“Can I talk to this AI of yours?”
“Of course. And it is MI, that’s the term now. Machine intelligence. Nothing artificial about these machines—they’re the real McCoy. Their established networks have thoroughly assimilated different commonsense data bases like CYC-5 and KNOWNET-3. This is the first time anyone has combined several different ways to think into one system, tying them together with transverse paranomes. And this was done without having to force all the different kinds of knowledge into the same rigid, standard form. But it wasn’t easy to do. The MI is called Sven, a corruption of Seven, because there were six failures. They all worked at first and then deteriorated in different ways.”
“I don’t see a lot of robot bodies around. What did you do with them?”
“There was nothing at all wrong with the robot body. It was only a matter each time of loading new software.”
“Might I interrupt?” Sven said. “And add to that. Some parts of the previous versions still exist. I can access them should I wish to. MIs don’t die. When something goes wrong the program is modified from the point where the trouble began. It is good to be able to remember one’s past.”
“It is also good to remember more than one past,” Sven-2 said. “By activating certain groups of nemes, I can remember a lot of what three, four and six experienced. Each version of me—us—functioned reasonably well before breaking down. Each failed in different ways.”
Snaresbrook could scarcely believe this was happening. Talking to a robot—or was it two robots, about its, or their, early developmental experiences, traumas, and critical experiences. It was difficult to remain matter-of-fact about it.
“Am I beginning to notice personality differences between the two Svens?” she asked.
“Very possible,” Brian said. “They are certainly no longer completely identical. Since the initial duplication, they have each been operating in quite different environments. Sven is mobile while Sven-2 has no body, only a few remote sensors and effectors. So now they have quite a few different memories.”
“But can’t they be merged? The way we merged your own DAIs after they had read all those different books?”
“Perhaps. But I have been afraid to try to merge Sven’s semantic net with that of Sven-2, because their representations of sensory-motor experience might be incompatible.”
“I think that a merger would be ill-advised,” Sven-2 said. “I am concerned that my middle-level management structure might reject entire sections of my physical-world representations. Because of the Principle of Noncompromise.”
“That’s one of our basic operating principles,” Sven added. “Whenever two subagencies propose incompatible recommendations, their managers start to lose control. When this happens a higher-level manager looks for some third agency to take over. That is usually much faster and more effective than becoming paralyzed while the two differing agencies fight for control. That’s what kept happening to model two, before Brian rebuilt the whole management system to be based on Papert’s principle.”
“Well,” Snaresbrook said, “whatever anyone might say, these machines are simply amazing. Nothing artificial about them at all—and they are remarkably human in many ways. And for some reason they both remind me quite a bit of you.”
“That’s not too surprising since their semantic networks are based on the data that you downloaded from my very own brain.” He looked at his watch. “It’s seven o’clock and a good time to call a halt. The three of us are going now, Sven-2—and hopefully I won’t be back here for some time.”
“I wish you and Sven all the best of luck and look forward to a detailed report upon your return. In the meantime I have research and reading that will keep me quite occupied. In addition, since I lack mobility, I shall construct a virtual reality for myself, a simulated three-dimensional world of my own.”
“Well, you will have plenty of privacy for that. The only way anyone can get in here is by blowing open the door and I think that Megalobe will take a very dim view of that.”
Brian dragged the now weighty box to the front entrance and opened it. ‘Hey, guys, you want to give Doc a hand with this thing?”
If the two soldiers noticed the weight they did not mention it, just not the macho thing to do since the others had carried it in so easily.
“You go ahead, Doc,” Brian said. “I’ll walk over with these guys.”
He had told her the exact spot where she was to park the car, in the lot behind the barracks, and was sure that she would get it right. He jogged back and, moaning insincere complaints, the two guards did so as well. They reached the barracks just as she drove up.
“Should I lock the car up?” she asked, then put the keys in her purse at the soldiers’ protestations of complete safety and security.
“Just a dry sherry,” she said in the club, and frowned when Brian ordered a large whiskey for himself. There was no need to look at their watches since a digital readout over the bar told them the time. Brian put a lot of water in his drink and only sipped it. They talked quietly as off-duty soldiers came in, others left, both of them trying very hard not to keep looking at the clock. Yet the instant the half hour flipped over Brian was on his feet.
“No—I don’t want to!” he said loudly. “It’s just getting impossible.” He pushed his chair back, banged into the table as he turned and spilled his drink. He did not look back as he stamped from the room, slammed the door. The barman hurried over with a towel and cleaned up the spill.
“I’ll get another one,” he said.
“No need. I don’t think that Brian will be coming back tonight.”
She was aware of everyone pointedly not looking in her direction as she sipped the rest of her drink. Took out her organizer as she punched in some notes. When she was ready to leave she picked up her purse, looked around the room, then went over to a sergeant who was drinking at the bar.
“Excuse me, Sergeant—but is Major Wood here today?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Could you tell me how to find him?”
“I’ll take you there if you don’t mind.”
