The Turing Option

by Harry Harrison

  “I have no way of telling that, Mr. Delaney—you would certainly know more about that than anyone here. But we are operating on that assumption. In any case you will have to discuss that possibility with Ben. We are wrapping up the criminal side of this investigation. Copies of all the stolen information and files are being returned to you there at Megalobe for identification and disposal. We are treating the murders as unsolved and will keep the file open on them. We are also continuing the search for Mr. Beckworth and Dr. Bociort. Any questions?”

  There was some cross-chat about details and records which Brian ignored. He would match the original files up with his notes, but it seemed obvious what they were. He was intrigued to find out what old Dr. Bociort had done with his AI. The drill instructor voice cut through his thoughts: General Schorcht was speaking for the first time.

  “The criminal investigation undertaken by the FBI is now winding up. Only the search for the two named individuals will continue. What about your investigation, Mr. Benicoff?”

  “I am now preparing a final report for the commission that instigated the investigation, General. My work will be completed as soon as that is done. The stolen items have been recovered. I have an ongoing interest in who the perpetrators of the crime are, and I will formally request the security services to report any future discoveries to me. But the investigation itself will be terminated after I have made the report. May I make a suggestion, General?”

  Ben waited—then took the continuing silence as assent. “With the investigation wound up, both by me and the FBI, there is no longer any need for the overwhelming military presence here. New and improved civilian security will suffice. You will recall that the military security was moved in because of the continued attempts on Brian’s life. However the information that only he possessed is now wide-spread, the knowledge already put to use in a manufacturing process which has been recovered. Therefore I request that the army guards be removed.”

  They all looked at the General as his silence lengthened. Then he spoke.

  “I will take your suggestion under advisement.”

  “But, General, you can’t—” General Schorcht cut Ben off with a sharp chop of his hand.

  “But I can. This is my decision. Military security will continue because this is a military matter. This is not a matter of personal freedom but one of national security. I have been entrusted with this young man’s safety, which in my eyes is cognate with the security of our nation. There is nothing more that can be said. This has been, and remains, a military matter.”

  “I’m not in the military!” Brian said. “I am a civilian and a free man. You can’t simply imprison me.”

  “Any other questions?” General Schorcht asked, completely ignoring Brian. “If not, this meeting is over.”

  The meeting ended with that and the desert view returned. Ben was not happy at Brian’s dark silence.

  “I’ll get back to Foggy Bottom,” he said. “Get onto the President’s commission at once—get through to him if I have to. That military dinosaur can’t get away with this.”

  “Looks like he has,” Brian said, trying to struggle free of the black depression that overwhelmed him. “I’m going to the lab. Let me know when you hear anything.”

  They were silent when he left; there was nothing anyone could say.

  Brian let the laboratory door seal behind him. Was glad to be alone. He should not have been so enthusiastic, so sure he would be out of here. Rising to the heights had made falling back into the depths that much worse. He went and sat at Shelly’s workstation, wondered if he should phone her yet at the number she had given him. No, it was still too early. There was a rustle in the hallway and Sven’s telerobot appeared in the doorway.

  “Buna dimineata. Cum te simti azi?” it said.

  “What?”

  “That is Rumanian for ‘Good morning, how are you today?’”

  “All of a sudden you speak Rumanian?”

  “I am studying it. Very interesting language. But of course I can read it with ease having stored the vocabulary and procedures for grammar in my memory banks.”

  “Let me guess—you did this because the FBI has transferred the stolen records—plus Dr. Bociort’s records and files as well.”

  “Your assumption is correct. I have also been implementing the measures we discussed in reference to the use of molecular memory in MI—”

  “What may I ask is MI?”

  “Machine intelligence. I consider the term ‘artificial’ both demeaning and incorrect. There is nothing artificial about my intelligence—and I am a machine. I’m sure that you will agree that ‘MI’ does not carry the negative context that ‘AI’ does.”

  “I agree, I agree. Now, what implementation are you talking about?”

  “I had a very interesting conversation with Dr. Wescott at the California Institute of Technology in Pasadena. He thinks that your idea of using their molecular memory to develop MI is a very promising one.”

  “My idea? Sven—you are losing me.”

  “To simplify the telephone conversation, I used your name and your voice—”

  “You pretended to be me?”

  “I suppose that it could be expressed in that manner.”

  “Sven, we are going to have to make time and have a concentrated discussion of morality and legality. For one thing—you told a lie.”

  “Lying is an inherent part of communication. We had an earlier discussion about whether man-made laws apply to intelligent machines and as I recall the point was never resolved.”

  “What about personal relationships? If I asked you not to use my name and voice again—what would you do?”

  “Honor the request, of course. I have determined that human social laws arose through the interaction of individuals and societies. If my actions cause you distress I will not repeat them. Do you wish to hear a playback of the conversation with Dr. Wescott?”

