Harry Harrison - The Turing Option

Snaresbrook looked at him grimly. “We have done just about as much reconstruction as we can do ‘passively.’ But there still are many concepts mat we simply have not reached. For example, Brian seems to have lost virtually all his knowledge about animals, a particular form of aphasia that has been seen before in cerebral accidents. We seem to be at the point of diminishing returns in trying to reconnect all of Brian’s old nemes. So although I plan to continue that, I shall now also begin the new phase. It might be called knowledge transfusion. What I plan to do is to try to identify those missing domains — those domains of knowledge that virtually every child knows, yet Brian still does not — and upload the corresponding structures from the CYC-9 commonsense data base.”

Benicoff weighed the significance of this, started to speak — but she raised her hand to stop him.

“We had better discuss this at another time.” She shook her head, felt herself fading, felt the onslaught of exhaustion too long held at bay.

“Now let’s get a sandwich and some coffee. Then, while Brian is sleeping I’ll get my notes up to date. He is going to need guidance every step of the way. Which means that I — and the computer — will have to know more about him than he knows himself.”

The restraints had been removed and only the raised sides of the bed remained in place. The end of the bed had been lifted up so that Brian was no longer lying flat. The bandages that encased his skull covered the connecting fiber-optic cable that led to the back of his skull. All of the drips and other invasive devices and monitors had been removed; the few remaining ones were small and noninvasive and fixed to his skin. Other than his bruised and bloodshot eyes and pallid skin he looked to be in adequate health.

“Brian,” Erin Snaresbrook said, looking at the brainwave monitor as the wavelength changed to consciousness. Brian opened his eyes.

“Do you remember talking to me before?”

“Yes. You’re Dr. Snaresbrook.”

“That’s very good. Do you know how old you are?”

“Fourteen. My last birthday. What happened to me, Doctor? Don’t you want to tell me?”

“Of course I do. But will you let me set the pace, explain things one step at a time in what I think is the best order?”

Brian thought for a moment before he spoke. “I guess so — you’re the doctor, Doctor.”

She felt a sudden spurt of enthusiasm when he said this. A small verbal joke. But immense in significance, since it indicated that his mind was alert and functioning.

“Good. If you let me do it that way I promise to tell you the complete truth — to hold nothing back from you. So first — what do you know about the structure of the brain?”

“You mean physically? It’s the mass of nerve tissue inside the skull. It includes the cerebrum, cerebellum, pons and oblongata.”

“That’s pretty specific. You have had brain trauma and have been operated on. In addition—”

“There is something wrong with my memory.”

Snaresbrook was startled. “How do you know that?”

There was a weak grin on Brian’s lips at this small victory. “Obvious. You wanted to know my age. I have been looking at my hands while you talked. How old am I, Doctor?”

“A few years older.”

“You promised that you would tell me only the complete truth.”

She had planned to hold this information back as long as possible; the knowledge might be traumatic. But Brian was way ahead of her. The truth and only the complete truth from now on.

“You are almost twenty-four years old.”

Brian ingested the information slowly, then nodded his head. “That’s okay then. If I was fifty or sixty or something really old like that, it would be lousy because I would have lived most of life and wouldn’t remember it. Twenty-four is okay. Will I get my memories back?”

“I don’t see why not. Your progress to this point has been exceedingly good. I will explain the techniques in detail if you are interested, but first let me put it as simply as I can. I want to stimulate your memories, then restore your neural access to them. When this happens your memory will be complete and you will be whole again. I can’t promise that all of your memories will be restored. There was injury, but—”

“If I don’t know they’re missing I won’t miss them.”

“That’s perfectly correct.” Brian was sharp. He might only have the memories of his first fourteen years now, but the thinking processes of his conscious brain appeared to be much older. He had been a child prodigy, she knew. Graduate school at fourteen. So he was not just any fourteen-year-old. “But not missing a memory is only a small part of it. You must realize that human memory is not like a tape recorder with everything stored in chronological order. It is very different, far more like a badly maintained file system organized by messy and confusing maps. Not only messy to begin with, but we reclassify things from time to time. When I say that I have memories of my childhood — that is not true. I really have memories of memories. Things that have been thought about over and over, simplified, reduced.”

“I think I understand what you mean. But please, before we get started, there are a few things you will have to tell me. Ten years is a long time. Things happen. My family…”

“Dolly has been here and wants to see you.”

“I want to see her too. And Dad?”

The truth only, Snaresbrook thought, although it would hurt something terrible.

“I’m sorry, Brian, but your father — passed away.”

There was silence as slow tears ran down the man’s — the boy’s — face. It was long moments before he could speak again.

“I don’t want to hear about that now. And me, what about me, what have I done in those years?”

“You’ve gotten your degrees, done original research.”

“In artificial intelligence? That’s what Dad does, what I want to do.”

“What you have done, Brian. You have succeeded in everything that you tackled. In fact you made the breakthrough to actually construct the first AI. Before you were injured you were at the threshold of success.” Brian noticed the juxtaposition of the terms, made the snap logical leap.

“You have told me everything so far, Doctor, I don’t think that you have held back.”

“I haven’t. It would be unfair.”

“Then tell me now. Does my injury have anything to do with AI? Was it the machine that did it? I always thought the stories of evil AIs were dumb.”

“They are. But men are still evil. You were injured in the laboratory by men wanting to steal your AI. And reality has turned out to be quite the opposite of myth. Far from being evil, your work with Al-assisted micromanipulators has aided me greatly — and has enabled me to bring you here and speak with you like this.”

“You must tell me all about AI!”

“No, Brian. We must rebuild your memories step by step until you can tell me how AI works. You were the inventor — now you are going to be the rediscoverer.”

The blinds had been pulled up by the nurse when she had brought Brian his breakfast. He had been awake since dawn, unable to sleep with the whir of thoughts in his head. Bandages covered it, he could feel them with his fingertips. What had happened to him that had made him lose all those years? Selective amnesia? It just wasn’t possible. He should ask the doctor to physically describe the damage — though maybe he better not. He really didn’t want to think about that now. Not yet. The same way he didn’t want to think about Dad being dead.

The TV controller — where was it? He was still amazed at the quality of the picture — if not the contents. Programs were just as bad as ever. Should he watch the news again? No, it was too confusing, full of references he did not understand. It depressed him when he tried to figure it out, since he was mixed up too much as it was. There, that was better — kiddie cartoons. They had some really fantastic computer animation now. But despite the incredible quality the animation was still being used to sell breakfast cereal drenched in sugar. Ten years was a long time. He ought to forget about that too. Or look forward to getting the years back. Or did he want to? Why live the same life twice? What’s done is done. Though it might be nice not to make the same mistakes twice. But he wasn’t going to relive those years, just get back his memories of them. It was a very strange situation and he wasn’t sure that he liked it. Not that he had any choice.