“Thank you.”
When he had slammed out of the bar it took all of Brian’s control not to run up the stairs two at a time. Fast, yes, but running and drawing any attention was not a good idea. He locked the door behind him, then grabbed up the pliers he had placed on the table. Sven had sawn through the lock of the alarm bracelet on his wrist, then sealed it again with a small metal loop. Brian broke this off, dropped pliers and bracelet on the bed, tore his trousers off as he ran across the room, hopping on one foot and almost falling he pulled off his shoes as well. The plastic container of bubble bath was still sitting on the sink where he had left if. He seized it up, started to open it—then cursed aloud.
“Moron—the gloves first. Everything is timed. But don’t forget any of the details or this thing is not going to work!”
He turned the water on in the sink, rinsed his head under the faucet and kept it running. Clumsily opened the container with his gloved hands, bent over the sink and poured half the contents over his head, rubbed it in.
Although the liquid was transparent it turned his hair black on contact. It was a commercial hair dye that was guaranteed to darken the hair but not the skin. He wore the gloves because fingernails and hair are virtually identical—and black nails would certainly bring unwanted attention. He used the remaining liquid to touch up the lighter places and to very carefully dye his eyebrows.
After toweling his hair dry he rinsed off the gloves and plastic container. He would take the empty dye bottle with him. Put the gloves in the kitchen drawer and fold the towel at the bottom of the clean pile. If he got away with this plan there would be an investigation and the technicians would eventually find traces of the dye—but he did not want to make it easy for them. A quick glance at his watch. Only three minutes to go!
He pulled out the bottom drawer of the bureau—so hard that it crashed to the floor. Leav
e it there! Pulled on the uniform shirt over the short-sleeved shirt he was wearing, then the trousers, tied the laces on the military dress shoes, struggled to knot his khaki tie.
It was a different Brian who looked back out of the mirror, adjusting the parachutist’s cap at the same rakish angle that the others did. 82d Airborne, he had sewn the shoulder patch on himself. No stripes, a private, one more of many, in uniform—meaning the same—and that’s what he wanted to be.
He was just jamming his wallet into his pocket when his telephone rang.
“Yes. Who is it?”
“It’s Dr. Snaresbrook, Brian. I wonder if I could …”
“I don’t feel like talking now, Doctor. I’m going to make a sandwich, have a lot to drink, watch some repulsively stupid television and go to bed early. I’ll maybe talk to you tomorrow. And if you want to talk to me before then—don’t. Because I’m turning off this phone.”
Just two minutes now. He started to hook the phone onto his belt—realized that he could easily be tracked through it—threw it onto the bed instead. Picked up the dye container in a paper bag. Lights off, open the door a crack. Hall was empty. Lock the door behind him, quietly now. Quickly to the fire stair in the rear. His heart was thudding violently as he eased the heavy door shut behind him.
Still in luck. The corridor reaching to the back entrance to the building was empty. Walk slowly, past the open door to the kitchen—don’t look in!—and ease open the rear door.
He stepped aside as the two cooks, wearing their whites, came in. They were arguing about baseball, apparently took no notice of him. But they would surely remember a soldier going out if something went wrong. If the alarm went now they would lead the guards right to him.
There was the car, in the shadow of the building, the only place in the lot not illuminated by the mercury vapor lights.
He looked around quickly, three soldiers in the lot walking away from him. No one else. He eased open the back door of the car and slipped in, closing it behind him while trying not to let it slam. Locked it and dropped to the floor, pulling the blanket over him.
“He’s a very upset young man,” Erin Snaresbrook said, rising to her feet.
“We all know that,” Major Wood said. “And we don’t like it. But we have our orders and there is absolutely nothing that I or anyone else can do about it.”
“Then I will go over your head. Something must be done to help him.”
“Please do that—and I wish you luck.”
“He was very upset on the phone just now. He has locked himself in his room, doesn’t want to talk to anyone.”
“Understandable. He might be better in the morning.”
“Well, I certainly hope so.”
He showed her to the front door, started to come with her to the car. She stopped and rooted in her purse for her car keys, took them out along with one of her business cards that she handed to the officer.
“I want you to phone me, night or day, Major, if you are concerned in any way about his well-being. I hope something really will be done before it is too late. Good-bye.”
“I’ll do that, Doctor. Good-bye.”
She walked slowly out of the building and to the parking lot. Got into the car, not daring to glance at the backseat. Started the engine and looked about. There was no one nearby.
“Are you—there?” she whispered.
“You better believe it!” was the muffled answer.
She drove to the gate. Nodded to the guards when the barrier rose, drove out into the star-pricked darkness.
38
December 19, 2024
Erin Snaresbrook was forced to set the cruise control on the car, since her speed kept creeping up—and dropping back only when she noticed. The desert was an ocean of darkness on all sides, the headlights boring a tunnel of light down the undulating ribbon of the road ahead of her. She drove for over a mile before she saw the car parked on the shoulder of the road. She slowed and pulled over, stopping behind it. Sighed with relief, then turned her head and spoke over her shoulder.
