Operation Sherlock

by Bruce Coville

  “Nothing, fortunately. Now that the military has left and the island is no longer open to visitors, they’ve abandoned it. Originally it was built to control access to the power plant.”

  Dr. Clark gestured to her left. Across the crater left by the explosion the kids saw a road leading to a long, low building set at the edge of the water.

  “It uses the tide,” said Dr. Clark tersely. “Catches the water and turns it into electricity. Zero pollution. Great idea, if they ever get the bugs out. Sylvia built it.”

  “Sylvia?” asked Dr. Gammand.

  “Sylvia Standish,” replied Dr. Clark. “I met her yesterday. She’s been here since the island was first set up as an Air Force base. She stayed on after they closed, to continue working on her project. Doesn’t seem to care much for the changeover. That’s her now.”

  Looking in the direction that Dr. Clark nodded, they saw an attractive blond woman in jeans and a blue sweater being led around the edge of the crater by a man in a military uniform. The woman was shaking, and her face was pale. She clung to the man’s arm.

  Four Jeeps pulled up to the crowd, and several uniformed people jumped out. Politely but firmly they began asking the onlookers to return to their workstations.

  “End of the show,” said Dr. Gammand. “I wonder when they’ll let us know what that was all about, eh, Ray?”

  There was no answer.

  Dr. Gammand looked down. His son and the other youngsters were gone.

  “Roger and Rachel Phillips,” said the red-haired girl, completing the round of introductions. “And we feel just like the rest of you—it wasn’t fair for them to drag us here against our wishes!”

  The five youngsters walked in a tight group, their gloom alleviated to some extent by the excitement of the explosion.

  “What do you supposed caused that blowup?” asked Trip after a while.

  “Some crazy experiment, I imagine,” said Rachel.

  “Nah,” responded Roger. “Dr. Clark said it was a guardhouse. They wouldn’t be doing experiments in there.”

  “A gas leak?” suggested Wendy.

  “Doesn’t seem likely in an electrical plant,” said Trip with a smile.

  Wendy smacked herself in the side of the head. “Duh!” she said, making a face.

  “Could it have been lightning?” asked Ray uncertainly.

  “Sabotage seems more likely to me,” said Trip.

  The others stopped in their tracks. “Sabotage?” asked Rachel.

  Trip shrugged. “This is a top-secret project, isn’t it?”

  “It sure is!” said Wendy. “Even we don’t know what it’s about!”

  “Well, if they’re keeping it this hush-hush, it stands to reason it’s pretty important. And whenever someone’s working on something important, there’s usually someone else who doesn’t want them to succeed. At least, that’s the way it seems from the history I’ve read.”

  “Even so, we have no real reason to suspect sabotage,” said Roger.

  Trip shrugged. “I was just throwing it out as a possibility.”

  “How’s the possibility of eating?” asked Wendy. “I’m so hungry I could eat a horseburger.”

  “It’s only ten o’clock in the morning!” said Rachel.

  “My stomach is not ruled by the clock,” replied Wendy.

  “Come on,” said Trip. “My mother told me how to get to the base canteen. It’s not far from here.”

  Ten minutes later the group had gathered around a table in a low, cool room. Everyone except Rachel had a soda; she was drinking coffee. The pint-size Wendy also had a huge burger and a plate of fries.

  “Did you see the look on that kid’s face when I ordered this?” she asked indignantly.

  “That kid” was a medium-size, broad-shouldered boy of about their age. He was standing behind the counter, wiping it with a rag. Above his shirt pocket he wore a white plastic name tag that said “HAP” in big blue letters. While he worked he kept glancing toward the group at the table.

  “He gives me the creeps,” said Wendy.

  “Gamma Ball!” cried Ray.

  “Huh?”

  “They’ve got Gamma Ball! See?”

  He was already on his feet and walking toward a game table set up at the back of the canteen.

  “Chips!” said Wendy, grabbing her burger to follow the others. “A game freak.”

  “Oh, but what a game!” said Trip, pushing back his chair. “The special effects are out of this world. Come on, you can stuff your face while the rest of us play.”

