“You have made an enemy for life.”
“That happened a long time ago. So now—can you tell me what is happening? How is Brian progressing?”
“I will in just a moment. If you will wait in my office, I’ll finish up with him. I won’t be long.”
Brian looked up when the door opened and the doctor came in.
“I heard voices. Something important?”
“Nothing, my boy, nothing important at all.”
12
October 27, 2023
“Feeling fine today, are we?” Dr. Snaresbrook asked as she opened the door, then stood aside as a nurse and an orderly rolled in the heavily laden trolleys.
“I was—until I saw that hardware and that double-ended broom with the bulging glass eyes. What is it?”
“It’s a commercially manufactured micromanipulator. Very few have been made.”
Snaresbrook kept smiling, gave Brian no hint that this was part of the machine that Brian had helped her develop. “At the heart of the machine is a parallel computer with octree architecture. This enables it to fit it on a single and rather large planar surface. Wafer-scale integration. This interfaces with a full computer in each joint of the tree-robot.”
“Each joint—you’re putting me on!”
“You’ll soon discover how much computers have changed—particularly the one that controls this actuating unit. The basic research was done at MIT and CMU to build those brooms, as you call them. It is a lot more complex than it looks at a distance. You will notice that it starts out with two arms—but they bifurcate very quickly. Each arm then becomes two—”
“And both of them smaller, by half it seems.”
“Just about. Then they split again—and again.” She tapped one of the branching arms. “Just about here the arms become too small to manufacture, tools get too gross—and assembly would have to have been done under a microscope. So …”
“Don’t tell me. Each part is standardized, exactly the same in every way—except size. Just smaller. So the manipulators on one side make the next stage on down for the other.”
“Exactly right. Although the construction materials have to change because of structural strength and the volume-to-size ratio. But there is still only a single model stored in the computer’s memory, along with manufacture and assembly programs. All that changes with each stage is the size. Piezoelectric stepping motors are built into each joint.”
“The manufacturing techniques at the lower end must really be something.”
“Indeed they are—but we can go into that some other time. What is important now is that sensors in the small tips are very fine and controlled by feedback from the computer. They can be used for microsurgery at a cellular level, but now they will be used for the very simple job of positioning this connection precisely.”
Brian looked at the projecting, almost invisible, length of optic fiber. “Like using a pile driver to push in a pin. So this gets plugged into a socket in my neck, as you told me—and the messages start zipping in and out?”
“That’s it. You won’t feel a thing. Now—if you will just roll over onto your side, that’s fine.”
Dr. Snaresbrook went to the controls and when she switched the unit on, the multibranching arms stirred to life. She guided them to a position close behind Brian, then turned over control to the computer. There was a silken rustle as the tiny fingers stirred and separated, dropped slowly down, touched his neck.
“Tickles,” Brian said. “Like a lot of little spider legs. What is it doing?”
“It is now positioning the fiberoptic to contact the receptor unit under your skin. It will go through your skin, though you won’t feel it. The point is sharper than my smallest hypodermic needle. Plus the fact that it is looking for a path that avoids all nerves and small blood vessels. The tickling will stop as soon as the contact is in place—there.”
The computer bleeped and the fingers held the metal pad that held the fiber optic firmly in place against his skin. They rustled again as a strip of adhesive tape was picked up from the bench and passed along swiftly to the site on his neck, where it was pressed down firmly to secure the pad in place. Only then did the arms contract and move away. Snaresbrook nodded to the nurse and orderly, who withdrew.
“Now it begins. I want you to tell me anything you see or hear. Or smell.”
“Or think about or imagine or remember, right?”
“Perfectly correct. I’ll start here …” She made a slight adjustment and Brian shouted hoarsely.
“I can’t move! Turn it off! I’m paralyzed—!”
“There, it’s all right now. Did it clear up instantly?”
“Yes, ma’am, but I sure hope you won’t have to do that again.”
“I won’t—or rather the computer won’t. We have been trying to locate, identify and establish controls over the major low-level agencies in the brain stem. The system apparently shut off the whole cerebellum. Now that the computer knows—it won’t happen again. Are you ready to go on?”
“I guess so.”
At times there was warmth, then darkness. A chill that filled his entire body in an instant, vanished as quickly as it had come. Other sensations were impossible to describe, the functions of the mind and body at the completely subconscious level.
Once he shouted aloud.
“Are you in pain?” she asked, worried.
“No, really—the direct opposite. Don’t stop, please, you mustn’t.” His eyes were wide, staring at nothing, his body rigid. She did not hesitate to interrupt. He relaxed with a profound sigh. “Almost … hard, impossible to describe. Like pleasure squared, cubed. Please note the site.”
“It’s in the computer’s memory. But do you think it wise to repeat—”
“Quite the opposite. Stay away from there. Something like that, like a rat pressing a button to stimulate its pleasure centers until it dies of thirst and hunger. Stay away.”
