The Turing Option

by Harry Harrison

  Mike rubbed his hands together happily as he walked back and forth the length of the room. “Oh, would I love the fees for arguing this one in court! You have them by the short and curlies because, stop me if I’m wrong, you are still far ahead of everyone else in developing a really smart AI.”

  “I hope I am. Apparently I was on the right track before my … accident, and Dr. Snaresbrook thinks there is a good chance I can get back to where I was. But right now, I’m still studying the basics and there’s no guarantee that I can get back in front. But I have all the notes, and I’ll do my best.”

  “Of course you will—and you are Megalobe’s only hope. Nothing wins in this world like having a monopoly. I am going to suggest to my superiors that they suggest to Megalobe that this contract be tossed out and a new one written. Does that satisfy you? Would you still sue?”

  “A new contract and no lawsuit. What should I ask for?”

  “Something simple and sweet. They put up the readies to develop AI. You put up the AI. Any net profit from future development of AI will be split fifty-fifty between the parties concerned.”

  Brian was shocked. “You mean I should ask for half of all profit from AI? That could be millions, maybe billions of dollars!”

  “Yup. Nothing wrong with being a billionaire, is there?”

  “No—but it is kind of a new idea.”

  “Want me to start on this?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Mike stood and looked at the contract and sighed dramatically. “This is the first time since I enlisted that I have had the slightest desire to be back in private practice. If I was the shyster handling this new contract would I really make a bundle!”

  “Someone once told me that lawyers eat their young.”

  “Brian my boy—it’s true! I’ll get back to you as soon as I have any news.”

  Brian napped after lunch and was feeling much better when the nurse opened the door and the hospital orderly pushed in the wheelchair at four in the afternoon.

  “Ready for your session with the doctor?” the nurse asked.

  “I sure am. Can’t I walk down there?”

  “Sit. Doctor’s orders.”

  Brian grabbed the bound sheaf of papers he had been reading and took it with him. He remained sitting in the wheelchair as the tendrils brushed his neck and slid the thin fiber-optic link into place.

  “Doc, can I ask a favor for this session?”

  “Of course, Brian. What is it?”

  “This.” He held up the papers. “I did a graduate course in topology and this is an article about it that I just printed out. I started to read it and found that I am really out of my depth. If I read it now is there any chance you can access my earlier memories of the field? Will anything show up on your dials to show you’ve hit the right spot? Then you can press the button and give me my memories back.”

  “I wish it were that easy—but we can certainly try. I was going to suggest input like this in any case—so am more than willing to have a go at it now.”

  The material was pretty intractable and Brian had to reread a lot for it to make any sense. He worked his way almost halfway through the article before he put it down.

  “Any contacts, Doc?”

  “Lots of activity, though it is so widespread that it is obvious that a very large number of K-lines are involved. My machine is not set up to handle networking like this. This is the kind of cross-connecting that only the human brain is so good at.”

  Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bit tired. Can we call it a day?”

  “Of course. We agreed to always pull the plug at the first hint of fatigue.”

  “Thanks. I wish I could access the inbuilt CPU with commands more complex than ‘Turn Off.’”

  “Well, you can always try.”

  “Wouldn’t it be great if I could? Just issue the order to the CPU. You there, CPU, open the file on topology.”

  Brian’s smile turned suddenly to one of surprise. He stared into space, then focused his eyes on Dr. Snaresbrook.

  “Now that is what I call very interesting. Didn’t I say when I came in that I knew little or nothing about the mathematical field of topology? Well I must have been very tired or something, just not concentrating. But now I remember my thesis very well. It had a lot of what was new stuff at the time. It started simply by using an algebraic theory of knots based on the old Vaughn Jones polynomial to classify chaotically invariant trajectories, then applied this to various physics problems. Nothing very inspired and I’m sure that it must be pretty old hat now. I’m beginning to understand why I quit pure math and went into AI.”

  Brian seemed to take his uploaded, transplanted memories for granted—but not Snaresbrook. Her hands were shaking so hard that she had to bring them together. Brian had used the CPU implant to interface with his own memories. There really was an internal man-machine interface in operation.

  16

  November 14, 2023

  The rest area of the tenth floor of the hospital was more like a roof garden than a balcony. A marine guard at the door checked Benicoff’s ID before he let him proceed between the potted palms. Brian was sitting with his head in the shade of the beach umbrella; he had managed to sunburn his face by falling asleep in the sun the previous day and didn’t want a rerun. He looked up from his book and waved.

  “Good to see you, Ben.”

  “Likewise—though you are not going to like the news. There won’t be any court order for those data bases of yours. In recent years the tightening up of the secrecy laws has ruled out access of this kind. If you were dead it would be different.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Every once in a while someone gets killed in a car accident and leaves no record of his access codes. There has to be hearings, proof of relationship, a lot of work is needed to get a court order, let me tell you. And there are no exceptions to this.”

  “Then what can I do?”

  “Go physically to the data base. Prove that you are you and then it is up to the company to decide if they will release the material or not. And that is going to be tricky.”

  “Why?”

  “Because—and I am deadly serious—the company with your files is not in the country. It’s in Mexico.”

