The Truth Machine

by James L. Halperin

  Diana smiles. “I have my moments, don’t I?”

  David contacts two of the former Senate aides who helped draft the bill. Both agree to sign affidavits supporting Diana’s theory.

  In spite of their lack of sleep, the Wests decide to stay up all night. They intend to file the appeal document the next morning.

  WORLD TRIBUNAL—August 3, 2050—Thomas L. Mosely

  Most businesses, especially those requiring physical presence of workers, are closed today. The others will doubtless accomplish very little; few of us are capable of performing any real work until the appeal verdict has been rendered. The appeal arrived at the World Tribunal on July 23 and was challenged by Carlton Shaw four days later. Today’s decision will be discussed in every historical text covering this century.

  The entire world will watch in real-time as Pete Armstrong learns his fate.

  The World Tribunal, currently based in Cairo, Egypt, consists of 11 justices, six women and five men. Every active judge in the world participated in their selection and all 11 were carefully chosen for wisdom and steady temperament. The Chief Justice this year is Molly Skylar,27 the former President of Holland. The Tribunal decides an average of 16 cases per day, usually from written documents, only rarely allowing testimony via holographic transmission. They never invite any defendant or attorney to appear in person.

  The Tribunal is in many ways the most powerful of all government bodies. It is the final arbiter of the most momentous controversies, many with abstract, highly intricate ramifications. Therefore nothing it does can be secret. Every deliberation is open to public inspection. David West himself saw to that. “The key to sustained democracy—and to justice itself—is freedom of information,” he argued nearly 15 years ago. “Our highest court must never keep secrets from those of us who are subject to its decisions.”

  Yesterday the Tribunal released results of a probability analysis by their state-of-the-art artificial intelligence machines. Five of the most interesting conclusions are paraphrased here for any readers who are statistics aficionados. Keep in mind that these assertions are speculative. But I hope they’re correct, considering how much it cost to build those machines.

  Results of World Tribunal Probability Analysis, released on August 2, 2050

  1) Without the ACIP in use, the chances that civilization as we know it would not have survived until now are 1 in 10.4675. That means there is about a 9.6-percent chance that Armstrong’s Truth Machine has already saved the human race from total or near-total annihilation.

  2) Without the Truth Machine, installation of a World Government would have been statistically impossible without overwhelming military force. Even with force, the chances for its long-term success would have been only 1.4 percent.

  3) There is an insignificant chance—less than 1 in 10 million—that any other living person on earth, excluding Armstrong, has been able to circumvent the ACIP. The world may assume the ACIP is still 100-percent effective.

  4) The probability of a random individual (excluding Armstrong) being able to circumvent a Truth Machine during this century is less than 1 in 17 trillion. The odds that even one individual throughout the entire world, other than Armstrong, could achieve that ability within the next 100 years is only 1 in 92.

  5) Should the Truth Machine or World Government now fail, apocalyptic war would become virtually inevitable. In fact without them there is only a 34.12-percent likelihood (barely one chance in three) that humankind will survive beyond the 21st century.

  David West is troubled by the announcement. The statistics, although supportive of the ACIP and of Pete Armstrong’s contribution to humankind, also suggest that the integrity of the Truth Machine must be the foremost goal of the Tribunal’s decision.

  The Tribunal has asked Pete to submit to questioning. Six technicians, two of them human, assemble a Kodak Holographic Module in his home and also install a CyCare Truth Machine. Maya, David, and Diana will watch from another room while Pete testifies. No one is permitted to advise or communicate with him during his testimony. While the world watches him through a one-way current of digital bits, Pete himself will be deprived of all outside data.

  He enters the chamber, its seamless ebony walls surrounding him. Upon being seated and sworn in, he begins to rock. Now that he has a chance to survive on his own terms, he appears more nervous than when he seemed to have no hope.