  Ray was already feeding money into the slot when the others joined him at the table.

  “Okay,” said Roger, “Rachel and I will take on Trip and Ray for the championship of the island. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough,” said Ray, glancing up at his towering partner. “But be warned—I’m good!”

  “He’s modest, too,” said Wendy, wiping some ketchup off her chin. “But not so’s it shows.”

  “Shhh!” said Trip, furrowing his brow. On the table ahead of him several three-dimensional monsters were starting to take shape. He and Ray would be controlling the orange-skinned creatures. The Phillips twins had the purples.

  Ray stuck the tip of his tongue between his teeth and began to concentrate. He loved this game! The playing table was laid out like a fantasy forest, with swamps and valleys and dangerous traps. Two teams of monsters had to battle for control of the Gamma Ball—a scarlet sphere of light that floated in the air—so they could get it back to their castle to save their wizard’s life. The lifelike monsters, created by holographic projectors, made the old video games he had played when he was a kid look sick.

  Each player controlled three different monsters. Several of the “dangers” were designed so that the only way the players could avoid destruction was by working together. Surviving the Pit of Doom, for example, required the strength of one of Ray’s monsters and the height of one of the creatures controlled by Trip.

  Rachel let out a shout. The Gamma Ball was in the air!

  Ray whirled the trackballs that controlled the speed and direction of his creatures. Each monster also had a set of buttons marked Jump, Grab, Hit, Throw, and Drop. His hands fairly flew over the control panel as he guided his creatures through their maneuvers.

  Beside him Trip was muttering to himself as he moved Gongor the Mighty along a tricky jungle path.

  “Watch out!” cried Ray.

  Too late. Gongor had fallen into the River of Light.

  “One down!” crowed Rachel, just as a creature-eating vine lashed out and grabbed her own Thwom the Thwacker from behind. “Roger, help me!” she cried. Her purple monster, only three inches tall, thrashed and squealed in the grip of the plant.

  Meanwhile Ray had guided Squamous the Squat, a short but powerful creature, over to help Gongor out of the river. At the same time, seeing the randomly moving Gamma Ball fly nearby, he punched both the Jump and the Grab buttons for one of his other creatures. It leaped up and snagged the ball in midair.

  “Hey, the kid is good!” cried Wendy, stuffing the last of her burger into her mouth. “I’m impressed!”

  Thwom the Thwacker was dead. Rachel had lost the little monster when the killer vine strangled him and threw him into the Bottomless Pit of Rangor. This was not entirely bad for Rachel; with only two monsters to control she could concentrate more fully on their individual movements. Right now she had both of them bearing down on Manzax the Mighty, Ray’s creature that was holding the Gamma Ball. Grabbing some hanging vines, they swung over the river side by side.

  Ray, busy with one creature trying to help Gongor and the other trying to carry the Gamma Ball into the castle, was not fast enough to catch Rachel’s moves. Suddenly her creatures jumped him and stole the Gamma Ball.

  “Way to go, Sis!” exclaimed Roger, positioning his own creatures to protect her while she carried the Gamma Ball to their side of the table.

  “Oh, yeah?” cried Ray. He pushed a pair of buttons
and Squamous the Squat picked up Gongor and threw him out of the river. The little orange monster landed on his feet, made a dive, and tackled all three of Roger’s creatures at once.

  “Plasmagacious!” cried Wendy in amazement.

  Then the machine blew up.

  Or, to be more accurate, the creatures blew up. They started getting bigger and bigger—and fainter and fainter. Finally, without a sound, they faded out of sight. The jungle cries fell silent. The lights flickered and died. The Gamma Ball faded out of sight.

  “Chips!” cried Wendy. “Just when it was getting exciting!”

  “I wonder what happened to it,” said Trip.

  “Overload,” said Ray. “Too many good players at once. Don’t worry—I can fix it.”

  Much to the group’s astonishment he pulled a set of miniature tools from his pocket, slithered under the table, and began singing to himself.

