“Yes, but why would they? After all, who would Turing be angry at? Or jealous of? But if we can come up with a way to really piss Turing off, we might be able to preoccupy it enough to spend all its time hunting down Jerry. That might slow, or maybe even halt, the attacks. And it also might get Turing to do something it wouldn’t otherwise do, like return to the testbed server. Letting it think it could get rid of Jerry once and for all might be enough to do that.”
“Fair enough,” Frank Sr. said. “How do you go about pissing off an AI program with general intelligence?”
“I’m thinking we get Jerry to start trash-talking it. Say that it’s not all that smart. That it’s nothing compared to the Turing Ten version he’s working on now. That sort of thing. Then we’ll let Turing get just enough glimpses of us to figure out where we’re going, but not so many it can catch and kill us along the way.”
“Sounds like a lovely trip. I’m especially supportive of the last part. But what about Jerry and the pacemaker? What’s to stop Turing from pulling the same stunt again?”
“They updated the software on his pacemaker and defibrillator when he was in the hospital. It’s a lot more secure now, and there’s no copy of Turing left inside the NSA firewall now to harm him.”
“Well, I’d sure keep Jerry away from any Internet-connected devices between here and Fort Meade, and that won’t be easy. What if you miss one?”
“Okay, so he can stay in the camper all the way back. Before we get to NSA headquarters, we can pick up a Jerry lookalike to walk in with us. And instead of Jerry, we can have a speakerphone in the testbed room, in case Turing wants to have a chat first, or we want to distract it. Anyway, those are all just details we can work out later.”
“What makes you think Jerry would play ball? He certainly hasn’t been cooperative so far.”
“Who says he has to? We could set up a few email interviews with prominent technology journalists and write the responses ourselves.”
Frank Sr. shrugged. “Well, that answers my questions.” He looked at Shannon. “You got anything more?”
“Nope,” she said. “I’m in.”
“Great!” Frank said. “Then it sounds like we’re off to the races.”
26
Wellhead for President!
Randal Wellhead caressed his phone. If he’d taken up social media four years ago, he’d be running for reelection now instead of trying to unseat his former opponent. He pressed the send button and began counting. He made it all the way to six this time before his door burst open. His executive assistant must be distracted today.
“Sir!” Delia Lear said as she stormed through the door.
“Yes, Delia?” he said innocently.
“You promised me just this morning you wouldn’t do that anymore!”
“You’re going to have to help me out here. What’s that?”
“You know very well what that is – Bleat!”
“I didn’t say I’d never Bleat again. What I said was I wouldn’t send any more needlessly inflammatory messages. And I haven’t. This was a factual update to my millions of followers on Bleater.”
“You call this a factual update?” She held her phone six inches in front of his nose.
Pres #SellsOutCountry to NATO AGAIN! SAD! #YazziSoDumb @Rhea
“Sure. Why not?”
“I don’t even know what you’re referring to.”
“Well, then you’re not keeping up with the news. Here.” He swiveled his laptop around on his desk to show her a breaking news article on Biteparts.com. The headline read:
President Yazzi Tells NATO Allies US Will Subsidize Their Military Budgets
“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” Delia said.
“Why not? It’s as likely to be correct as anything you read in the press these days.”
“Sir, you can’t blindly accept every shiny news object that catches your eye on a political fringe website.”
“And again I say, why not? My followers love it.”
“But you’re making a laughingstock of yourself.”
“Am I? Have you been watching the polls? If that’s what I’m doing, I’m happy to make an ass of myself all the way to the White House. You saw what happened four years ago when I let my handlers trot me around like a trick pony. This time, I’m my own man, and my polls keep going up.”
“You can’t keep doing that forever.”
“Really? So, you’re saying once I’m the commander-in-chief I’ll be more constrained than I am now?”
“It’ll be different!”
“You bet it will! Just watch me!”
* * *
A tired and rumpled campaign team surrounded a mess of pizza boxes and empty soda cans in the motel conference room that night. Only Randal Wellhead looked fresh and ready for action.
“So, here’s one last thing,” he said. “Tomorrow, I’m going to announce that I don’t believe human activity is responsible for climate change. And I’ll pledge that if I’m elected, I’ll pull the U.S. out of the Berlin Accords and roll back all related regulations.”
“Sir, you’re not serious!” Delia Lear said. But out of the corner of her eye she saw Art Regan pushing back from the table, a victorious smirk spread across his puffy face.
“Yes indeed, Delia. And I can’t think of a better place to announce my new position than right here in Detroit. I’ve always said jobs creation will be my number one priority, and anything that might slow that down has got to go. Plus, we’re still behind in Michigan.”
“But you know climate change is a serious problem.”
“Do I?”
“Of course, you do!”
“Really. Well, let me tell you a little story. I remember when I attended my first legislative hearing in Austin, Texas, back when I started wondering whether I should run for office. I don’t recall who chaired that meeting, but after it was over, I went up to ask him a question. While I was waiting my turn, a reporter asked him if he’d been persuaded by one of the witnesses. The chairman just laughed and said, ‘Heck no. I assume everything anyone tells a politician is a lie.’ You know what? That’s the best political advice I’ve ever heard, before or since.”