  The 10 Associate Justices on the Tribunal dictate continuous notes into their digital network. These notes, which will be analyzed in detail by the press over the coming days and weeks and years, are synthesized into questions by an IBM System 778 logic processor. Chief Justice Skylar reads the questions as they appear on her screen. She is the only member who maintains direct contact with Pete. But her words are formed through a team effort of the Tribunal, almost as though Pete were being interviewed by a single person with 11 brains.

  “Mr. Armstrong, why did you appeal Judge Lezar’s verdict?”

  Pete answers slowly and deliberately, reciting a memorized response to an anticipated question. “F-For over eight years I’ve d-devoted all my working hours to the creation of a series of computer models. I hope these m-models will allow scientists to conduct aging research more efficiently than presently possible. I need at least five more months, maybe longer, to complete the models. My work requires total recall, an ability I currently have. The treatment prescribed by Judge Lezar’s verdict would compromise that ability. It would be impossible for me to f-finish the project after receiving treatment for IDD.”

  “Would you have killed Charles Scoggins had you not been able to circumvent the ACIP?”

  Pete continues rocking. “N-No. I’m p-positive I would not have c-committed any of my crimes if I had known I’d be caught right away.”

  The Truth Machine light remains green.

  “Mr. Armstrong, can you assure us you will never, under any circumstances, try to circumvent the Truth Machine again?”

  For the past several weeks, Pete has considered how he would answer this inevitable question.

  “I d-d-don’t think I ever w-would. I have no intentions to do so t-today, but how can anyone give such open-ended assurances in a world that’s always changing?”

  Now Pete rocks more intensely, no doubt worried that his answer has sealed his fate.

  Skylar’s questioning continues. “Have you begun performing any of the calculations necessary to circumvent other Truth Machines?”

  “N-Not when I’m awake, but I do them automatically in my s-sleep.”

  “How does that work?”

  “Ever since I was about s-seven years old, I’ve developed algorithms and written s-software code in my sleep. I go to b-bed with a problem to solve, and by the time I awaken each morning, I usually have a solution in mind.”

  Skylar pauses while the rest of the Tribunal ponders the situation. Finally another question appears on her screen. She asks, “Can you teach yourself to think and dream about something else?”

  “I d-doubt it. I’ve rarely dreamt about anything other than software for over 50 years. For example, Justice S-Skylar, could you ever force yourself to stop thinking about l-law or government? The Truth Machine’s been a major part of my life; I can’t help thinking about it.”

  I cannot communicate with him inside the KHM and I doubt that I’ll speak with him before my self-imposed deadline of 10:00 a.m. tomorrow; therefore I can only wonder what’s going through his mind right now. Perhaps he’s recalling his recurrent dreams of flying from childhood before his brother’s murder.

  “We all understand we cannot police people’s thoughts, only their actions and intentions,” Skylar allows, a rare ad lib. The Chief Justice knows that billions are watching, so she is clarifying the Tribunal’s basic legal precepts for the audience.

  Once again, she reads from her screen. “How long do you think it will take you to develop the ability to circumvent the Truth Machine?”

  “No less than two years, and that assumes a
ll other Truth Machines function in the same manner as the ACIP. Otherwise I’m not sure I could ever do it.”

  “That confirms our own analysis. Thank you, Mr. Armstrong.”

  The Justices enter their opinions and reasoning into the digital network. Maya, David, and Diana linger in the purgatory of their doubt; for them the seconds seem to progress with all the blinding speed of a tree growing, or as Pete might say, a winded snail. After an agonizing 6 minutes and 11 seconds, Skylar prepares to announce their decision.

  “Mr. Armstrong, we Justices of the World Tribunal unanimously agree that we cannot risk the possibility you might someday override other Truth Machines. The stakes are too high to allow an indispensable component of our society, indeed of our ability to survive as a species, to be jeopardized.”

  In tears, Maya stares at David and Diana, looking to them to repudiate her own prediction of doom. Their dejected expressions betray only blighted hopes.

  Pete’s face remains frozen, constant.

  “Mr. Armstrong, you’ve certainly been thinking about this: Is there any 100-percent certain way we haven’t thought of to prevent you from learning how to override other Truth Machines?”

