“After traveling for such a long time, we should go just a little farther. From within the planetary system, we may learn more.”
I consider the proposition. Anomalous electromagnetic emissions drew us here, and we do not yet know how that phenomenon came about. If, as I expect, the emissions are not attributable to these strange creatures, then something—or someone—else is responsible. That is only elementary logic. One of the People, long ago come to this world and then somehow marooned, seems the most probable explanation.
And so, despite my doubts, I concur. “We will go closer.”
***
In orbit around the third planet, with our ship masked from the crude electromagnetic beams randomly probing from the surface, KTG and I continue to disagree.
“These beings are adapted to their environment,” he says, “as all beings are. Surely their intelligence, likewise adapted to that environment, must differ from ours.”
“You presume they have intelligence,” I counter.
“They build structures. They communicate with one another. How can they not be intelligent?”
Communicate? That was, at best, an exaggeration. In further reverse-engineering the odd transmission protocol, we had found a low-bandwidth subchannel synchronized to the image format. All that orifice flapping served, it would seem, to launch complexly modulated, short-range vibrations into the atmosphere. Could such a slow, short-range medium serve intelligent entities?
As for sensing their environment, these creatures can barely do so. Their visual organs, if our modeling is correct, sample the merest fraction of the electromagnetic spectrum, merely a narrow band from among the few frequencies to which the atmosphere is somewhat transparent. To most of the universe around them, they must be oblivious!
“They build,” I concede. “After a fashion.” Since soon after our first glimpse of these creatures, I have been running simulations. “My models show how seemingly intelligent behavior can emerge from interactions among large numbers of simple forms, each simple form following simple rules.” For emphasis, I reiterate, “Seemingly intelligent.”
“Simple forms like our transistors?”
Again, I sense KTG is tweaking his satisfaction index at the expense of my own.
“Hardly,” I tell my friend. We have assigned labels to many of the things encountered in the enigmatic videos. “Simple forms like ‘ants’ and ‘bees.’ ”
“Perhaps it is the ensemble that is intelligent,” KTG proposes stubbornly.
“Perhaps,” I respond, even as my skepticism function spikes. “But intelligence must be more than assembling structures, and whatever elementary messages are exchanged in the process.”
“Such as what?”
“Consciousness. Self-awareness. Free will.”
“And can you prove,” KTG persists, “that you possess any of those attributes?”
I am reduced to the null response.
***
KTG’s speculations suddenly seem—if only a bit—less implausible.
We have yet to make meaningful progress toward decoding atmospheric pressure waves as a mode of communication. But KTG claims it does not matter. He has shown that those whom we study also exchange data digitally, over a crude network.
This is an absurd fabrication, by absurd creatures, and rife with security vulnerabilities. Nonetheless, KTG ascribes great significance to this rickety construct. “Is it not a marvel what mutation and natural selection can achieve? Over 101111101011110000100000000 or more STU, across 111011100110101100101000000000 or more planets, is it so surprising that a chemical version of intelligence might on occasion emerge?”
At the least, it would surprise me. “A random-number generator, given enough time, could also produce this ‘Internet.’ ”
“I disbelieve the universe is quite that old,” he chides. “And, you must admit, the universe would also need a factory run amok to make and shuffle the physical parts of the network. Come, we have collected plenty of information. Let us explore it.”
***
“We are intelligent,” KTG begins, “and we communicate one with the other. If these humans”—making use of the text string with which, we now knew, the creatures often labeled themselves—“are, in their own way, intelligent, they should be able to communicate with us.”
“Impossible,” I say, concerned that his processing is once again divergent. “Our minds run at least 1001100010010110100000 times faster. We communicate with electromagnetic waves, or packets of electrons or photons, while they use atmospheric waves. We—”
The measure of his enthusiasm is an extreme protocol violation. He interrupted me! “No, my friend, we will communicate with them over their ‘Internet.’ ” He pauses, pensive. “We will try, anyway.
“Humans sometimes communicate among themselves using their Internet. You will use the same means to interact with them.” He explains some of their bizarre message-exchange modalities, with such confusing labels as Twitter, Facebook, texting, email, and chat. “Judge for yourself then whether they are intelligent.”
“What did I ever do to you?” I ask.
Appreciatively, his incongruity filter pulses three times. “With but a tiny part of your attention, you can simultaneously carry on many conversations. There is only one rule to the game: anything that you ask must be fair for them. You cannot request the first 1111101000 digits of pi, and then judge them by the rapidity of their response.”
“An interesting challenge,” I grudgingly admit, “but yet I know they are sacks of chemicals. Might not that knowledge, at some level, affect my assessment?”
“It could,” KTG says. “That is where another aspect of the process matters. From the cacophony of the Internet, I will select the humans with whom you will interact. And I, without announcing myself, presenting myself as a human, will also exchange messages with you. Half of your Internet conversations will be with me, half with randomly chosen humans. After messaging for as long as 300 of their seconds, you decide if you were in contact with a human or with me. Because if you cannot tell us apart …”
KTG expands the experimentation limits of his learning algorithms wider than anyone I have ever known. That is part of his charm. That is also why he is at such high risk of divergence. But this imitation game? I must admit, it is ingenious. “If I cannot tell the difference, you would have it, perhaps they are intelligent.”
