“He’s dead!”
“He might as well be. Forced retirement and living in a bungalow on the grounds of Camp Mead in Hawaii. It was either that or face possible charges of insanity. He had the engineers attempt to break into your laboratory—and practically blew themselves away. There were short circuits, premature explosions—almost as though someone inside was working to stop them.”
Brian had to laugh. “There was—Sven-2. A very up-to-date MI.”
“We found that out when your MI rang all the police and TV stations to let them know what was happening. Schorcht was on the way out ten minutes later.”
“I’ll have to phone Sven-2 and congratulate it. So how do things stand now?”
“The military is gone at last from Megalobe and there is civilian security there now. It will be just as secure, you will be happy to know. When Major Wood discovered he had been suckered by the General, who knew all about your escape plans and let them go ahead, he applied for a discharge. So he’s still in charge of security—still will be even when he is out of uniform.”
“That’s good to hear. What was the General’s idea behind letting me think I was escaping?”
“He had the suspicion, probably from all of his wiretaps and intelligence reports, that you knew more about who the criminals were than you were letting on. By permitting you to escape, then letting you out on a long leash and keeping track of you, he thought you would lead us to them.”
“If he believed that—then he must have thought I would be in danger of my life. And he didn’t care!”
“My conclusion exactly. Which is the reason why he is now watching daytime television in that bungalow. The President was not amused. If you had led General Schorcht to the thieves all might have been forgiven. But when you gave your watchdogs the slip the ceiling fell in.”
“Have you talked with Dr. Snaresbrook?”
“I have. She hopes you are well. Sends her love and looks forward to seeing you back in California. She is highly incensed at being used by the General, at being fooled into aiding your escape in what might have been a dangerous situation.”
“Can’t say that I blame her. She took a big risk to help me—and the operation was blown even before it started.”
“Then that’s it,” Ben said, walking the length of the room and back. “Still cramped from the plane. Nothing more to tell. So maybe you can satisfy my curiosity now. Where did you go—and what did you do?”
“I can’t tell you where I went. But I can tell you that Dr. Bociort is still alive and has told me everything that he knows. He was hired to work with my stolen AI by Beckworth using a fake name. Bociort knew that the entire operation was rotten from the very beginning and did what electronic snooping he could—”
“Brian, be kind to an old man! Jump to the ending and fill in the details later. Did he find out who was behind the theft and murders?”
“Unhappily, no. He did discover that it was an international conspiracy, though. Beckworth is an American. It was a Canadian who arranged for the helicopter pickup. Plus the reports that orientals drove the truck that cleaned out my house. And one more big one. When Beckworth had to make an emergency call he telephoned Canada—and talked to an Englishman.”
“Who?”
“He couldn’t find out—the phone was disconnected at once.”
“Damn. Then we are really back to square one. The thieves and killers are still out there.”
“That’s right. So since we can’t find them we have to render them harmless. First off we take out patents on the AI they have. So what they stole will be available to anybody who wants to pay the patent fees. That takes care of the past. All we need think about now is the future—”
“Which explains your and Sven’s television appearance today.”
“Perfectly correct. It’s a whole new ball game. We forget the past—I know that I would like to—and look to the future. When tomorrow comes it is going to be a good one. We let the world know that Megalobe is manufacturing MIs. Like any new invention we take all needed precautions against industrial espionage. And get the production lines rolling at once. The more MIs there are out there the safer I and Sven are. I doubt if the people behind the theft and killings will be out for revenge, but I’ll still take all the precautions that any engineer with technical knowledge would. What do you think?”
“That it will work!” Ben shouted, slamming his fist into his palm. “That it has to work. Those bums, whoever they are, paid millions for absolutely nothing. Let’s drink to that.” Ben looked around the room. “Got a bar here?”
“No—but I can ring down for whatever you want.”
“Champagne. Vintage. And about six sandwiches. I haven’t eaten for over five thousand miles.”
Only one thing happened that spoiled Brian’s complete satisfaction. The press no longer mobbed the hotel; police were at the front entrance and admitted only other guests and journalists he had made appointments with. He had eaten enough meals in hotel rooms so he joined Ben next morning in the restaurant for breakfast.
“Where’s Sven?” Ben asked. “I thought he liked publicity and his newfound freedom?”
“He does. But he discovered that Stockholm has phone numbers for what is called therapeutic sexual conversation. So he is both practicing his Swedish and doing research into human sexual practices.”
“Oh, Alan Turing, would you were but alive in this hour!”
They were finishing a second pot of coffee when Shelly came into the dining room, looked around, then walked slowly over to their table. Ben stood up before her.
“I don’t think you’re wanted here—even if Military Intelligence managed to get you past the police.”
“I’m here on my own, Ben. No one helped me. I simply registered in the hotel. And if you don’t mind, I would like to hear Brian tell me to leave. I want to talk to him—not you.”
Brian half stood, his face red, his fists clamped. Then he dropped back into the chair and ordered the anger to drain away.