Erin Snaresbrook was keeping track of the time and when an hour was up she stopped the session.
“I think that is enough for the first day. Tired?”
“Now that you mention it—the answer is yes. Are we getting anyplace?”
“I believe so. There is certainly a lot of data recorded.”
“Any matchups?”
“Some …” Snaresbrook hesitated. “Brian, if you’re not too tired I would like to go on a few minutes longer.”
“I bet you want to try some new way to locate higher-level nemes?”
“Precisely.”
“Well I do too. Fire it up.”
If anything was happening Brian was certainly not aware of it. The answer was obvious when he thought about it. If the machine really was connecting bundles of nerves, reestablishing memories, there was really no reason for him to be aware of the process. Only when he made an attempt to recover those memories would it be obvious that they were there. Yet he was aware of something happening at a very remote level of consciousness. It was a transient thought that slipped away like an eel when he tried to approach it. This was annoying. Something was happening that he couldn’t quite grasp. And he was tired. Plus the fact that now he had noticed, it was like an itch he couldn’t quite grasp.
That’s enough, he thought.
“I think that we’ll stop for the day,” the doctor suddenly said. “It’s been a long session.”
“Sure.” Brian hesitated, but then decided why not. “Dr. Snaresbrook—can I ask you a question?”
“Of course. But just a second until I finish here—now, what is it?”
“Why did you decide to end the session at that moment?”
“Just a little difficulty. The control is very fine and this is all still experimental. There was an abort signal on one of the connections being established. I must admit this was the first time something like this has happened. I want to rerun the program to that point and find out why.”
“You won’t have to—I can tell you.”
Erin Snaresbroo
k looked up, startled, then smiled. “I doubt if you can. This wasn’t in your brain but in the CPU, or rather in the interaction of the implanted central processor and the one in the computer.”
“I know. I told it to shut down.”
The surgeon fought to keep her voice calm. “That’s hardly possible.”
“Why not? The CPU is on the chip implanted in my brain—and is interrelating with my brain. Is there any reason why there can’t be feedback?”
“None whatsoever—except to my knowledge it has never been done before!”
“There’s a first time for everything, Doc.”
“You must be right. It appears that while the computer was learning some of the connections in your brain, parts of your brain were learning some of the computer’s control signals.”
Snaresbrook was beginning to feel dizzy. She walked to the window then back, rubbing her hands together—then laughed. “Brian, do you realize what you are saying? That you have interfaced your thought processes directly with a machine. Without pressing buttons or giving voice commands or any other kind of physical action. It was not planned, it just happened. Before this all communication has been at the level of a motor action, from a nerve to a muscle. This is the first time that communication has been effected directly from the brain to a machine. Nothing of this kind has ever happened before. It’s … breathtaking. Opens up all sorts of incredible possibilities!”
Brian’s answer was a low snore. He had fallen asleep.
Erin Snaresbrook unplugged the neural link from the computer and coiled it under his pillow, not wanting to wake him by attempting to remove it now. Then she quietly shut down the machine, closed the curtain and left the room. Benicoff was waiting for her outside, radiating gloom. Erin raised her hand before the other man could speak.
“Before you deliver the bad news I prescribe a cup of coffee in my office. It has been a busy day for both of us.”
“It shows that much?”
“I’m a great diagnostician. Let’s go.”
The surgeon had a lot to think about as she led the way. Should she tell Benicoff about Brian’s newfound ability? Not yet, later perhaps. She must run some controls first to make sure that it had not been an accident, a coincidence. The possibilities it opened were so large as to be frightening. Tomorrow, she would think about it tomorrow. She sipped the coffee and smacked her lips, passed Benicoff his coffee—then dropped into a very welcome chair.
“Bad news time?” she asked.
“Not really bad news, Doctor, just pressure. General Schorcht is not going away that easily. He insists that every day Brian remains here in the hospital the security worsens. In a way he has a point. And it is sure wracking hell with normal day-to-day hospital management. I know—I get the complaints. The General has been on to the Pentagon, who has been on to the President—who has been on to me. Is it possible that Brian can be moved now that he is conscious and off all the life support equipment?”
“Yes, but—”
“It had better be a world-buster of a but.”
Erin Snaresbrook finished her coffee, then shook her head. “I’m afraid that it isn’t. As long as very prudent medical precautions are taken.”
“That’s why the long face. General Schorcht, a small army and a medevac copter are standing by right outside—at this very moment. If that’s your answer they are going to do it now. I’ll try a holding action, but only if you have some really strong medical reasons.”
“No. In fact, if he has to be moved eventually, it might be best to move him at the present time. Before I get too involved in the memory reconstruction. And I am sure that we will all be a bit more relaxed once security is tightened.”
Brian was quite excited when he heard what was going to happen.
“Wow—a copter ride! I’ve never been up in one before. Where are we going?”
“To the naval hospital on Coronado.”
“Why there?”
