It will not be necessary. You must go to Switzerland. I have located this country in Europe—”

“I know where Switzerland is. But why are you telling me this?”

“Because of a most interesting anomaly I found in the software. It didn’t seem to make any sense and at first I thought it might be part of a computer virus. But when I examined it more closely I found that it was a loop of instructions buried in another sequence that was programmed to bypass the loop. It was then that I recognized it as a fragment of code written in the old computer language LAMA-3.”

“But that’s impossible – almost impossible. There is only one person in the world who knows that language.”

“Three, you might say. You, because you invented it for your own use, and…”

“And you, because evidently you must have inherited a copy of that part of my brain! But who would be the third person you referred to? Bociort! Because he deciphered my notes. But this can only mean…”

“… that this was his message intended for you.”

“Out with it! What did it say!”

“Close examination of the fragment of unexecutable code revealed that it was a command that read… sequence terminated because of a type-2341 8255-8723 banjax.”

“Banjax! That’s Irish slang, means sort of fouled up.”

“I agree. I have heard you use the term upon occasion and a search of dictionary data bases determine its origin. Therefore I felt that this loop was put there to draw your attention. Which meant the numbers might have some significance. A brief cryptanalysis revealed the content.”

“To you perhaps – -but it just sounds like numbers to me.”

“Not just numbers – but a message.”

“Do you understand it?”

“I believe I do. It starts with the numbers 2 and 3. If you take the letters of the alphabet the first two digits of the message then become ‘BC.’ Which could stand for Bociort.”

“Isn’t that a little farfetched? It could also be the abbreviation for Before Christ or Baja California.”

“Perhaps, but not if you know what you are looking for. The number 41 is the international dialing code for Switzerland, 82 the code for St. Moritz. The remaining six digits could be a phone number in that city.”

Brian was stunned. It was almost too easy. But it was surely no accident. Had it been put in there on purpose – for him to find?

“The solution of this problem seems to be to place a phone call to this number,” Sven said.

“Agreed – but not from here or anywhere on this base. There is no way we can follow through with this until I am out of here and have access to a telephone that isn’t tapped. Sven, you remember the number until then. Meanwhile let’s put it on the long finger.”

“I am not familiar with that term.”

“I am,” Sven-2 said. Was there a hint of intellectual superiority in its words? “It is an Irish colloquialism equivalent to the American term ‘to spike,’ meaning to put aside for the moment, both terms derived from an outmoded office device consisting of a length of sharpened rod held vertical in a metal base…”

“Enough!” Brian ordered. “That is a very academic lecture. You should be teaching school.”

“Thank you for saying that; it is an option to consider.”

Brian looked bemusedly at the rack of electronic equipment with the invisible and very humanlike brain inside. A bit of biblical quote sprang instantly to mind. What hath God wrought!

No God here. What had he wrought!

37
December 16, 2024

Erin Snaresbrook found the call waiting on her phone when she came out of surgery.

“Hi, Doc, Brian here. Could you phone me when you get a minute?”

She replaced the telephone and found that her heart was pumping a bit fast. She smiled wryly. Wonderful. Three hours of surgery to remove a tumor from that boy’s brain, and her pulse beat just plugged along normally all the time. Now one phone call and her body was getting ready to run a hundred meters in ten seconds. Even though she had been expecting this call. Not dreading it, just reluctantly expecting it.

She made a double espresso before she even considered calling back, sipped most of it. It was six in the evening. He couldn’t possibly want to see her today? No, the agreement was for a few days’ lead time at least. The coffee finished, she hit the button to code in his number.

“I got your message, Brian.”

“Thanks for ringing back. Look, I think your suggestion was right that we ought to have a few more sessions with my CPU. And we’ll do it right here in the lab where we can use the MI as well.”

“I’m glad you agree. Tomorrow?”

“No, too soon. I have some work to finish first. What do you say to Thursday afternoon? Around three?”

“That’s fine. See you there.”

It wasn’t fine at all. She had to rearrange a half dozen appointments to make the time. Well, she had promised.

She had driven this route so often that it was exactly three o’clock on Thursday afternoon when she drove through the Megalobe gate. There were two soldiers sitting on the clinic steps when she drew up.