  Fifteen minutes later delicate electronic parts were scattered across the floor next to the table. The handsome boy who had served Wendy her hamburger was standing next to Ray’s legs, tapping his own foot impatiently.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be done in a sec,” said Ray. “Any of you guys got some gum?”

  “I do,” said Wendy.

  “Chew me up a stick, will you? Get most of the flavor out of it and then pass it on to me.”

  “You like gum without flavor?” asked Wendy nervously.

  “It’s for the machine, goofus! Just chew the gum, will you?”

  “Glad to be of service,” said Wendy with a shrug.

  “You guys are going to be in big trouble if you screw that game up,” said the broad-shouldered boy.

  “Don’t worry,” said Wendy. “He’s a genius.” She paused, glanced at Ray’s feet, then added, “At least, I think he is.”

  The boy named Hap looked more nervous than ever.

  “Where’s that gum?” demanded Ray.

  “Cripes, gimme a minute,” said Wendy. “I’m chewing as fast as I can!” A minute later she removed a gooey wad from her mouth. “Here,” she said, passing it under the game table. “Don’t worry about giving it back. You can keep it.”

  “Thanks. Now shove those parts back under here, will you?”

  Trip began handing the machine’s components to Ray, who hummed contentedly as he worked. Only seconds after Trip had passed in the last piece Ray shouted, “Victory!”

  At the same time the game came winking and roaring back to life.

  When Roger looked at the playing field, he gave a cry of surprise. “What happened to the monsters? They’re all different!”

  “Uh-oh,” said Wendy, glancing at the young canteen attendant.

  Ray slid out from under the table and flashed them a dazzling smile. “Those are the advanced level monsters. It’s an option built into the machine to let it handle superior players. Most people don’t even know it exists.”

  “How did you know?” asked Rachel.

  “My father invented it.”

  “The option?” asked Trip.

  Ray shook his head. “The whole game.”

  After a thrilling game that ended with Ray and Trip beating the Phillips twins by just a hair, the gang decided to move on.

  “Keep the change,” said Ray to the attendant as the group was heading out the door.

  Running back a minute later to grab her leather bag, Rachel shivered at the expression she caught on the canteen worker’s face.

  Great, she thought. Our first day here, and already we’ve made an enemy!

  The Phillips house was closest, so they went there.

  “What was it that bothered you so much about the kid in the canteen, Wendy?” asked Roger as he dragged a two-liter bottle of soda out of the refrigerator.

  Wendy shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I got the impression he thought he owned the place.”

  “It’s to be expected,” said Rachel. “We came barging in there like we owned the place and started taking apart an expensive machine. This kid—who’s been here who knows how long—was bound to get a little uptight. Man is a territorial creature, after all.”

  “Well, I wasn’t going to hurt it!” said Ray.

  “But he didn’t know that!”

  Ray looked surprised. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Look,” said Wendy, “this may seem like it’s changing the subject, but that’s only because it is. I want to know what you’ve got in that bag! You’ve been carrying it around like it was filled with diamonds.”

  Rachel smiled at Roger. “Shall we show them?”

  “Why not?”

  Rachel moved the leather bag from the kitchen counter to the center of the round table where the kids were sitting. As she set it down, she gave it a slight squeeze.

  “Hey!” yelled a metallic voice. “Who turned out the lights?”

  “Quiet,” said Rachel, her voice fond but firm. “I’m going to let you out.”

  “Somebody loves me at last!”

  “I told you to be quiet,” said Rachel. Unzipping the bag, she reached inside.

  “Hey!” cried the voice. “Your hands are cold!”

  Ignoring the complaint, Rachel turned to Wendy, Ray, and Trip and said: “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce…Paracelsus!”

  “Cogito, Ergo Sum”

  Ray shivered. For an instant he had thought that the beautifully formed head Rachel pulled from the bag was real. Then he realized it was made of bronze. Slightly larger than an actual human head, it had the handsome, even features of an ancient Greek statue. Short, sculpted curls covered its skull and chin. The only break in the smooth metallic surface was a pair of wide, bright blue eyes that blinked every five or six seconds, giving the automaton an amazingly lifelike appearance.