His incongruity filter pulses more frenetically than ever. “Shall we begin?”
From the Internet, for reference, I download and index frequently accessed human databases. “I am ready.”
***
Me: “How are you?”
Human candidate (HC) 1: “I can’t complain.”
Me: “I didn’t ask that.”
HC1: “???”
Me: “Are you intelligent?”
HC1: “Are you stupid?”
(Connection broken).
Was that a human, or KTG pretending to be one? Were these odd responses evidence of intelligence, or merely the output of a simple stimulus/response mechanism?
Most of my capacity remains available, and I contact KTG. “I am undecided.”
“Undecided is not an option,” he says. “You must choose, human or me.”
I choose, after a fashion. “I will make a decision about HC1 as I accumulate more experience.” And I move on.
***
Me: “Is there intelligent life elsewhere in the universe?”
HC101: “No small talk. I appreciate that.”
Me: “Not an answer.”
HC101: “Touché. You caught *me* making small talk. Okay, intelligence in the universe. Sure. Why not?”
Me: “Your reasoning?”
HC101: “Enough monkeys, on enough worlds, pounding away on enough typewriters for billions of years. QED.”
Faster than I can find any meaning in that, HC101 adds: “Ideally not in Late Middle English, though. I mean, who *would* fardels bear? Seriously?”
At m
y best human-emulating speed, I continue to mine human reference collections. A typewriter, I ascertain, was a precursor to the most primitive of human calculating devices. Monkeys have flexible members, called fingers, at the ends of their manipulator limbs. Humans do, too. Billions of years …
My synthesis of these incongruous concepts evokes KTG’s mention of the power of mutation and natural selection.
Me: “Nice try.”
I break the connection, then assign HC101 to the list of KTG’s failed imitations.
***
Me: “What’s up for discussion today?”
HC111: “Neutrino oscillations.”
Me: “What about them?”
HC111: “Sooner or later, neutrino astronomy will be a thing. When it is, how will oscillations complicate matters?”
Me: “If they oscillate.”
Neutrinos do, of course. I am testing.
HC111: “They do. It’s not up for debate. Now exactly *how* they oscillate? What that means as far as nailing down rest mass by neutrino type? The implications for the Standard Model? There we have questions.”
Me: “Like what?”
We are quickly deep into specifics. Neutrinos, being elusive by nature, have long been of interest to me. KTG knows this, of course. Does he suppose a feigned “human” conversation on the topic will raise my assessment of these creatures? Does he expect me to believe watery bags of chemicals can interact with neutrinos?
Still, the discussion is stimulating. I let it continue. Until—
Me: “Nice try.”
HC111: “What do you mean?”
Me: “What do you mean, what do I mean?”
HC111: What do *you* mean, what do I … oh, never mind.”
Breaking the connection, I flag HC111 as most certainly KTG.
***
Me: “How are you?”
HC1101: “Fine, dude. You?”
Me (remembering): “Can’t complain.”
HC1101: “Hell, yeah, you can (lol). It’s your god-given right.”
I find lol in an online dictionary. I tentatively equate laugh with a sharp pulsing of a Person’s incongruity filter. Humans communicate with atmospheric waves, what they call sound. Of course they would laugh “out loud,” at least when their purpose is to signal incongruity to another. But HC1101 and I are trading messages without sound.
God is a more subtle concept. Another online resource reveals that humans have long had their own disputes and uncertainties about their origins.
Me: “I don’t think god has anything to do with it.”
HC1101: “So what’s on your mind, dude? Ain’t got all day.”
Was that KTG, being impatient, or a human dissatisfied with the content of my responses? I cannot decide.
Me: “Which god do you have in mind? And for what?”
HC1101: “Let’s leave it at Jesus is my personal Savior. I’m guessing that’s not something you would understand.”
Me: “Correct.”
HC1101: “You’re in the wrong chat, dude. Unless you’ve come to pick a fight. Either way, you and I are done.”
(Connection broken).
The protocols of the Internet are trivial. It would be easy enough to reestablish the link, to extend this dialogue to its allotted 300 seconds. After a few seconds of human/glacial consideration, I conclude there is no need.
Not quite sure why, I add HC1101 to my tally of humans.
***
Me: “Do you have free will?”
HC1111: “Hold on while I flip a coin.”
Me: “???”
HC1111 “How is me giving you an answer any less deterministic than me flipping a coin?”
Flipping a coin, I establish, is a human random-answer generator suited to the making of a binary decision.
Me: “Are you flipping the coin only because I asked? And which side of the coin denotes what answer?”
HC1111: “Life is too short.”
(Connection broken.)
Life would indeed be short for a bag of chemicals, but why—unless you are KTG in disguise—tell it to another human?
I record, once again, that KTG has failed to fool me.
***
Me: “What’s up?”
HC10110: “The sky. The national debt. Doc.”