“Let her stay, Ben. This will have to be done sooner or later.”
“I’ll be in my room.” The big man turned away and left them alone.
“May I sit down?”
“Yes. And answer one question—”
“Why did I do it? Why did I betray you? I’m here because I want to tell you about that.”
“I’m listening.”
“I hate it when your voice gets cold like that, your face freezes. More like a machine than a man—”
Tears rolled down her cheeks and she dabbed at them angrily. Brought herself under control.
“Please try to understand. I am a serving officer in the United States Air Force. I took an oath—and I can’t betray it. When I went to Los Angeles to see my father, that was when General Schorcht sent for me. He gave me an order. I obeyed it. It’s as simple as that.”
“That is not very simple at all. At the Nuremberg trials—”
“I know what you are going to say. That I am no better than the Nazis who were ordered to murder Jews—and did so. They tried to escape justice by saying they were just obeying orders.”
“You said it, I didn’t.”
“Perhaps they had little choice, they did what everyone else was doing. I’m not defending them—just trying to explain what I did. I had a choice. I could have resigned my commission, walked right out of there. I wouldn’t have been shot.”
“Then you must have agreed with the order to lie to me—to spy on me?” Still calmly, still without anger.
She had emotion enough for both of them, pounding her fists slowly and silently on the table, leaning forward to whisper out her words.
“I thought that if you escaped alone you would be in danger, I really did. I wanted to protect you—”
“By phoning from the train and telling Schorcht all my plans?”
“Yes. I believed that there was a strong possibility that you couldn’t cope, might be hurt, so I wanted you protected. And, yes, I b
elieve that Military Intelligence should have known what you were doing. If you had knowledge that was vital to the country I believe that it was vital for your country to know it as well.”
“National security goes before betraying a friend?”
“If you want to phrase it that way then, well, yes I think it does.”
“Poor Shelly. Living in the past. Putting nationalism, flag-waving jingoism ahead of personal honor, ahead of everything. Not knowing that little nationalism is dead and world nationalism is the name of the game. The cold war is dead as well, Shelly, and hopefully soon, all war will be dead. And we’ll be free of the burden of the military at last. A fossil, extinct—but too stupid to lie down. You’ve made your decision and you have told me about it. End of conversation. Good-bye Shelly, I don’t think we’ll be meeting again.” He wiped his lips with his napkin, stood and turned away.
“You can’t dismiss me like that. I came to make some explanation, apology maybe. I’m a person and I can be hurt. And you are hurting me, do you understand that? I came to make amends. You must be more machine than man if you can’t understand that. You can’t just turn your back on me and walk away!”
Which of course is exactly what he did.
44
LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA
February 8, 2026
The date brushed against the edge of Erin Snaresbrook’s attention as she read her personalized morning newspaper. There was very little news of the accepted sort in it, no politics, no sports, but plenty of biochemistry and brain research. She was engrossed in an article about nerve growth and the nagging bothered her. Then she looked again at the date—and dropped the sheets of eternitree onto the table, took up her cup of coffee.
That date. She would never forget it, never. It might be put aside for a while when she was busy, then something would remind her and that day would be there again. The first sight of that shattered skull, the ruined brain, the immense feeling of despair that had overwhelmed her. The despair had passed to be replaced by hope—then immense satisfaction when Brian had survived.
Had another year really passed? A year during which she had not seen or talked to him, not once. She had tried to contact him but her calls were never returned. While she thought about it she touched his number, got the same recorded response. Yes, her message was noted and Brian would get back to her. But he never did.
A year was a long time and she did not like it. She stared out at the Torrey pine trees and the ocean beyond, unseeingly. Too long. This time she was going to do something about it. Woody answered his phone on the first ring.
“Wood, security.”
“Woody, Dr. Snaresbrook here. I wonder if you could help me with a problem of communication.”
“You name it—you got it.”
“It’s Brian. Today is the anniversary of that awful day when he was shot. This drove home the fact to me that it must be a year at least since I talked to him. I phone but he never calls back. I presume he is all right or I would have heard.”
“He’s in great shape. I see him at the gym sometimes when I’m working out.” There was a long moment’s silence before Woody spoke again. “If you’re not busy I think I can arrange for you to see him now Is that all right?”
“Excellent—I’m free most of the day,” she said as she turned to the terminal to change a half dozen appointments. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
“I’ll be waiting. See you.”
When she pulled her car out of the garage the sun had vanished behind thick clouds and there was a splatter of rain on her windshield. It grew heavier as she drove inland, but as always the barrier of the mountain ranges held back clouds and storm. Sunlight broke through as she drove down the Montezuma Grade and she opened the window to the desert warmth. Good as his word, Woody was waiting at the -main Megalobe gate. He didn’t open it, but instead came out to join her.
“Got room for a passenger?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. Climb in.” She touched the button and the door unlocked and swung open. “Brian’s not here?”
“Not often these days.” When he sat down the door closed and locked, the seat belt slipped into place. “He usually works at home. Have you been to Split Mountain Ranch?”