“Sick call, boys?” she asked as she got out.

“No, ma’am, we’re volunteers. Brian said you had some equipment to move today and we volunteered. After he paid us for the drinks.”

“You don’t have to do that, the machine’s not so heavy.”

“Yes, ma’am. But there’s two of us and just one of you. And good old Billy here can do a hundred push-ups. You wouldn’t want all that red-meat muscle to go to waste?”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t.” She unlocked the trunk. “If you’ll bring that box inside we’ll load it up.”

She had some foam rubber, that she had used as padding when her connection machine had been brought here from the hospital, and she put that into the box. Under her instruction they loaded in the machine, then carried it out to the car.

“I told you it Wasn’t heavy,” she said.

“No, ma’am. But we’ll take it out as well at the other end. We promised.”

“Climb in. I’ll give you a lift.”

“Sorry, but it’s the Major’s orders. No driving in vehicles on base and double-time between buildings.”

They jogged off, were waiting when she got there since she had to go the longer way around by road. Brian opened the door and the two soldiers carried the box in while the guards at the door looked on. It was all very simple.

“My heart was in my throat the entire time,” she said after they were gone and the door closed.

“Get the nerves over with now because the real fun is later.”

“Fun! I prefer surgery anytime.”

Dr. Snaresbrook’s connection machine was unloaded and carefully stowed away. Brian put a small bit in the chuck of the electric drill and made a hole in the lid of the reinforced metal box.

“Sven didn’t like the idea of being locked away in the dark all the time.” He held up a metal button with a flexible lead running from it. “Got a sound and optic pickup here. Mount it behind the hole, plug it in—”

“And you have a suitcase that watches you and listens to your conversations! This thing is getting crazier all the time.”

Sven had been monitoring everything. As soon as Brian was finished the MI stepped into the box and plugged in the connections. The robot seemed to melt into the container as each of its myriad joints folded against the next one – like blades on a hundred-tool Swiss Army knife. Compacted even further until the treelike structure was an almost solid mass at the bottom of the box. The eyestalks retracted and swiveled to watch Brian as he packed the dummy head in next to its inert central torso cylinder, put in the hat as well, shoes, gloves and clothes, and on top of everything a carry-on airline bag.

“Ready?”

“You may seal me in now.”

Brian closed and locked the box. “That’s step number one,” he said.

“Are you having those two soldiers back to load it into the car?”

“Never! They’ll be going on perimeter guard duty about now, that’s why I chose them. The box is a heck of a lot heavier than it was when they brought it in. They would be sure to notice that. But we’ll get the guards here to help us take it out. They never picked it up – so they won’t notice any change!”

“You are turning into quite a conniver, Brian.”

“Comes naturally. From leading a disreputable childhood. Come over here and I’ll introduce you to Sven-2. Identical with Sven in the box – at least identical at the time they separated. Except he is not yet mobile – his new body parts have yet to arrive.”

“Can I talk to this AI of yours?”

“Of course. And it is MI, that’s the term now. Machine intelligence. Nothing artificial about these machines – they’re the real McCoy. Their established networks have thoroughly assimilated different commonsense data bases like CYC-5 and KNOWNET-3. This is the first time anyone has combined several different ways to think into one system, tying them together with transverse paranomes… And this was done without having to force all the different kinds of knowledge into the same rigid, standard form. But it wasn’t easy to do. The MI is called Sven, a corruption of Seven, because there were six failures. They all worked at first and then deteriorated in different ways.”

“I don’t see a lot of robot bodies around. What did you do with them?”

“There was nothing at all wrong with the robot body. It was only a matter each time of loading new software.”

“Might I interrupt?” Sven said. “And add to that. Some parts of the previous versions still exist. I can access them should I wish to. MIs don’t die. When something goes wrong the program is modified from the point where the trouble began. It is good to be able to remember one’s past.”

“It is also good to remember more than one past,” Sven-2 said. “By activating certain groups of nemes, I can remember a lot of what three, four and six experienced. Each version of me – us – functioned reasonably well before breaking down. Each failed in different ways.”

