“Why do you want his puzzle-solving ability?”
“That’s what he uses it for, but imagine having that ability when you took geometry, or when playing chess.”
“I see. I could have used it in organic chemistry. Constructing models of complex compounds would be easy for him. I suppose an architect or an engineer has this kind of ability.”
“No one has the level of ability he has. He’s uncanny. If I had his spatial ability I know what I’d do with it.”
“Let me guess. You’d devise a three-dimensional programming language.”
“Close. I’d invent new positions for sex. I’m tired of the seventy-three I have been using.”
Karon snickered and then said, “Seventy-four.”
Elizabeth realized this was more than just a private joke—it was an intimate joke. Elizabeth watched Len finish mapping and then signal he was ready. Then Wes surprised them all.
“Gil, would you help us out again?”
Shamita turned to Wes and spoke softly. “We don’t need him, Wes. I thought we were going to use Luis for the matrix. We can integrate the rest from the three we have.”
“I know. I just want to . . . Well, the program is really designed for more. Let’s use Gil for the matrix as we did before.”
“We might not get all of Luis’s lower-brain functions if he’s not the matrix. We could lose his total recall without it.”
“We don’t know that. Besides, it’s just a test.”
Unconvinced, Shamita turned back to her monitor, puzzled by Wes’s decision.
Karon fit Gil with a helmet, and attached the electrodes to his chest. When Len and Shamita signaled that they had his readings, Wes looked over his savants in anticipation. He’d worked years for this moment.
Luis lay still but Archie was restless, rocking his head back and forth to see what was going on. Len made faces every time Archie’s head moved and he muttered something under his breath that made Karon giggle. Waving at Shamita to catch her eye, Wes pointed at Archie and then pretended to strangle himself. Shamita nodded and a few seconds later Archie lay still, breathing in a relaxed manner. Then one by one Shamita reduced the sensory input of each volunteer and selected out their psychomotor functions. When she was done they all lay as if asleep, breathing deep and regular. When Wes got the thumbs-up from all of his team he activated his program which captured the feed from the other stations. Elizabeth came to stand behind him again, showing genuine interest in his work—he liked her near when she was like that.
“Luis’s map looks different. It’s more diffuse,” she pointed out.
“Yes, but see the concentration here and here in the occipital lobes. Luis is unique in this group. He isn’t a savant in the usual sense.”
“He has a photographic memory, right.”
“A better name would be eidetic imagery. He retains everything he sees and then he can read it back as if it’s right there in front of him. Of course he has no idea of what to do with the information.”
“Don’t be too sure. It’s more likely he’s overwhelmed by all the information he has. If you could reduce the sensory barrage with your computer, he might begin to process.”
Wes paused in thought. It was an intriguing idea and Wes’s respect for Elizabeth grew. “We might try that later, if you like,” he said. “It could lead to a paper. We could publish it together.”
“Maybe,” she said. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be the bride of Frankenstein just yet.”
Smiling, Wes went back to work and began patching together his model intellect. They used Gil as the basic matrix, then overlaid the other pieces of mental function from the donor savants. Daphne’s left-hemisphere calendar-counting ability was patched in first, followed by Archie’s right-hemisphere spatial skill. Finally, Luis’s memory was overlaid. When Wes put the last piece in, Shamita began tapping at her keyboard.
“Hold it, Wes, we didn’t get it all. Gil is blocking the integration. Let me reduce the parameters on Luis a bit.”
Wes waited while Shamita tapped away at her keyboard. When she signaled that she was done, Wes tried another integration. This time it took.
“We have Frankie,” Wes announced.
Len whistled loudly and Karon clapped her hands. Only Shamita stared quietly at her screen.
“What’s the matter, Shamita?” Wes said. “That looks like full integration to me.”
“I suppose,” Shamita said weakly.
“Frankie? You mean this is supposed to be a new person?” Elizabeth asked. “Someone different from Gil, Archie, Luis, and Daphne? I don’t see it,” Elizabeth said over Wes’s shoulder. “It’s not any different from what you did before.”
“It’s more complex, right, Shamita?”
Shamita nodded.
“You define a person in terms of complexity of brain waves?” Elizabeth asked.
“Well, that and uniqueness. These patterns are different from all the donors, hence a unique consciousness. The complexity is equal to that of a person, so we conclude it’s a new person.”
“What about a sense of self? Isn’t that essential for personhood?”
“That’s not part of our operational definition.”
“It should be, and more.”
“We set realistic goals . . .”
“You set low goals and then crow like you’ve conquered the world and not just the barnyard.”
Wes scowled at Elizabeth. “Frankie is much more than you give him credit for.”
“Prove it. Prove to me this is Frankie first, and then show me what he can do,” Elizabeth challenged.
Wes looked at her for a hard minute and then spoke to Shamita.
“Who has the audition?”
“Gil, just like before.”
Wes got up with a yellow pad and walked to Gil. Elizabeth remained watching the readouts on Wes’s screen.
“Gil, can you hear me? Gil, if you can hear me respond by saying yes.”
A long silence followed.
“Your name is Frankie. What is your name?”
“Frankie.”