  “Nothing I’ve b-been able to c-c-come up with.”

  Skylar continues, “Do you have any questions, or is there any statement you wish to make before I pronounce sentence?”

  “N-No, Justice Skylar.”

  “We will now sentence you in conformance with guidelines in effect during the year 2031.”

  Maya, David, and Diana can barely believe their ears. Guidelines in effect during the year 2031!

  Of course. What other decision could the Tribunal possibly make? They can’t take the life of a man whose invention might have saved the human race; neither can they abide an ability to render useless his great gift to humankind. History would never forgive either transgression.

  Pete appears stoic, his expression still barely changed. Perhaps it hasn’t yet sunk in that he is not going to die, or maybe he knew all along that this final outcome was inevitable. Or is he already mourning his impending loss of memory that in some ways may be tantamount to losing his very soul?

  Skylar continues. “We cannot hold your actions to a standard that was created as a result of the ACIP, since you were not subject to its scrutiny at the time. You have already made monetary reparations to Renaissance Corporation’s shareholders, the only proven victims of those crimes. Therefore, under the terms of the Amnesty Bill, there will be no further punishment for the offenses of fraud, perjury, and obstruction of justice.

  “For the murder of Charles Scoggins, we request that you submit to IDD treatment within one year of today. Our analysis suggests this treatment will be both salutary and beneficial, generally speaking, and will remove any future danger you might pose to society. If you fail to so submit yourself, you will face incarceration until we find another way to guarantee that the Truth Machine remains foolproof, or until you are willing to receive the treatment. In the meantime you may continue your work for as long as you wish—even if you decide a year from now to go to prison rather than accept treatment. Mr. Armstrong, we thank you for your many contributions to humanity and wish you the very best of luck.”

  Pete’s expression remains inscrutable. He simply answers. “Thank you. You’ve been more than f-fair.”

  THE DILEMMA—June 15, 2051—Thomas L. Mosely

  I imagine writing software is like any other form of writing; you can keep editing forever and it still won’t be perfect. Take it from me, I know about the obsessions of writers. Perfectionism usually arises from a quest for something other than perfection.

  Pete’s computer models were published 31 days ago. I’ve discussed them with several researchers on aging, all of whom believe the models are astoundingly useful. But Pete insists he has more work to do. Furthermore, his nervous tics, which had subsided for a while, now seem to be getting worse. I’m no psychiatrist, but I suspect Pete is reluctant to give up his perfect memory.

  I call him. He returns my call about an hour later and grants me a short interview.

  I ask in my usual less-than-tactful way, “You and I both know the models are plenty good enough. What’s really going on?”

  He hesitates before answering. “Maya, David, and Diana tell me I should just submit myself and get it over with. Tilly called it a no-brainer, which she later admitted was a terrible choice of words.” He laughs good-naturedly.

  “My friends are right though. I’ll have to get the treatment eventually. First of all, I think I do have IDD. Probably had it all my life. They say the treatment’ll help me become a happier person—more relaxed mentally—you know, more balanced. That doesn’t seem too bad. Secondly, the latest estimate from the Department of Medicine is that it’ll be at least 10 years before they can come up with a formula to allow me to keep my mnemonic skills intact and still guarantee I could never override other Truth Machines. I could always go to prison instead, but I couldn’t spend 10 weeks away from Maya and my little boys, much less 10 years. No sense going at all if I don’t have to.”

  “So you’ll submit to treatment before the deadline?”

  “I th-think so.”

  “Are you having trouble accepting that you won’t be able to work at the same level?”

  “Maybe. In a way, I think it’s selfish of me to accept the treatment because of that. I’ve always believed I had a responsibility to help the world solve its problems. Maya refers to it as my ‘God complex,’ which I hate to repeat because it sounds so egotistical. She might be right, though. All my life I’ve thought, ‘I have to do this work for humanity’s sake. Can’t let the world down.’ But what’s a ‘God complex’ really, other than an oversized ego? My ego is what got me into trouble in the first place. And I guess that’s even harder for me to abandon than my memory.”