“But what about all the scientists that say it’s a real problem?”
“What about them? Aren’t jobs a real problem, too? All those hysterical scientists already have jobs. They care more about what the world will be like a hundred years from now than they do about what the jobs climate will be like tomorrow. And, more to the point, what it will be like for the four years beginning on the first Tuesday in November.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Regan chimed in. “If we don’t win this election, it doesn’t matter what happens. So, hey, Delia – how about you get down off your high horse and back on the team?”
* * *
Gwen Lear cornered Wellhead in the hallway when they took a break.
“Sir, this is a big mistake. You’ll be attacked for this not just at home, but around the world. People won’t take you seriously if you turn your back on the scientific establishment.”
Wellhead shook his head. “Gwen, what you and all the other candidates don’t understand is that for a whole lot of folks, voting for president is a lot like buying a lottery ticket.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you, sir.”
Wellhead smiled. “Of course, you don’t. So, let me explain. Why is a candidate like a lottery ticket? Because even though nobody really believes their ticket will win the big prize, for a while, they can hope they’ll win and dream about how their lives will change. Right up until Saturday night, they’ve got this little bright spark of hope to light up their dreary week. What a good politician does is give them that same kind of illusion. No candidate – me, or anyone else – can do diddl
y-squat after they’re elected to change the future of people stuck in dying industries. It goes too deep. The jobs are gone for good, and those folks don’t have the right kind of education to get the jobs that are left. It’s one mighty big engine of disruption that’s sweeping through the economy right now and there’s not a damn thing I or anyone else can do to stop it.
“But a good politician can brighten their lives up for a while. Why should I take that little ray of hope away from them?”
“But that’s so cynical!”
“Is it? I call it sympathetic reality. Now excuse me because my bladder’s about to burst.”
* * *
Wellhead was reflective over breakfast the next morning. “You know, Delia, Dick Fetters hadn’t a clue what I was all about. You remember him? My running mate last time around? He thought he’d reeled in a brainless rube he could manipulate any way he wanted to. Someone he never had to take seriously. But you know what? If that was true, how’d I get as far as I did before he and I joined forces? And look at me now! No, he was the one who didn’t understand what politics is all about – and that’s people.”
“But it’s not entirely the voters, sir. If the party leadership doesn’t get behind you, it will be a lot harder for your campaign to move out ahead.”
“Yeah, I’ll give you that. But not impossible! Dick was tight with the string-pullers behind the scenes. At the time, I thought the same as you, that getting in good with them was the way for me to get to the next level. But what I found out is the big politicos behind the scenes can’t deliver the votes. All they know is how to run the party machine. Dick was brilliant at working the party, but he couldn’t work a crowd to save his life. Or get inside the heads of the voters, either. That’s why he never tried to run for office after he lost his seat in Congress early on.
“But me – I understand the people, and how to get the votes. I made a big mistake four years ago, hitching my cart to Dick and his back room politicking. I wonder what happened to old Dick? He dropped off the edge of the world after the election.”
“But he wasn’t all wrong, sir. You need to find the right balance.”
“Do I? What makes you believe that? I’ve been spitting in the eye of the political establishment for the last year, and all we’ve done is keep on moving up. You’re spending too much time listening to politicians and pundits, and not enough paying attention to real people. Here’s a for instance.
“You remember what I was saying last night about lottery tickets? Well, when we get back home, you go hang around a convenience store on a Friday night – payday for the working man – and you’ll learn something. Down my way, what you’ll see over and over is a good ole boy in a pickup truck stopping by for a six pack and maybe a pouch of Red Man. And while’s he’s there, he’ll lay down a twenty to play his favorite number and buy a bunch of scratch cards, too. Can he afford that? Heck no! But every now and again, he makes back fifty or a hundred bucks. And if he can score a hundred, why not a million? Maybe one of the numbers he always plays will hit it big next time. That’s what keeps the dream alive. And that’s a big deal, because a dream is all he’s got.”
“But people are smarter than that.”
Wellhead laughed. “Of course, they’re smart – smart enough to know Yazzi’s no more likely to deliver than I am, so why not vote the way their guts tell them to? Listen – do you know how many coal miners there are in this whole dang country? No? Well, it’s only about forty thousand. That’s right. For all the airplay they’ve been getting, it’s just forty thousand people in just a few states. That’s a little over three hundredths of one percent of the American workforce. Three hundredths of one percent! And we’ve been adding an average of five times that many jobs every month for the last eight years!
“But facts aren’t what politics are about. It’s about symbolism and empathy. Coal miners have become the poster children for the entire hollowed-out middle class. Not because there’s a lot of them, but because their situation is so hopeless. They’ve come to represent all the folks who work hard, never get a raise, and worry their jobs will be the next ones shipped offshore or taken over by robots.