“You’re safe now. You can come out.”
Brian popped up onto the backseat. “Thought I was going to suffocate. No problems, I guess—or we wouldn’t be here.”
“No problems. You can get out. Wait—let me turn the lights off first. And the inside light. Just in case.”
Brian stepped out into the warm darkness. Free! For the first time in a year. He breathed deep of the dry desert air, allowed himself a long moment to take in the sky brimming over with stars, filled with them right down to the dark and jagged outline of the mountains. Heard the car door close as Snaresbrook came out and joined him. He turned to face her, looked past her and saw the other car, felt a surge of panic when he saw that someone was standing next to it.
“Who’s there! What happened?”
“It’s all right, Brian,” Snaresbrook said quietly. “It’s Shelly. She’s here to help you. She knows about everything that is happening and is on your side.”
Brian’s throat was so tight that it took an effort to speak. “How long have you known?” he asked when Shelly came and stood before him.
“Just for the last week. Ever since I told Dr. Snaresbrook about my leaving the military because of what they were doing to you. I convinced her that I wanted to help you—and she believed me.”
“That’s when I told her what you were planning to do. I have a great fear, Brian, that you are not ready to tackle the outside world on your own yet. I took the calculated risk that she was sincere—her presence here instead of the military police is proof that I was correct. I have been very concerned about you and, frankly, I did not want you to learn about her part in this affair until you were safely away from your prison.”
Brian took a shuddering breath, let it out slowly—and smiled into the darkness. “You’re right, Doc. I don’t think I could have hacked it before. But now that it’s done—I feel great! Welcome aboard, Shelly.”
“Thank you both for letting me help. I’m coming with you. You are not going to be alone.”
“I’ve got to think about that. Later. Right now we had better get moving.” He unknotted his tie and pulled off the army shirt. “Did the Major buy your story, Doc?”
“He likes you, Brian, they all seem to. I feel certain that no one will go near the room until the morning.”
“I hope so. But when they do find that I’m missing it’s going to really hit the fan. You know I feel sorry for them all. In a way it’s a really dirty trick to play. They’ll be in the yogurt for sure.”
“A little late to think about that, isn’t it?”
“No, I’ve already gone that route. I thought long and hard about it when I was planning the escape. I feel sorry for them—but they were my jailers—and I needed out of jail. Now, what’s the plan?”
“Shelly takes over from here. I’m going back to Megalobe, do some work in my lab there. Spend the night. That will muddy the waters a bit, perhaps even prevent them from tying me in with the escape. The bigger the mystery the better the chance you have to pull it off. I’ll even box my connection machine and put it back into the car so they will have trouble tying a missing box with your escape. So let’s drag Sven out and put it in Shelly’s car. The faster I get back, the better it will be.”
As soon as this was done, after a quick peck on the cheek and hurried good-byes, they separated. When the other car had made a U-turn and headed back toward Megalobe, Shelly started her engine and drove west. Brian looked out at the hills moving by, felt an even greater sense of relief than he had when he first knew he was free.
“I’m glad that you are here,” he said. “And maybe we better stick together. At least for a while.” He looked at his watch. “At this speed we should reach the border by eleven at the latest.”
“Are you sure? I’ve never driven this way before.”
“Neither have I—that I remember. But I have been reading lots of guidebooks and maps. There shouldn’t be much traffic
and the total drive is only eighty-seven miles.”
They were silent after that: there was very little now to say but a lot to think about.
They turned off 78 before Brawley and headed south toward El Centro and Calexico. The signs reading MEXICO led them around the town center to the border crossing. It was just half past ten when the customs booths appeared ahead. For the first time Brian felt nervous.
“All the travel books say that there is no hassle getting into Mexico. Is that right?”
“Come and bring your dollars. I’ve never been stopped going in—or even been looked at for that matter.”
There were no American customs officers in sight when they drove across the national boundary. The Mexican official, sporting a large gun and even larger stomach, just glanced at their license plate then turned away.
“We did it!” Brian shouted as they rolled along the street of garish shops and bars.
“We sure enough did! What’s next?”
“A change of plan for one thing. The original idea was for the doc to drop me and Sven off and go back to the States. She had no clue as to what my future plans would be.”
“Do you?”
“Positively! I’m going to take the train to Mexico City tonight.”
“So am I.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“All right. We stick to the original plan except you take the car back across the border, return by cab—”
“Nope. Too complicated, too time-consuming. And it leaves a trail. We just leave the car here with the key in the ignition.”
“It’ll get stolen!”
“That’s the idea. It should vanish completely if the local car thieves are up to scratch. That’s a lot better than having it found in a parking lot in Calexico to show which way we went.”
“You can’t do that. The money …”
“I wanted a new car anyway. And maybe someday I can collect the insurance. So not another word. Which way is the station?”
The Turing Option Page 36