Snaresbrook could scarcely believe this was happening. Talking to a robot – or was it two robots, about its, or their, early developmental experiences, traumas, and critical experiences. It was difficult to remain matter-of-fact about it.

“Am I beginning to notice personality differences between the two Svens?” she asked.

“Very possible,” Brian said. “They are certainly no longer completely identical. Since the initial duplication, they have each been operating in quite different environments. Sven is mobile while Sven-2 has no body, only a few remote sensors and effectors. So now they have quite a few different memories.”

“But can’t they be merged? The way we merged your own DAIs after they had read all those different books?”

“Perhaps. But I have been afraid to try to merge Sven’s semantic net with that of Sven-2, because their representations of sensory-motor experience might be incompatible.”

“I think that a merger would be ill-advised,” Sven-2 said. “I am concerned that my middle-level management structure might reject entire sections of my physical-world representations. Because of the Principle of Noncompromise.”

“That’s one of our basic operating principles,” Sven added. “Whenever two subagencies propose incompatible recommendations, their managers start to lose control. When this happens a higher-level manager looks for some third agency to take over. That is usually much faster and more effective than becoming paralyzed while the two differing agencies fight for control. That’s what kept happening to model two, before Brian rebuilt the whole management system to be based on Papert’s principle.”

“Well,” Snaresbrook said, “whatever anyone might say, these machines are simply amazing. Nothing artificial about them at all – and they are remarkably human in many ways. And for some reason they both remind me quite a bit of you.”

“That’s not too surprising since their semantic networks are based on the data that you downloaded from my very own brain.” He looked at his watch. “It’s seven o’clock and a good time to call a halt. The three of us are going now, Sven-2 – and hopefully I won’t be back here for some time.”

“I wish you and Sven all the best of luck and look forward to a detailed report upon your return. In the meantime I have research and reading that will keep me quite occupied. In addition, since I lack mobility, I shall construct a virtual reality for myself, a simulated three-dimensional world of my own.”

“Well, you will have plenty of privacy for that. The only way anyone can get in here is by blowing open the door and I think that Megalobe will take a very dim view of that.”

Brian dragged the now weighty box to the front entrance and opened it. “Hey, guys, you want to give Doc a hand with this thing?”

If the two soldiers noticed the weight they did not mention it, just not the macho thing to do since the others had carried it in so easily.

“You go ahead, Doc,” Brian said. “I’ll walk over with these guys.”

He had told her the exact spot where she was to park the car, in the lot behind the barracks, and was sure that she would get it right. He jogged back and, moaning insincere complaints, the two guards did so as well. They reached the barracks just as she drove up.

“Should I lock the car up?” she asked, then put the keys in her purse at the soldiers’ protestations of complete safety and security.

“Just a dry sherry,” she said in the club, and frowned when Brian ordered a large whiskey for himself. There was no need to look at their watches since a digital readout over the bar told them the time. Brian put a lot of water in his drink and only sipped it. They talked quietly as off-duty soldiers came in, others left, both of them trying very hard not to keep looking at the clock. Yet the instant the half hour flipped over Brian was on his feet.

“No – I don’t want to!” he said loudly. “It’s just getting impossible.” He pushed his chair back, banged into the table as he turned and spilled his drink. He did not look back as he stamped from the room, slammed the door. The barman hurried over with a towel and cleaned up the spill.

“I’ll get another one,” he said.

“No need. I don’t think that Brian will be coming back tonight.”

She was aware of everyone pointedly not looking in her direction as she sipped the rest of her drink. Took out her organizer as she punched in some notes. When she was ready to leave she picked up her purse, looked around the room, then went over to a sergeant who was drinking at the bar.

“Excuse me, Sergeant – but is Major Wood here today?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Could you tell me how to find him?”

“I’ll take you there if you don’t mind.”

“Thank you.”

When he had slammed out of the bar it took all of Brian’s control not to run up the stairs two at a time. Fast, yes, but running and drawing any attention was not a good idea. He locked the door behind him, then grabbed up the pliers he had placed on the table. Sven had sawn through the lock of the alarm bracelet on his wrist, then sealed it again with a small metal loop. Brian broke this off, dropped pliers and bracelet on the bed, tore his trousers off as he ran across the room, hopping on one foot and almost falling he pulled off his shoes as well. The plastic container of bubble bath was still sitting on the sink where he had left if. He seized it up, started to open it – then cursed aloud.