“All those people are trapped, and they know it. No, they aren’t stupid! Take the coal miners again. They know about cheap natural gas. And they know there’s nothing Congress is going to do to stop anyone from using it. But what they also know is that I’ve said I feel their pain. And who knows, maybe in some crazy, blind luck way, I’ll actually be able to bring those coal mining jobs back.
“I’m going to win, because I make big promises! Voters may not believe I’ll be able to keep all of them – but that’s better than my opponent, who isn’t making any big promises at all!”
“But what will you do if you win? What happens when you can’t deliver?”
“Now don’t you worry, that’s all going to turn out okay. What the people want is a politician who’s got their backs. Can I make everything right? Heck no! But as long as it looks like I’m busting a gut trying, well, those good people will stick to me tighter than fly paper to a bumblebee’s butt, because I’m the only lottery ticket they’ve got in Washington. They’re not only going to elect me now, but they’re going to do it again in four years. You just wait and see.”
“But that’s so devious! How can you look those thousands of people in the eye and say you’ll do something you know you can’t?”
“Because nobody can! Pay attention! Have you noticed how screwed up Washington is? Each of the parties is as messed up as the other, and the system is mangled worst of all. It’s like the dinosaurs evolving to get bigger and bigger to no purpose. Once a system is in place, everybody plays the angles for all their worth to make it work best for them. Before you know it, the whole crazy contraption is teetering on foundations that can’t support it anymore. It’s always the same, whether you’re talking about greedy Wall Street bankers or universities charging more than anyone can ever pay back, or whatever other big, bloated institution you want to mention. I sometimes think what we really need is to get hit by a big ole comet every once in a while, to knock the crap out of the whole darn thing and let everything get a fresh start. Oops – that sounds like I believe in evolution. Stop me if I start talking about comets again, will you?”
Gwen drew herself up and crossed her arms. “If that’s what you think, why don’t you do something to blow the system up yourself?”
“Me?” Wellhead chuckled. “I may have more common sense than the rest of the clowns in politics, but I’m no genius. And I’m no fool, either. I can’t fix the political system. There’s this thing called Congress, you see. They couldn’t care less what I want to do. Their only concern is whether I make them look bad. That’s the only power a president has these days. He never could make actual laws – the founding fathers took care of that. All he can do is beg, badger, and, if necessary, blackmail Congress into doing what he thinks they should do. And if they don’t? Well, he can always blame them for selling the people down the river. That’s never a stretch, because they’re always doing that, anyway.”
Wellhead picked up his phone. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some heavy duty Bleating to do.”
He chuckled as Delia huffed away from the table. She was a great assistant. One of the best, and he’d hate to lose her. But he still couldn’t resist jerking her chain every now and again. He took another sip of coffee and let his mind run free. Ah - this was a good one!
OK by me to still play Hail to the Chief for Yazzi when voters send him back to the Rez! #YazziSoSad @RHead
Hah!
The next evening, Wellhead smiled as he leaned back on the sofa in his motel room, tired but pleased, TV remote in hand. As expected, the democrats were going berserk. He flipped back and forth between POX news and the liberal cable station, enjoying the contrast. He’d wiped Yazzi out of an entire day’s news cycl
e. Maybe tomorrow’s, too!
27
Is it Getting a Little Hot in Here?
“Oh no,” Frank said, turning to Shannon. “Look at this.” He handed her his tablet.
Presidential Candidate Denies Climate Change read the headline. “Seriously?” she said. “He might as well paint a bull’s-eye on his forehead for Turing to shoot at.”
“No kidding. What could he be thinking?”
“Well, that part’s obvious,” Shannon said. “He’s behind by a couple points in a few states he needs to win and thinks this will gain him more votes than he’ll lose. He’s probably right. Plus, he’s got the Secret Service to take care of him.”
“If that’s what he’s relying on, he’s an idiot. If he gets elected, he’ll be surrounded by more electronics than any other human being on earth, and he’s constantly in public view. What’s the Secret Service supposed to do? Scan the software controlling every elevator he steps into so it doesn’t free fall for thirty floors? Vet the on-board software of every car driving within a block of his motorcade so it doesn’t ram his limousine at 100 miles an hour? I could go on and on.”
“Maybe no one’s briefed him about Turing?” Shannon said.
“Oh, I’m sure someone has. But you know him – he knows better than anyone else, including the intelligence agencies.”
“You mean especially the intelligence agencies.”
“Right,” Frank said. “The only question in my mind is whether Turing will wait until after Election Day to see whether he wins.”
“Why not?” Shannon said. “Turing may have switched over to ethics rules permitting killing to ensure mission fulfillment, but it should still only harm people when it has no choice.”
“If it weren’t for Jerry’s experiment with emotions, I’d agree with you. Remember those car company executives? It didn’t need to kill them. The only way to make sense of Turing wiping them out would be as an expression of contempt. It made an example of them. Maybe Turing will decide to make an example out of Wellhead right away.”
The Turing Test: a Tale of Artificial Intelligence and Malevolence (Frank Adversego Thrillers Book 4) Page 23