“No—because I never even heard of it.”
“Good. We like to keep a low profile there. Just head east and I’ll show you where to turn. It’s not really a ranch but a high security housing area for the top MI personnel. Condos and homes. Now that we have expanded into manufacturing here we needed someplace close by and secure for them to live.”
“Sounds nifty. You look and sound concerned, Woody. What is it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. That’s why I thought you might talk to him. It’s just that, well, we don’t see him much anymore. Used to take meals in the cafeteria. No more. Hardly see him around. And when I do, well, distant is maybe the word for it. No joking, no small talk. I don’t know if something is bothering him or not. Hang a right at that road coming up.”
The road twisted out through the desert and ended in a wide gate set into a wall that stretched away on both sides. The Spanish colonial design, trees and planters, could not hide the fact the wall was solid and high, the apparently wrought iron gate more than decorative. It swung open as they approached and Snaresbrook drove into the courtyard beyond and stopped before a second gate. An elderly, uniformed man strolled out of a gatehouse disguised as a cantina.
“G’morning Mr. Wood. Just a few secs you and the doctor can go in.”
“Good enough, George. Keeping you busy?”
“Day and night.” He smiled calmly, turned and went back into the gatehouse.
“The security here is pretty laid-back,” Snaresbrook said.
“The security here is the best in the world. Old George is retired. Likes the job. Gets him out of the house. He’s just hired to say Hi to people—which he does very well. The real security is handled by an MI. It tracks every vehicle on the ground, every plane in the sky. By the time you got to Megalobe it knew who you were, what you were doing here, had contacted me, checked your identification and got my approval.”
“If it’s so great why the delay now?”
“No delay. Sensors in the ground are examining this car, checking all of its components, searching it for weapons or bombs, checking your home exchange to make sure that your phone is your phone—there we go.” The outer gate was closed before the inner one opened. “This one MI does a better job than all my troops and technology over at Megalobe. Straight ahead now and it is about the fourth or fifth drive, name of Avenida Jacaranda.”
“Quite something,” Snaresbrook said as they parked in front of the large, starkly modern home.
“Why not? Brian is a millionaire or better by now. You should see the sales figures.”
The voice spoke to them as they approached the front door.
“Good morning. I’m sorry to tell you that Mr. Delaney is not available right now—”
“I am Wood, security. Just shut up and tell him that I am here with Dr. Snaresbrook.”
There was a short delay—then the door swung open. “Mr. Delaney will now see you,” the disembodied voice said.
When they went down the hall and entered the high-ceilinged room Snaresbrook saw why Brian no longer needed to go to the laboratory. The one he had here was probably much better. Spartan and shining, computers and machines covered one wall. Before it sat Brian with an immobile MI at his shoulder. He was not looking at them but was staring vacantly into the distance.
“Please excuse us for a moment,” the MI said. “But we are conferencing over a rather complex equation.”
“Is that you, Sven?”
“Dr. Snaresbrook—how nice of you to remember. I am just a subunit programmed for simple responses. If you will be patient …”
Sven stirred then, formed its lower manipulators into legs and walked over to them. “What a distinct pleasure to see you both. We rarely get visitors he
re. I keep telling Brian all work and no play—you know. But he is a bit of a workaholic.”
“So I see.” She pointed at Brian, still not moving. “Does he know we are here?”
“Oh yes. I told him before I left the calculation. He just wants to work on it a bit more.”
“Does he? All charm and friendship, our Brian. Woody, I see what you meant. Our friend Sven here is more human.”
“Kind of you to say that, Doctor. But you must remember that the more I study intelligence and humanity, the more I become human—and hopefully more intelligent.”
“You are doing a great job, Sven. I wish I could say the same for Brian.”
Her sarcastic words must have penetrated his concentration, disturbed him. First he frowned, then shook his head. “You are not being fair, Doc. I have work to do. And the only way to get it done is to isolate emotions from logic. One cannot think clearly with hormones and adrenaline being pumped around the body. That is a big advantage over mankind that Sven and his lot have over flesh and blood intelligence. No glands.”
“Admittedly I have no glands.” Sven said. “But static discharges disrupt in the same manner from time to time.”
“That is not true, Sven,” Brian said coldly.
“You are correct—I was attempting a small joke.”
Snaresbrook looked at them in silence. For an instant there Sven had seemed the more human of the two. As the MI was learning humanity—was Brian losing it? She brushed the terrible thought away. “You said that you were conferencing. You no longer need the physical optic-fiber connection?”
“No.” Brian touched the back of his neck. “A slight modification and communication is accomplished by modulating infrared signals.” He stood and stretched, attempted a weak smile. “Sorry if I was rude. Sven and I are onto something so big that it is frightening.”
“What?”
“Not sure yet—I mean not sure if we can do it. And we are pushing like crazy because we want to get it done before the next meeting of the Megalobe board. It would be great to spring it there. But I’m being a bad host—”
The Turing Option Page 42