Harry Harrison - The Turing Option

“Then we’ll go on to words. The average educated person normally uses about twenty thousand. That’s really not very many when you think about it. We can play a tape of them in less than a day — then go on to word relationships, groups, sentences.”

“Excuse my stupidity, Doctor, but I don’t see the sense of this. You’ve been trying to talk to Brian for days now — with absolutely no sign of response. He doesn’t seem to hear anything.”

“It looks like that — but Brian is not a him right now. He is only a shattered brain, a collection of nonconnecting parts. What we must discover is what these parts, these agencies are — and reconnect them. That is the entire point of what we are doing. If we are ever to rebuild his mind, we must first go back and retrieve its parts, so that we can integrate them and bridge between his memories. And this was a good day as far as input. About Brian’s early school years, the important, formative time that shaped his life to come. It was fortunate that your people located his school psychiatrist, he’s teaching now in Oregon, and flew in. Man by the name of Rene Gimelle. He met Brian the first day the boy arrived in the school, saw him regularly after that. In addition he had many interviews with the boy’s father. He gave us some excellent input.”

“Is there anything wrong, Dr. Gimelle?” Paddy asked, trying to keep the concern from his voice and failing badly. “I came as soon as I got your message.” Gimelle smiled and shook his head.

“Quite the opposite, very good news. When I talked to you and your wife last I remember telling you to be patient, that Brian was going to need time to adjust to this totally new life. Any child who is plucked from a small town — in a different country — and sent around the world is going to need time to get accustomed to all the changes. When I did my evaluation I was sure that Brian would have his troubles and I was prepared for the worst. It didn’t take long to find out that he had been bullied and rejected by his peer group in Ireland, laughed at — if you will excuse the word — for being a bastard. Even worse, he felt rejected by all of his close relatives after his mother died. I have been seeing him once a week and doing what I can to help him to cope. The good news is that he seems to need less and less help. Admittedly, he’s not very social with his classmates, but this should get better in time. As far as his classwork goes — it would be hard to improve upon it. With very little persuasion by his teachers he has gone from failing grades to straight A’s in every subject.”

“Persuasion sounds ominous. What do you mean?”

“Perhaps that was the wrong word to use in this context. I think rewards-for-effort might express it better. As you well know, experienced teachers will make sure that good behavior, good classwork, is noticed and complimented. It is really a matter of positive reinforcement, a technique with proven efficacy. Doing the direct opposite, pointing out failures, accomplishes very little — other than instilling a sense of guilt, which is almost always counterproductive. In Brian’s case the computer proved to be the key to any learning problems he had. I’ve seen the recordings — you can look at them as well if you wish — of just what he has accomplished in a very few weeks—”

“Recordings? I am afraid that I don’t understand.”

Gimelle looked uncomfortable, arranging and rearranging paper clips on the desk before him. “There is nothing unusual or illegal in this. It is common practice in most schools — in fact it is required here at UFE. You must have seen it in your employment contract when you signed it.”

“Hardly. There were over fifty pages of fine print in the thing.”

“What did your lawyer say about it?”

“Nothing — since I didn’t consult one. At the time life for me was, shall we say, rather stressful. What you are saying is that all of the students in this school have taps on their computers, that everything they enter can be seen and recorded?”

“A common and accepted practice, a very useful diagnostic and educational tool. After all, in the days of written notebooks they were turned in to be graded. You might say that accessing a student’s computer is very much the same thing.”

“I don’t think it is. We grade notebooks — but not personal diaries. All of which is beside the point. I’ll consider the morality of this dubious practice some other time. Now we are thinking about Brian. What did these clandestine recordings reveal?”

“An exceedingly unusual and original mind. LOGO, as you know, is more man a first computer language that children learn. It is very flexible when implemented correctly. I was delighted to see that Brian not only solved the problems of the class assignments, but when he had a solution he tried to write a meta-program that incorporated all of his solutions. He invented data bases of IF-THEN rules for his own programming. For example if an answer was needed then he would insert some lines of code. And edit later. Very easy to do in LOGO — if you know how — because all the tools are there. For example, while other students were learning to draw pictures, graphics programs, using LOGO, Brian was way ahead of them. He saved and indexed each useful drawing fragment with changeable parameters, along with geometric constraints on where to draw it. His programs now draw recognizable caricatures of the other students, and myself as well. They can even change expression. That was last week — and he has unproved the programs already. Now the figures can walk, and solve simple problems, right on the screen.”

Paddy had a good deal to think about when he went home that night.

Benicoff and the surgeon both looked up, startled, when the door slammed open and General Schorcht stamped in, the pinned-up empty sleeve of his jacket swinging as he stabbed the index finger of his left hand at Snaresbrook.

“You. If you are Dr. Snaresbrook you’re coming with me.”

The surgeon turned about slowly to face the intruder. She had to lean back to look up at the tall General’s face. She appeared not to be impressed.

“Who are you?” she said coldly.

“Tell her,” Schorcht snapped at Benicoff.

“This is General Schorcht who is with…”

“That’s identification enough. This is a military emergency and I need your help. There is a patient here in intensive care, Brian Delaney, who is in great danger.”

“I am well aware of that.”

“Not medical danger — physical attack.” Benicoff started to speak but the General waved him to silence. “Later. We have very little time now. The hospital authorities inform me that the patient is too ill to be moved at this time.”

“That is correct.”

“Then the records must be altered. You will come with me to do this.”

Snaresbrook’s skin grew livid; she was not used to being spoken to in this manner. Before she could explode Benicoff quickly intervened.

“Doctor, let me fill you in very quickly. We have firm reason to believe that when Brian was shot, that others were killed as well. There must be national security involved or the General would not be here. I am sure that explanations will be forthcoming — but for the moment would you please be of assistance?”

Brain surgeons are well used to instant, life-and-death decisions. Snaresbrook put down her coffee cup, turned at once and started toward the door.

“Yes, of course. Come with me to the nurse’s station.”

The General had certainly made no friends since he had entered the hospital. The angry head nurse was reluctantly pacified by Snaresbrook and finally convinced of the urgency of the matter. She dismissed the other nurses while Snaresbrook managed to do the same with the staff doctor. Only when they were gone did the General turn to the gray-haired head nurse, who matched him glare for glare.