  “You’re having me on!”

  “I wish I were. The company is in Tijuana. Salaries are still cheaper there. That’s just across the border, about twelve miles from here. Lots of American electronic assembly plants there. This company was probably founded to service them. Should we start thinking about a trip down there?”

  “No, not for the moment.”

  “That’s what I thought you would say.” Benicoff smiled at Brian’s look of surprise. “Because I understood that your military legal eagle has the Megalobe lawyers running in circles and screaming in pain. They’ll come around in the end. I’ve gone upstairs about this. So now there is pressure on the military to pressure the company to come up with a new contract.”

  “Upstairs—talking to God?”

  “Almost. And I figured you weren’t going to look at those files until your future was set.”

  “You’re one step ahead of me.”

  “Not hard to outwit a fourteen-year-old!”

  “Brag, brag. This is one fourteen-year-old that has developed a taste for beer. Join me?”

  “Sure. As long as it’s Bohemia ale.”

  “I don’t know that one.”

  “From Mexico, since we are talking about that country. I think that you’ll like it.”

  Brian phoned down and a mess attendant brought the beers. He smacked his lips and drank deep.

  “Good stuff. Have you talked to Doc Snaresbrook lately?”

  “This morning. She says that you are going stir-crazy here and want to crack out. But she wants you in the hospital for another week at least.”

  “That’s what she told me. No problem—I guess.”

  “I suppose you are going to ask me next if you can go
to Mexico.”

  “Ben—is this your mind-reading day?”

  “Not hard to do. You want security for those files—and so do we. Phone lines can be tapped, data copied. And GRAMs can go astray in the mail.”

  “GRAM? Don’t you mean DRAM?”

  “A thing of the past. Dynamic random-access memory is now as dead as the dodo. These gigabyte ERAMs are static, no need for batteries, and have so much memory that they are replacing CDs and digital audiotape. With the new semantic compression techniques they’ll soon replace videotapes as well.”

  “I want to see one of them.”

  “You will as soon as the trip can be arranged. And I am also not going to embarrass you, force you to say no, by offering to go there in your place. I’ve talked to various security people about this already.”

  “I’m sure that it made them deliriously happy to even think about me leaving the country.”

  “You better believe it! But when the shouting died down it turned out that the FBI has an ongoing agreement with the Mexican government about this kind of thing. There is a regular trade in going down there after drug money and computer records—usually in banks. Special armed Secret Service officers will accompany us all of the way. Mexican police will join us at the border and will bring us back to the States afterwards.”

  “So I can go there and retrieve my files?”

  Benicoff nodded. “Just as soon as the doctor says you’re fit. And it will be more like an invasion than you strolling across the border on your own. You’ll be escorted all the way there and home again.”

  “And the files—will they be taken away from me?”

  “You have a nasty and suspicious mind, Brian Delaney. What’s yours is yours. But—and I’m just guessing now—this trip will probably be difficult, it not impossible, to set up until you have signed a new contract with Megalobe. The government does have an investment to protect.”

  “And if I don’t agree to the contract—I I don’t go?”

  “You said it—not me.”

  Brian had to think about this. He finished his beer and shook his head no when Ben offered another one. Once before in his life he had tried to develop AI on his own; the records he had gone through showed that. Showed that he went broke too and had to sign that Mickey Mouse contract with Megalobe. If you can’t learn by experience you can’t learn. If he was fated to relive this part of his life he was certainly going to do a better job of it the second time around.

  “It all depends on my new employment contract,” he finally said. “If it is fair then we retrieve the file and I go back to work for Megalobe. Okay?”

  “Sounds like a winner. I’ll start setting things up.”

  Benicoff was scarcely out the door when Brian’s phone rang; he picked it up.

  “Who? Of course. Yes, she has clearance, check with Dr. Snaresbrook if there is any doubt. She has been here before. Right. Then please send her up.”

  A marine guard brought Dolly in. Brian climbed to his feet and gave her a peck on the cheek.

  “You’re looking a lot better, filling out,” she said, looking at him with the exacting eye of maternal scrutiny, then holding out a package. “I hope you still like these—I baked them this morning.”

  “Not chocolate-chip cookies!” Brian tore open the wrapper and bit into one. “Always my favorite, Dolly, many thanks.”

  “And how are things going?”

  “Couldn’t be better. I’ll be able to get out of the hospital in a week. And the chances are I’ll be getting back to work as soon after that as I can manage.”

  “Work? I thought that your memory, that was the trouble.”

  “It shouldn’t be a hindrance. If I find any gaps when I start on the research—well, I’ll face that if and when it comes up. When I actually start working again I’ll quickly find out how much I have forgotten.”

  “You’re not going to do that artificial intelligence thing anymore?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  Dolly leaned back in her chair, twisting her fingers together. “You don’t have to. Please, Brian. You tried once and look where it got you. Perhaps you’re not destined to succeed.”

  He couldn’t tell her that he had succeeded once, that his AI was out there somewhere. This information was still classified. But he wanted to make her understand the importance of his work. And “destiny” had nothing to do with it.