  “There must be positive things about the treatment. Most IDD sufferers take it voluntarily.”

  “I can see both sides. But f-frankly I’m scared for more personal reasons.”

  “Tell me what you mean.”

  Pete ponders for a moment. “Are you aware that in most wild animal parks, they neuter all tigers by altering their hormones?”

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “They do it to make them more serene. It allows them to live together more harmoniously. It’s actually a healthful process that measurably improves and lengthens the tigers’ lives. But when they do it, they also r-remove part of whatever it is that makes them tigers.” (Pete loves animal metaphors.)

  “Tom,” he continues, “I’ve had total recall almost my entire life. It’s part of who I am. I can remember every word of every conversation I’ve ever had with Maya, every sound and gesture my little boys have ever made, everything I’ve ever experienced since before my third birthday. Of course I could record whatever occurs in the future and play back what I want to remember, but much of the past will be gone f-forever. If I can no longer evoke those memories, what is it that makes me the same person?”

  I don’t have an answer for that one; it’s too complicated for my pedestrian mind. But it seems to me that a perfect memory might be a curse as well as a blessing. Don’t get me wrong—if someone offered me that talent, I wouldn’t turn it down. But I imagine Pete has memories he’d just as soon forget. I’m sure we all do.

  THE TREATMENT—July 20, 2051—Thomas L. Mosley

  In a way, our judiciary is like a team of forest rangers using break-fires to fight fires. Combating injustice efficiently requires a certain resignation to it. Today’s sentencing process barely considers the motivations or character of the perpetrator; hardly in keeping with the 20th-century Christian notion of equity under which my generation was raised. But with nothing less than the continuation of our species at stake, we are forced to stick with what works.

  Pete Armstrong’s good deeds will not go unpunished.

  He awoke this morning, arguably the most intelligent person on the planet. Tonigh
t when he goes to sleep, there will be hundreds of millions of individuals on earth smarter than he is. His formidable mind will have been irreversibly reduced by the very society he may have saved. This outcome seems a tragic betrayal. Yet it is also as happy an ending to this saga as anyone could have realistically expected. When you think about the nature of civilization before the ACIP, it might be a miracle that any of us are still here at all.

  We humans tend to forget that civilization is a system of tradeoffs. The perfect world is an unattainable goal. Seldom can members of society gain benefit without exacting a cost, either from themselves or someone else. The human race has opted for survival over privacy, prosperity over individual rights. We have learned that these goals cannot be nurtured simultaneously.

  Likewise, Pete made a difficult choice 27 years ago. Humanity reaped a great dividend from that choice, but Pete must now face the consequences alone.

  The room looks like any other hospital ward: brightly lit, perfectly clean and sterile, pliant white ceramic floors, walls, and ceiling. All cabinets and desks have been melded into the walls for now, but a blue-uniformed technician presses a few buttons on the control panel by the door and the nanomachines get to work. A chair emerges from the floor.

  The technician asks, “Mr. Armstrong, have you eaten solid food in the last three hours?”

  “No.”

  “Please have a seat.”

  Pete sits in the chair, which adapts to his body perfectly. The ceramic materials comprising it invisibly reconfigure themselves, shackling his arms and legs. The set-up is now remarkably similar in appearance, I muse, to the execution chambers used during the early part of the millennium—after Swift and Sure, but long before the ACIP. Maybe the treatment is symbolic of an execution; when he leaves this room, a part of him will be dead.

  “This’ll be very quick,” the technician assures him, “and painless.”

  Pete is calm enough to remain perfectly still.

  Still, he must wonder, Will I emerge intact from the treatment? Or will the person who rises from the chair no longer be me? The quality that gives each of us our uniqueness is incomprehensible. Many religions still contend that each person has an eternal soul. But most scientists will tell you there is no such thing and there is now proof that all conscious thought is simply a form of electrical energy directed into highly complex patterns by the brain. When the brain dies, the electrical energy ceases and there is nothing more. If the scientists are right, Pete will indeed become a different person; the treatment will alter those patterns.