The voice was Gil’s, but it didn’t have his inflection, or any rhythm. Wes was pleased, but Elizabeth was frowning.
“Frankie, what is the date of the first Monday in 1892?”
“January fourth.”
“What would be the date of the last Tuesday in 2054?”
“December twenty-ninth.”
“Want me to go on, Elizabeth?”
“What’s the point? I’ve seen you use Daphne’s ability through Gil before. What makes this Frankie?”
“Wait, you’ll see. Shamita, give me the selected psychomotor functions.”
Wes waited for Shamita to finish typing and give him a nod. Then he turned to Gil and said, “Frankie, sit up, please.”
Even though Wes had spoken to Gil it was Daphne who sat up. Wes looked at Elizabeth, who showed only a hint of surprise. Wes pulled a card table over in front of Daphne and took out a small jigsaw puzzle. He dumped it out and then went back to talk into Gil’s ears.
“Frankie, would you put this puzzle together for me?”
“Yes.”
Daphne worked the puzzle in the same manner as Archie, starting with one edge and attaching a piece to it. Then, systematically and with virtually no error, she put the puzzle together in a few minutes, completing it sideways in front of her. Wes didn’t say anything; he just turned to Elizabeth with a “told you so” look. Elizabeth still looked unconvinced.
“You’re still just mixing their abilities. This isn’t any different than what you did before.”
“Just mixing abilities, just mixing abilities,” Wes mocked. “Can’t you see how incredible this is?”
“I concede it’s ingenious, even brilliant, but it’s not a person. A person could combine these abilities into a new function, something they have never done before.”
“True, and we want that, and more. Let me demonstrate something else. Frankie, can you play chess?”
�
�Yes.”
“You are white and I am black. You open with queen’s pawn to queen three. I move king’s pawn to king four. How could you threaten my queen?”
“Bishop to knight five.”
Wes nodded knowingly at Elizabeth.
“Are you telling me that’s right?” Elizabeth asked.
Karon answered before Wes could. “I play a lot of chess. It’s not good chess but it’s right.”
“OK, Elizabeth, are you convinced?”
Looking thoughtful, she said, “Let me ask a question.”
Wes hesitated, but then returned to his station.
“Frankie, what move would you make if you were to make the first move in chess?”
“I would move the castle pawn to castle four.”
“That’s a good move,” Karon said. “It frees the castle to protect the front line.”
“Yes, I suppose . . .” Elizabeth said, doubtfully. “Let me try something else. Frankie, are you a male or female?”
“Cut it off, Shamita!” Wes shouted. Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t mean to shout,” Wes said, “but that question could confuse Frankie. Frankie was constructed out of both male and female parts, and it isn’t clear how Frankie will think of himself.”
“Why? I thought Frankie was a person.”
“Frankie’s a new person. Gender is complex—you can switch from one to the other as late as age five, with no psychological harm. Think of Frankie as a newborn with adult abilities.”
“If Frankie has no gender then why do you use ‘he’ and ‘him’ when you’re talking about Frankie?”
“I didn’t realize I was. What does it matter, since Frankie has no gender?”
“How can anyone be gender-insensitive in this day and age?” she said. “If it doesn’t matter then why didn’t you choose ‘she’?”
Wes swallowed hard, wondering if he would ever run out of ways of offending Elizabeth. When he had no reply she continued.
“Are you saying I can’t ask if Frankie is male or female?”
Wes hesitated. He didn’t want to make it look like there was any risk to the savants, and limiting Elizabeth could do that. “OK, you can ask, but be gentle.” Wes signaled Shamita to turn Frankie’s hearing back on.
“Do you know whether you are male or female?” Elizabeth asked.
“No.”
“If you had to guess, what would you guess?”
“I don’t know.”
Elizabeth walked over to Wes and spoke softly. “Frankie shows no self-awareness. This isn’t a person. It is clever, it is amazing, but it’s not a person.”
“Why? Just because Frankie doesn’t sit around with his finger in his naval and explore his feelings doesn’t mean he isn’t a person. You can’t tell me Luis is any more self-aware and you consider him a person.”
“Luis is hyperaware, in my opinion, not unaware,” she said.
“Elizabeth, you’re judging personhood by your own preferences. To you there’s a feeling or motive behind every action, so you explore your consciousness endlessly, turning over every rock looking for dark slimy memories to crawl out. There are millions of people out there like you who haunt the pop-psychology sections of bookstores looking for the latest insight into their own behavior, or better yet, everyone else’s. Isn’t there room for people who aren’t as introspective?”
“Everyone is introspective,” Elizabeth said defensively.
“Not like you. Take me, for example. I choose not to be self-absorbed.”
“You choose not to be self-aware.”
Wes gave up. He and Elizabeth were too different, but he didn’t want to let her get in the last word. Len solved his problem with another stupid joke.
“Do you know how many psychologists it takes to change a lightbulb? One. But the lightbulb has to be committed to change.”
Karon laughed and Shamita snickered, but Wes and Elizabeth just glared at each other.
“I’ve got more lightbulb jokes,” Len offered.
“Got any funny ones?” Shamita asked.