  “You know I can’t go along with that, Dolly. It’s free will that makes the world go round. And I’m not superstitious.”

  “I’m not talking about superstition!” she said warmly. “I’m talking about the Holy Spirit, about souls. A machine can’t have a soul. What you are trying to do is a blasphemy. Dealing with the devil.”

  “I have never been a great believer in souls,” he said softly, knowing she would be hurt whatever he said. Her mouth pursed angrily.

  “You are your father’s son all right. Never went to mass at all, didn’t want to talk about it. We have God-given souls, Brian—and He is not giving them out to machines!”

  “Dolly, please. I know how you feel and what you believe, remember that I was raised as a Catholic. But my work has given me some insight into the brain and what might be called the human condition. Try to understand that I am no longer satisfied with what I was taught to believe. Can machines have souls? You ask me that and I ask you if souls can learn. If they can’t—then of what importance is this concept? Sterile and empty and unchangeable for eternity. How much more preferable it is to understand that we create ourselves. Slowly and painfully, shaped basically by our genes, modified steadily by everything we see and hear and attempt to understand. That is the reality and that is how we function, learn and develop. That is where intelligence came from. I am just trying to discover how this process works and apply it to a machine. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “Everything! You deny God and you deny the Holy Spirit and the soul itself. You will die and burn in hell forever …”

  “No, I won’t, Dolly. That kind of destructive theory is where religion sinks into pure superstition. But what really hurts is that I know you believe that and suffer and worry for me. I wish you wouldn’t. I don’t really want to argue religion with you, Dolly. No one wins. But you’re an intelligent woman, you know that the world changes, even religions change. You’ve had a divorce. And if the new Pope hadn’t ruled that family planning wasn’t a sin you wouldn’t be teaching birth control—”

  “That’s different.”

  “No, it’s not. You say that artificial intelligence is unnatural—but it’s not. The growth of intelligence is part of the process of evolution. When we learn how the mind works there is nothing evil or wrong with making machine models of our work. Dad was one of the pioneers in this field and I’m proud to continue with it. Machines today can think in many ways, perceive—even understand. They’ll soon be able to think better, understand, feel emotions …”

  “That’s close to blasphemy, Brian.”

  “Yes, it might be on your terms. I’m sorry. But it is the truth. But if you think about it you’ll realize that emotions must have come before brains and intelligence. An amoeba, about the simplest animal you can get, will pull a pseudopod back when it detects something painful. Pain leads to fear, which leads to survival. You can’t deny that animals, dogs, have emotions.”

  “They’re not machines!”

  “You’re arguing in circles, Dolly. And there is no point to it either. When I build the first AI we’ll see if it has emotions or not.”

  “I hope you enjoy the cookies,” she said, standing abruptly. “But I think I have to go now.”

  “Dolly, stay a bit, please.”

  “No. I see that there is no way to stop you.”

  “It’s not just me. Ideas have a strength of their own. If I don’t put the pieces together correctly, why then someone else will.”

  She didn’t answer him, even when he changed the subject, made a feeble attempt at small ta
lk.

  “I’ll have to say good-bye now, Brian. And it’s going to be a while before I see you again. I’ve had a lot of calls from the clinic back home. They were nice about giving me emergency leave at such short notice, but they really are short-staffed.”

  “I appreciate what you did to help me.”

  “That’s all right,” she said, already distant.

  “Can I phone you?”

  “If you think it necessary. You have my number.”

  Clouds had come up and the balcony was getting chilly. He walked slowly back to his room, no longer needing the wheelchair, and turned on the lights. Took off the knitted cap and ran his fingers over the growing stubble on his scalp, went and looked in the mirror. The scars on his skull were still obvious, although not as red as they had been. The hair was beginning to conceal them. He picked up the hospital cap—then threw it aside. He was beginning to hate this place. Benicoff had brought him a baseball cap that advertised the virtues of the San Diego Padres in large letters; he pulled that on, nodded approvingly at his mirrored image. Poor Dolly, life had not been that nice to her. Well it had not been nice to him either! As least she didn’t get a bullet through the brain. His watch buzzed and the tiny voice spoke.

  “Four P.M. Time for your appointment with Dr. Snaresbrook. Four P.M. Time for yo …”

  “Belt up!” he said, and it went silent.

  Erin Snaresbrook looked up and smiled when Brian came in. “I love your taste in hats. It sure beats that hospital-issue beanie that you have been wearing. Ready to go to work? I want to try something new today.”

  “What’s that?” Brian took off the cap and settled back in the dentist’s chair, felt the spidery touch of the metal fingers.

  “If you don’t mind I would like to hold off on the memory work for this session and see if we can’t do more with your new talent of accessing your inbuilt CPU.”

  “Sure. I never thought to ask—but what kind of a central processor is it?”

  “It’s a CM-9 parallel processing unit that contains 128 million simple but fast computers. It has a very small current drain and runs very cool—imperceptibly above your body temperature. Uses hardly any current at all. In fact, this computer uses less energy than the equivalent brain cells. And plenty of memory. In addition to sixteen 64-billion-byte GRAMs, your implant contains four thousand million words of B-CRAM as well.”