“I’ll tell you after we arrive.” Dr. Snaresbrook glanced at the nurses who were preparing Brian for the short trip. “In fact, I think I better answer a lot of your questions when we get there. I’m afraid we can’t keep this a private party much longer. Are we ready?”
“Yes, Doctor,” the nurse said.
“All right. Inform Mr. Benicoff. You will find him waiting outside.”
The orderlies were navy medical corpsmen—and were backed up by a squad of heavily armed marines. The entire hospital floor had been cleared and there were more marines in front of and behind the party that surrounded the gurney. The first squad double-timed up the stairs to the roof when Brian was rolled into the elevator, were waiting there outside the door when it arrived. Nor were they alone. Sharpshooters looked down from the parapets, while at every corner of the roof there were soldiers with bulky surface-to-air missiles at the ready.
“You are right, Doctor, you do have a lot of explaining to do!” Brian called out above the roar of the copter’s blades.
During the short hop across the city and bay they were boxed in by attack choppers, while a flight of jets circled higher above. After landing on the helipad of the naval hospital the same procedure was done in reverse. When the last marine had stamped out, there were still three people left in the room.
“Will you wait outside, General,” Benicoff asked, “while I explain to Brian what this is all about?”
“Negative.”
“Thanks. Dr. Snaresbrook, will you please introduce me?”
“Brian, this is Mr. Benicoff. The military officer next to him is General Schorcht, who has some questions to ask you. I wouldn’t have him here now but I have been informed that this interview was expressly asked for by the President. Of the United States.”
“For real, Doctor?” They may have been twenty-four years old but the eyes had the wide-eyed stare of a fourteen-year-old. Erin Snaresbrook nodded.
“Mr. Benicoff is a presidential appointee as well. He is in charge of an ongoing investigation—well, he’ll explain that himself.”
“Hi, Brian. Feeling okay?”
“Great. That was quite a ride.”
“You have been seriously ill. If you want to postpone this …”
“No thanks. I’m a little tired, but other than that I feel fine now. And I really would like to know what happened to me, what is going on around here.”
“Well, you do know that you succeeded in developing an operating artificial intelligence?”
“The doctor told me that—I have no memory of it at all.”
“Yes, of course. Well then, without being too detailed, you were demonstrating the AI when the lab you were in was attacked. We have reason to believe that everyone there with you was killed, while you were badly wounded in the head. By a bullet. We assume that you were left for dead. All of your notes, records, equipment, everything to do with the AI was removed. You were taken to the hospital and operated on by Dr. Snaresbrook. You recovered consciousness in the hospital and of course everything that has happened since then you know about. But I must add that the thieves were never caught, the records never recovered.”
“Who did it?”
“I am afraid to say that we have absolutely no idea.”
“Then—why the military maneuvers?”
“There has already been one other attempt on your life, when you were in the hospital that you just left.”
Brian gaped around at their blank faces. “So what you are telling me is that the AI has been pinched. And whoever has it wants to keep it their secret. So much so that they are ready to bump me off to keep it a secret. Even though I don’t remember a thing about it.”
“That’s right.”
“This takes some getting used to.”
“For all of us.”
Brian looked over at the General. “How does the Army fit into this?”
“I will tell you.” General Schorcht stamped forward. Benicoff started to interfere, then hesitated. Best to get it over with. Snaresbrook was of the same
mind and nodded agreement when she saw Benicoff draw back. The General raised his single hand and held out a recorder.
“You will identify yourself. Name, date of birth, place of birth.”
“Why, your honor?” Brian asked in a wondering voice, his Irish brogue suddenly thick.
“Because you have been ordered to. Statements have been made about your health and sanity that need corroboration. You will answer the question.”
“Must I do that? I know why. I’ll bet it’s because these people here been telling lies about me. Have they told you wild stories about me being only fourteen years old when with your own fine blue eyes you can see that is not true?”
“Perhaps something of that nature.” The General’s eyes sparkled as he leaned forward. “You are speaking for the record.”
Benicoff moved away so the General could not see his face. He had spent time in Ireland. He knew what “putting the mickey to someone” meant—even if the General did not.
Brian hesitated and looked about him, licking his lips.
“Am I safe now, General?”
“I can guarantee that one hundred percent. As of this moment the United States Army is in charge.”
“That’s nice to know. I feel a great relief as I tell you that I woke up in me hospital bed, sore in the head. And with not a memory I could find after my fourteenth year. I may not look it, General, but as far as I know I am fourteen years old. And very tired. Feeling suddenly ill. I have something of medical importance to discuss with my attending physician.”
“Mr. Benicoff,” Dr. Snaresbrook said, right on cue, “would you and General Schorcht please leave. You may wait outside.”
Whatever the General had to say never came out. His face was bright red, his jaw working. In the end he spun about so sharply on his heel that the pinned-up arm of his uniform jacket flew up. Benicoff was holding the door open for the General and closed it behind them as they left. Worried, Dr. Snaresbrook hurried to Brian’s side.
The Turing Option Page 14