Snippets, doubtless, randomly copied from some repository of human idioms. I break the connection. Certain almost to the level of 101 standard deviations I add this latest human candidate to the tally for KTG.
***
Me: “I could use a serious conversation.”
HC1010110: “Seriously?”
Me: “lol. It’s why I’m in this chat.”
HC1010110: “*This* chat?!? Right. Did you catch the Oscars?”
Oscars is almost certainly a plural. My first, tentative match with the term Oscar involves a variety of food. I don’t see why bologna would require catching, and move to the next possible interpretation. Oscar can be a personal identifier, derived from Old English (what is that?) words meaning god and spear. As I understand matters, one cannot catch the one and would not want to catch the other. I consider yet other possibilities, processing, according to the rules of this game, at human rates.
HC1010110: “It wasn’t a hard question.”
Stimulus/response, I tell myself. From an idiom repository, I select a neutral response.
Me: “Easy for you to say.”
HC1010110: “You couldn’t not know. I mean, Brittney? That was an *epic* wardrobe malfunction.”
Me: “If you say so.”
HC1010110: “Me and a zillion other guys. I mean, the melons on her? Yowza.”
Melons are fruit. One of the reference databases I had downloaded offers a picture of a certain Carmen Miranda, her sensory-pod filaments covered by an assemblage of fruits. Another database indicates Carmen had a brother named Oscar. I think I understand.
Me: “Bananas are my business.”
HC1010110: “???”
Me: “I refer to the movie about the life of Carmen Miranda. Was that not what you meant?”
HC1010110: “OMG. You are *so* in the wrong chat.”
(Connection broken.)
I imagine KTG, his incongruity filter strobing, offering me such an allusion to Carmen Miranda. So had I been texting with KTG as he pretended at ignorance? Or with a human, being ignorant?
Deciding on the former, I move on.
***
HC1100100 will only discuss program trading, the inevitably looming market crash, and my certain need—surely I must see the need?—to invest in gold. Any intelligent person, HC1100100 insists, must see the wisdom of holding tangible physical assets. Only it emerges that I’m not supposed to hold element 1001111, but rather I’m to seal it inside some impenetrable steel container. HC1100100 can also provide me with such a “safe.”
I require much further explication.
As HC1100100 continues to text, I struggle. This “market” turns out to be an elaborate, dynamic, decentralized process for allocating resources. It defies all reason that bags of chemicals could imagine, much less implement, such a system. But neither does it seem like anything KTG could have devised in so short a time …
Unable to decide, I “flip a coin.” It calls HC1100100 human.
With that datum recorded, the imitation game is complete. I transfer to my friend the tabulation of my decisions.
“I concede this much,” I tell him. “The experiment was diverting.”
KTG pulses his incongruity filter, as though he knows something important that I do not.
“How did I do?” I ask. If I erred more than a few times, I will be surprised.
“You chose ‘human’ 101101 times and ‘KTG’ 110111 times.” Yet again, his incongruity filter throbs.
Sometimes he stresses to its limit my annoyance filter. “I remember you said your personae and actual humans would connect with me in equal quantities. Obviously, I chose incorrectly a few times. It took practice to familiarize myself with
this Internet and how humans ‘communicate.’ ”
“But you are confident that, once you were familiar, you found significant differences between these two groups?”
“Very confident,” I respond.
His incongruity index pulses and pulses, repeatedly spiking to its maximum level. “I lied.”
Lying, I recall, is a humanism. “About what?”
“None of those hundred ‘human candidates’ was me.”
“None?” I repeat.
He transfers to me communication buffers that confirm his assertion.
“Then humans are intelligent,” I say. “Anyway, that is what you would have me infer.” Because, by the logic of his game, that is the preposterous result.
“Answer this,” KTG says. “When you decided that one of the ‘human candidates’ was, in fact, me, did you do so because its responses seemed more intelligent?”
“Often the opposite. I inferred you were mimicking unintelligence, or otherwise trying to manipulate me.”
“And the almost half the candidates you concluded were humans?”
I reexamine 101101 distinct dialogues. Employing my full capacity, this review expends only a very few standard time units. “Did this group of humans exhibit intelligence? I cannot say that, either. It’s more a matter of them responding more obscurely than the first group.”
“Then,” KTG summarizes, “you found neither collection of humans to be intelligent. We have failed the People.”
“Not entirely,” I assure my friend. “We have learned that, when next we find a candidate intelligence to assess, the imitation game is the wrong tool for the task.”
And also, that, in our search for companions, KTG and I must continue our galactic touring.
Afterword
In June 2014 the blogosphere and traditional news sources alike were abuzz with intimations of a true artificial intelligence. More specifically, after decades of disappointment, a piece of software had passed what has become known as the Turing test.
Is an era of artificial intelligences upon us? Will we soon be replacing our Roombas with fully interactive electromechanical servants in the mold of Rosie, The Jetsons’s robot maid? Are our silicon overlords about to take charge? Most likely, none of the above, and the reasons go back to the Turing test.
Science Fiction by Scientists: An Anthology of Short Stories (Science and Fiction) Page 7