  It was mounted on a two-inch-thick wooden base that had been polished to a high gloss.

  “Pleased to meet’cha,” said Paracelsus.

  Wendy glanced at Rachel and Roger. “Plasmarific,” she whispered.

  The bronze head made a clicking noise. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I believe Wendy is impressed,” said Rachel.

  “She should be,” said Paracelsus.

  Trying to stifle a laugh, Ray snorted and ended up spraying soda on the table.

  “Careful!” cried Roger. “You’ll gum up his circuits!”

  “Help!” shrieked Paracelsus. “Spare my circuits! Spare my circuits!”

  “You’re all right,” said Rachel reassuringly. “Now listen. I want you to meet some people.”

  “I like people!”

  “Of course you do. Let’s start with the girl on your left. Her name is Wendy.”

  With only a whisper of sound, the head swiveled on its base so that it was facing the Wonderchild. Once it was in position, it made a faint whirring sound.

  “Hold still,” said Rachel. “He’s taking a picture of you for his memory bank.”

  “Hello, Wendy,” said the head. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  “Now a little to your right is Ray,” said Rachel. Paracelsus turned to the right, made the whirring noise that indicated it was taking a picture, then said, “Hello, Ray. Spare my circuits, please.”

  “Uh, yeah. Of course.”

  “Now, to Ray’s right is Trip.”

  “Have a nice time. When are you coming back?”

  “Trip is his name,” said Rachel firmly.

  “Excuse me,” said Paracelsus. “Now I’m embarrassed.”

  “May I?” asked Trip, reaching out to pick up the head.

  “Help!” cried Paracelsus. “Kidnapper! Kidnapper!”

  Trip jumped back and put his hands at his side.

  “Just a little security device we built in,” said Roger with a chuckle. “It’s okay, Paracelsus. He won’t hurt you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course,” said Rachel.

  “Then you may pick me up, Trip.”

  “The programming is fantastic,” said Trip as he lifted Paracelsus from
the table. “I almost hate to ask this, but have you tried the Turing test with him?”

  “Beg pardon?” said Roger, Rachel, and the head in unison. The effect was eerie, and Trip set the head back on the table.

  “The Turing test,” said Wendy. “It’s a test for A.I.—artificial intelligence.”

  “I remember!” said Ray. “This English scientist named Alan Turing thought it up. You separate the tester from the machine by a wall, and if the tester can’t tell in six passes—six question-and-answer exchanges—whether it’s a machine or a human, then it’s considered artificial intelligence.”

  “Well, it’s a little more complicated than that,” said Trip. “For example, you’re supposed to use a keyboard to get around the problems of voice quality and expressiveness. But you’ve got the basic idea.”

  “I bet Paracelsus could pass,” said Wendy.

  “Not likely,” said Rachel. “I’ll admit we did a good job with the program. In fact, I think it’s one of the best Conversation Simulators in the country. We built in a lot of clever keying devices. But he’s not really thinking.”

  “I know,” said Paracelsus. “And it’s too bad. Thinking is important.”

  Trip raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “That’s a good example,” said Rachel. “The question of thinking comes up so often when people meet Paracelsus that we worked that response into his program. It’s really simple: I feed him a few key words, he spouts back a pre-programmed response, and it sounds as if we’re having a real conversation.”

  “But not all his responses are programmed like that,” said Wendy. “They can’t be!”

  “No, they’re not,” admitted Roger. “We used a lot of the repetition techniques that were pioneered way back with the first ELIZA program. Then we built in a random factor, and something else we invented ourselves that we call the ‘chatter factor.’ But an awful lot of what he says is a programmed response to direct stimulus. For example, if you turn him on when it’s dark, he says, ‘Who turned out the lights?’ ”

  “But that’s true for humans, too,” said Ray. “A lot of what we say is automatic.”

  “True. But we can think of new things.”

  “I think that’s the center of the whole question of artificial intelligence,” said Ray. “Does intelligence mean creativity?”