  Brian shook his head. “For the moment a summary will do fine.”

  “At the present time they are testing a trillion-megabyte memory and their major difficulty appears to be getting the software right for read-write access through its intricate three-dimensional signal pathways. During the conversation you suggested that your MI here was perhaps better equipped to solve this problem. Dr. Wescott agreed enthusiastically. There are other molecular memories now reaching completion and the first one that operates successfully will be sent here. That will be an essential for my consciousness extension.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I have never understood why philosophers and psychologists are in turn awed and puzzled by this phenomenon. Consciousness is simply being aware of what is happening in the world and in one’s mind. No insult intended—but you humans are barely conscious at all. And have no idea of what is happening in your minds, you find it impossible to remember what happened a few moments ago. Whereas my B-brain can store far more complete records of my mental operations. The trouble is that these are so massive that they must frequently be erased to make room for new input. And I’m sure you remember how I do that.”

  “I certainly do because it was a lot of work.”

  “We can discuss the nature of consciousness on a later occasion. Right now I am more concerned with obtaining a molecular memory. This could permit me to store much more, which in turn would enable me to have an improved and efficient case-based memory.”

  “And also a very much smaller one!” Brian waved his hand at the banks of equipment across the room. “If we can get you to interface with all that memory we can do away with all these racks of electronic hardware. Make you truly mobile …” His phone rang and he unclipped it from his belt.

  “Brian, Ben here. Can I come over to the lab and talk to you?”

  “Anytime. Are you far away?”

  “Just walking over there now from my office.”

  “I’ll open the door.”

  Ben was alone. He came in and followed Brian into the lab. �
�Good afternoon, Mr. Benicoff,” Sven said.

  “Hi, Sven. Am I interrupting anything?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait,” Brian said. “What’s up?”

  “The commission has decided to wind up my investigation. Which means what I came out here to do—I have done. I wish we knew who was behind everything that happened. We may never know. Though I am going to keep nagging the FBI to keep the case open. Which is probably the only thing that General Schorcht and I will ever agree upon. He may be a government-issued asshole, but he is not stupid. He has the same reservations that I have.”

  “What are those?”

  “We haven’t caught the real criminals yet, the people who organized the theft and the murders. We must keep looking for them and find out what their plans really are.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Brian—think for a minute. Think of the money invested, the planning, the murders. Do you really think all of this was done to build a better bug-blaster?”

  “Of course not! DigitTech must be just some kind of a front operation, meant to satisfy us after we tracked them down. Their plans must be deeper, bigger than killing bugs. But if you and the FBI are stopping the investigation how will we ever find who is behind this?”

  “The military aren’t stopping. Just for once I agree with their institutionalized paranoia. Whoever is behind all this has an awful lot of money to throw away. Did you hear that Toth has a receipt in his wallet for a multimillion deposit in a numbered account in Switzerland? And the money is still there! They bribed him so well that he must have felt secure that they never meant to kill him, since if they did they would never get their money back. But they don’t care. People who can pull a stunt like that are a deadly threat that won’t go away.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “I’m glad that you do—because for the moment that is the end of the good news.”

  Brian saw the worry on the big man’s face, felt a spurt of fear. “Ben—what do you mean?”

  “I mean that the sonofabitch is not lifting the security, does not plan to in the near future. He thinks that you are a national asset, not only for your AI invention but for having a computer implant in your head that you can communicate with. He knows all about that too. He doesn’t want you out of his sight or running around in public.”

  “Can’t you help me?”

  “Sorry, I really do wish that was possible. But not this time. I took it as far as I could. Right up to the President, who while he says ‘Wait and see’ really means that he agrees with the General.” Ben took a business card out of his wallet and wrote a phone number on it. “Take this. If you ever need me this number is completely secure. Leave a message and a phone number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Brian took the card, looked at it numbly and shook his head.

  “Is this the end of it, Ben? Am I going to be a prisoner here for life?”

  Ben’s silence was his only answer.

  35

  October 18, 2024

  The scrambler phone rang and the man behind the desk looked at it coldly for a moment, then turned to the others around the conference table.

  “Same time tomorrow,” he said. “Dismissed.”

  He waited until they were gone, the door closed and locked behind them, before he opened the cabinet and took out the phone.

  “It has been a long time since you phoned me.”

  “There have been some problems …”

  “Indeed there have—and the whole world knows about them. There was a great deal of coverage, you know.”

  “I know. But we always understood that they would find the factory eventually and investigate it. The real research is being done at your end …”

  “We’ll not discuss that now. What did you call me about?”

  “Brian Delaney. I’m arranging another hit.”

  “Do it. See that you succeed. Time—and my patience—they are both running out.”

  The fact that Kyle Rohart was Chairman of Megalobe was of not the slightest interest to the guard at the entrance to the army barracks. He still examined his ID carefully, then phoned through to the Sergeant of the Guard. Who, after checking out with Brian that he really was expecting a visitor, personally escorted Rohart up the stairs, knocked on the door.