“Moron – the gloves first. Everything is timed. But don’t forget any of the details or this thing is not going to work!”

He turned the water on in the sink, rinsed his head under the faucet and kept it running. Clumsily opened the container with his gloved hands, bent over the sink and poured half the contents over his head, rubbed it in.

Although the liquid was transparent it turned his hair black on contact. It was a commercial hair dye that was guaranteed to darken the hair but not the skin. He wore the gloves because fingernails and hair are virtually identical – and black nails would certainly bring unwanted attention. He used the remaining liquid to touch up the lighter places and to very carefully dye his eyebrows.

After toweling his hair dry he rinsed off the gloves and plastic container. He would take the empty dye bottle with him. Put the gloves in the kitchen drawer and fold the towel at the bottom of the clean pile. If he got away with this plan there would be an investigation and the technicians would eventually find traces of the dye – but he did not want to make it easy for them. A quick glance at his watch. Only three minutes to go!

He pulled out the bottom drawer of the bureau – so hard that it crashed to the floor. Leave it there! Pulled on the uniform shut over the short-sleeved shirt he was wearing, then the trousers, tied the laces on the military dress shoes, struggled to knot his khaki tie.

It was a different Brian who looked back out of the mirror, adjusting the parachutist’s cap at the same rakish angle that the others did. 82d Airborne, he had sewn the shoulder patch on himself. No stripes, a private, one more of many, in uniform – meaning the same – and that’s what he wanted to be.

He was just jamming his wallet into his pocket when his telephone rang.

“Yes. Who is it?”

“It’s Dr. Snaresbrook, Brian. I wonder if I could…”

“I don’t feel like talking now, Doctor. I’m going to make a sandwich, have a lot to drink, watch some repulsively stupid television and go to bed early. I’ll maybe talk to you tomorrow. And if you want to talk to me before then – don’t. Because I’m turning off this phone.”

Just two minutes now. He started to hook the phone onto his belt – realized that he could easily be tracked through it – threw it onto the bed instead. Picked up the dye container in a paper bag. Lights off, open the door a crack. Hall was empty. Lock the door behind him, quietly now. Quickly to the fire stair in the rear. His heart was thudding violently as he eased the heavy door shut behind him.

Still in luck. The corridor reaching to the back entrance to the building was empty. Walk slowly, past the open door to the kitchen – don’t look in! – and ease open the rear door.

He stepped aside as the two cooks, wearing their whites, came in. They were arguing about baseball, apparently took no notice of him. But they would surely remember a soldier going out if something went wrong. If the alarm went now they would lead the guards right to him.

There was the car, in the shadow of the building, the only place in the lot not illuminated by the mercury vapor lights.

He looked around quickly, three soldiers in the lot walking away from him. No one else. He eased open the back door of the car and slipped in, closing it behind him while trying not to let it slam. Locked it and dropped to the floor, pulling the blanket over him.

“He’s a very upset young man,” Erin Snaresbrook said, rising to her feet.

“We all know that,” Major Wood said. “And we don’t like it. But we have our orders and there is absolutely nothing that I or anyone else can do about it.”

“Then I will go over your head. Something must be done to help him.”

“Please do that – and I wish you luck.”

“He was very upset on the phone just now. He has locked himself in his room, doesn’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Understandable. He might be better in the morning.”

“Well, I certainly hope so.”

He showed her to the front door, started to come with her to the car. She stopped and rooted in her purse for her car keys, took them out along with one of her business cards that she handed to the officer.

“I want you to phone me, night or day, Major, if you are concerned in any way about his well-being. I hope something really will be done before it is too late. Good-bye.”

“I’ll do that, Doctor. Good-bye.”

She walked slowly out of the building and to the parking lot. Got into the car, not daring to glance at the backseat. Started the engine and looked about. There was no one nearby.

“Are you – there?” she whispered.

“You better believe it!” was the muffled answer.

She drove to the gate. Nodded to the guards when the barrier rose, drove out into the star-pricked darkness.