“I have another question, if you don’t mind,” Elizabeth said, then walked back to the cots. “What are you thinking about, Frankie?”
Wes turned and watched Gil, waiting for a response. There was none.
“When I am not asking you questions, what do you think about?”
“I don’t think about anything.”
Elizabeth turned and gave Wes an “I told you so” look.
“So Frankie isn’t a deep thinker—”
“He’s . . . she’s not a thinker at all. That’s the point. There’s no independent thought process in your creation. Certainly even you must concede that thought is part of personhood.”
“Just because he’s not thinking now doesn’t mean he hasn’t ever had a thought. Frankie,” Wes said, turning to speak to Gil. “What was the last thing you remember thinking about?”
“I remember thinking of killing Ralph.”
Wes took a step back, trying to regain his composure. It was the last thing he had expected to come from his synthesized intellect. Fortunately, Len helped him put it in perspective.
“Are you sure you didn’t mix in a little of yourself, Wes? You’re always saying you want to kill Ralph.”
Wes forced a laugh. “Yeah, that’s right. I’ve said that myself.”
“To know Ralph is to want to kill him,” Len added.
Elizabeth didn’t join in on the joking, and looked concerned. “Whose thought was that?”
“It’s Frankie’s,” Shamita said, without taking her eyes off of her computer screen.
“But it had to come from someone,” Elizabeth countered.
“Not if we have Frankie. It could be an original thought from Frankie,” Wes said.
Elizabeth shook her head. “I thought you said Frankie is a newborn. It’s scary to think the first thoughts of your Frankie would be about killing someone. Besides, we’ve seen no evidence of original thought. It’s more likely something pulled from one of the donor memories. Any way to tell which one?”
“No,” Shamita said. “All we get are multiplexed brain waves. We can’t break them into individual signals, let alone decode them.”
“And it’s still possible the thought was original. Ralph is awfully irritating,” Wes argued.
“He’s only irritating to you. He’s one of the most universally liked people I know; completely ingenuous. Besides, your Frankie hasn’t had a chance to meet Ralph yet.”
“But there would be the residual memories that Frankie could access,” Wes countered. Wes was going to say more, but he realized he was heading down a dead end. Elizabeth was right about everyone liking Ralph but him. Even his dislike was more of an irritation—Ralph was an extra burden; a burden that picked his pocket endlessly for gum and Slurpees. Wes realized if Frankie was accessing residual memories of Ralph, and if they were all positive, then how could Frankie be irritated enough to react with the thought of killing him? Finally, he just rushed on. “It doesn’t matter if it’s an original thought or not. We’re not done constructing Frankie yet. We still have Yu to add.”
“It does matter if someone is thinking of killing Ralph,” Elizabeth said.
“It’s just an expression, not a threat.”
“Maybe.”
“When we get Yu into the synthesis we’ll get original thought, then you can interrogate Frankie all you want about his feelings about Ralph.”
“Her feelings about Ralph,” Elizabeth corrected. “Besides, I don’t accept your complexity theory. Personhood is more than just brain waves.”
“True, it takes memory, reasoning, and synthesis. We’ll provide all of these.”
“That’s a reductionistic machine view of a person. If that’s all there was to personhood then computers would generate ideas.”
“Computers aren’t complex enough,” Wes said.
“Complexity again! The most complex computer in the world won’t generate thought, because it l
acks what really makes a person human—it lacks a soul.”
“Elizabeth, you’re a mystic!”
“God made man out of the dust and breathed life into him. That breath of life is the psyche—the soul.”
Wes recognized the scripture from the sermon that morning. Elizabeth’s theory had no credibility from his perspective and was nothing more than superstitious nonsense, but he was tired of arguing. “Well if Frankie needs a soul, then we’ll just have to get him a soul.”
“Her a soul,” Elizabeth countered with a slight smile.
12
YU
Yu Tran was the only son of a proud family—a family rich in tradition and culture. Like all the Tran children he was expected to continue the family line and to contribute to the family’s prosperity. To help him in his appointed task the course of his life was planned for him before he was born. Yu would be raised to respect his elders, to honor his family, and to honor his country, in that order. Personal honor would come only as a result of the other three. Yu, like his sisters, would learn the value of education beginning in the home. On the day Yu walked into kindergarten he would know how to read and to write, and to do simple math, because his grandmother would teach him. He would speak two languages, and keep his fluency in both all through his life. In school he would be in the talented and gifted program and be accelerated in math. After school he would take music lessons, and then spend the rest of the afternoon doing homework. Most evenings would be spent in the library. In high school he would take the honors courses in math and science and he would earn a scholarship to a prestigious college. He would graduate summa cum laude and go on to medical school, where he would become a surgeon. But Yu wasn’t like his sisters, and it became painfully obvious first to his mother, and then to his father, that Yu was destined for a different life path.
Yu could not read when he enrolled in kindergarten, and couldn’t count to ten, let alone add. He could write his first name, but that was only two letters. In the spring of that first year his mother was called to a conference, where she hung her head in shame when they told her they wanted Yu to repeat kindergarten. But the shame of that was nothing compared with the shame she felt when she told her husband that night.
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