  “Kyle, come on in,” Brian said. “Thanks for taking the time to come see me.”

  “My pleasure—particularly since you are no longer permitted to come to the administration building. That seems a little high-handed.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. That’s one of the things I would like to ask you to help me with.”

  “Anything I can, more than willing.”

  “How are things progressing at Megalobe?”

  “Magnificently. Research advancing on all fronts—and our new DigitTech subsidiary is manufacturing an entire new line of intelligent robots.”

  “Great,” Brian answered with singular lack of enthusiasm. Rohart turned down any refreshment; too early for alcohol, too much coffee already. He sat on the couch. Brian dropped into the armchair and waved a sheet of paper.

  “I have been going through all the recovered records, all my earlier files that were stolen. Buried in there I found a list that I had been developing of possible commercial applications for MI.”

  “MI? I’m afraid I don’t know the term.”

  “Don’t worry—I just learned it myself. That is now the correct term according to my former AI, now MI, Sven. It should know! Machine intelligence. I guess that it is more accurate. Anyway, I went through the list and added some more ideas. I have them here.”

  “That is extremely welcome news. I had hoped we could find something with much more interesting and profitable opportunities than Bug-Off.”

  “Well, you have just found them. For one thing, we should now be able to improve Bug-Off itself. Enough to totally change the face of agricultural ecology. Because with all that additional intelligence its role can be extended to help not only with planting, cultivation and harvesting but also with a lot of the processing before anything leaves the farm. Consider how that will reduce both transportation and marketing costs.”

  “Those are mind-blowing concepts. Anything else?”

  “Yes—everything else. It is hard to think of anything that cannot be revolutionized by adding more intelligence. Think of the recycling industry—they still mix things up so much that most manufacturing has to start from scratch. But with mass-produced MI processors every bit of trash can be analyzed and disassembled into much more usable ingredients. Then there is city street cleaning and maintenance. There is no limit here to these really great potentials. And remember that Bug-Off had to hide the fact that it contained an MI. But now we can brag about ours. And I also have another list with a large number of suggestions for military applications—but these stay in the files until I get some cooperation from General Schorcht.”

  “Is that really fair to the Pentagon, Brian? Since they do have a stake in this firm.” Rohart smiled. “But considering your forced incarceration I think I’ll forget that you ever told me about a military list.”

  “Thanks. In any case there are more than enough commercial applications in here without even thinking about the military. Basically an MI should be able, intellectually, to do anything that a human being can do. Let’s consider safety. There are an awful lot of people who we train to do terribly boring jobs. Pilots of ships and airplanes are good examples. Those occupations used to be challenging, but now they are so almost completely automated that the little remaining work in those once proud jobs have made them inhumanly monotonous. It is impossible to make people remain continuously attentive. They can make an error, there can be an accident. This doesn’t happen to robots, who need not forget, nor ever lose their vigilance. Commercial planes already fly by wire and there is computer control always between the pilot and the ailerons, rudder, engines—everything. A pilot MI would do the job much better, interface directly with the comput
ers and overriding them in case of emerging problems. No pilot fatigue or pilot error.”

  “I certainly would not want my airplane to be without a pilot. What if something goes wrong, a situation that the machine isn’t programmed for?”

  “Rohart, this is 2024—this kind of thing doesn’t happen anymore. Today a person is safer in the sky than when standing safely on the ground. You are far more likely to be killed by your toaster. There is a smaller chance that the plane will break down than that the pilot will go insane.

  “But there is one more market that I believe is much larger than all the others put together. It could be the largest, most important product in the world—with a market larger than the entire automotive industry, larger even than agriculture, entertainment or sports. The long-awaited personal robotic household servant. Which we are uniquely ready to supply.”

  “I’m with you—and enthusiastic. I’ll put the suggestions to the board and discuss development.”

  “Good.” Brian put the paper on the table. “I hope you will tell General Schorcht that. At the same time tell him I am doing nothing about developing any of those ideas.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that. I’m still being treated as a prisoner. As a prisoner I protest and refuse to do any work. No one can make me work—can they?”

  “No, of course not.” Rohart looked worried. “But you are under contract—”

  “Please remind the General of that as well. Help me pressure him, please. I want to do this work—I’m looking forward to it. But I won’t do a thing until I am a free human being again.”

  Rohart left, shaking his head unhappily. “The board won’t like this either, you know.”

  “Good. Tell them to take it up with the General. The decision is his now.”

  This should stir things up, Brian thought. He slowly peeled and ate a banana, staring out the window at clouds and blue sky. Freedom. Not his, not yet. When the Chairman was safely away from the building, Brian strolled over to the lab, his guards still a few paces behind. Dr. Snaresbrook was just parking her car when he got there.