Harry Harrison - The Turing Option

“Of course you will — and you are Megalobe’s only hope. Nothing wins in this world like having a monopoly. I am going to suggest to my superiors that they suggest to Megalobe that this contract be tossed out and a new one written. Does that satisfy you? Would you still sue?”

“A new contract and no lawsuit. What should I ask for?”

“Something simple and sweet. They put up the readies to develop AI. You put up the AI. Any net profit from future development of AI will be split fifty-fifty between the parties concerned.”

Brian was shocked. “You mean I should ask for half of all profit from AI? That could be millions, maybe billions of dollars!”

“Yup. Nothing wrong with being a billionaire, is there?”

“No — but it is kind of a new idea.”

“Want me to start on this?”

“Yes, please.”

Mike stood and looked at the contract and sighed dramatically. “This is the first time since I enlisted that I have had the slightest desire to be back in private practice. If I was the shyster handling this new contract would I really make a bundle!”

“Someone once told me that lawyers eat their young.”

“Brian my boy — it’s true! I’ll get back to you as soon as I have any news.”

Brian napped after lunch and was feeling much better when the nurse opened the door and the hospital orderly pushed in the wheelchair at four in the afternoon.

“Ready for your session with the doctor?” the nurse asked.

“I sure am. Can’t I walk down there?”

“Sit. Doctor’s orders.”

Brian grabbed the bound sheaf of papers he had been reading and took it with him. He remained sitting in the wheelchair as the tendrils brushed his neck and slid the thin fiber-optic link into place.

“Doc, can I ask a favor for this session?”

“Of course, Brian. What is it?”

“This.” He held up the papers. “I did a graduate course in topology and this is an article about it that I just printed out. I started to read it and found that I am really out of my depth. If I read it now is there any chance you can access my earlier memories of the field? Will anything show up on your dials to show you’ve hit the right spot? Then you can press the button and give me my memories back.”

“I wish it were that easy — but we can certainly try. I was going to suggest input like this in any case — so am more than willing to have a go at it now.”

The material was pretty intractable and Brian had to reread a lot for it to make any sense. He worked his way almost halfway through the article before he put it down.

“Any contacts, Doc?”

“Lots of activity, though it is so widespread that it is obvious that a very large number of K-lines are involved. My machine is not set up to handle networking like this. This is the kind of cross-connecting that only the human brain is so good at.”

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bit tired. Can we call it a day?”

“Of course. We agreed to always pull the plug at the first hint of fatigue.”

“Thanks. I wish I could access the inbuilt CPU with commands more complex than ‘Turn Off.’ ”

“Well, you can always try.”

“Wouldn’t it be great if I could? Just issue the order to the CPU. You there, CPU, open the file on topology.”

Brian’s smile turned suddenly to one of surprise. He stared into space, then focused his eyes on Dr. Snaresbrook.

“Now that is what I call very interesting. Didn’t I say when I came in that I knew little or nothing about the mathematical field of topology? Well I must have been very tired or something, just not concentrating. But now I remember my thesis very well. It had a lot of what was new stuff at the time. It started simply by using an algebraic theory of knots based on the old Vaughn Jones polynomial to classify chaotically invariant trajectories, then applied this to various physics problems. Nothing very inspired and I’m sure that it must be pretty old hat now. I’m beginning to understand why I quit pure math and went into AI.”

Brian seemed to take his uploaded, transplanted memories for granted — but not Snaresbrook. Her hands were shaking so hard that she had to bring them together. Brian had used the CPU implant to interface with his own memories. There really was an internal man-machine interface in operation.

The rest area of the tenth floor of the hospital was more like a roof garden than a balcony. A marine guard at the door checked Benicoff’s ID before he let him proceed between the potted palms. Brian was sitting with his head in the shade of the beach umbrella; he had managed to sunburn his face by falling asleep in the sun the previous day and didn’t want a rerun. He looked up from his book and waved.

“Good to see you, Ben.”

“Likewise — though you are not going to like the news. There won’t be any court order for those data bases of yours. In recent years the tightening up of the secrecy laws has ruled out access of this kind. If you were dead it would be different.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Every once in a while someone gets killed in a car accident and leaves no record of his access codes. There has to be hearings, proof of relationship, a lot of work is needed to get a court order, let me tell you. And there are no exceptions to this.”

“Then what can I do?”

“Go physically to the data base. Prove that you are you and then it is up to the company to decide if they will release the material or not. And that is going to be tricky.”

“Why?”

“Because — and I am deadly serious — the company with your files is not in the country. It’s in Mexico.”

“You’re having me on!”

“I wish I were. The company is in Tijuana. Salaries are still cheaper there. That’s just across the border, about twelve miles from here. Lots of American electronic assembly plants there. This company was probably founded to service them. Should we start thinking about a trip down there?”

“No, not for the moment.”

“That’s what I thought you would say.” Benicoff smiled at Brian’s look of surprise. “Because I understood that your military legal eagle has the Megalobe lawyers running in circles and screaming in pain. They’ll come around in the end. I’ve gone upstairs about this. So now there is pressure on the military to pressure the company to come up with a new contract.”

“Upstairs — talking to God?”

“Almost. And I figured you weren’t going to look at those files until your future was set.”

“You’re one step ahead of me.”

“Not hard to outwit a fourteen-year-old!”

“Brag, brag. This is one fourteen-year-old that has developed a taste for beer. Join me?”

“Sure. As long as it’s Bohemia ale.”

“I don’t know that one.”

“From Mexico, since we are talking about that country. I think that you’ll like it.”

Brian phoned down and a mess attendant brought the beers. He smacked his lips and drank deep.

“Good stuff. Have you talked to Doc Snaresbrook lately?”

“This morning. She says that you are going stir-crazy here and want to crack out. But she wants you in the hospital for another week at least.”

“That’s what she told me. No problem — I guess.”

“I suppose you are going to ask me next if you can go to Mexico.”

“Ben — is this your mind-reading day?”

“Not hard to do. You want security for those files — and so do we. Phone lines can be tapped, data copied. And GRAMs can go astray in the mail.”

“GRAM? Don’t you mean DRAM?”

“A thing of the past. Dynamic random-access memory is now as dead as the dodo. These gigabyte ERAMs are static, no need for batteries, and have so much memory that they are replacing CDs and digital audiotape. With the new semantic compression techniques they’ll soon replace videotapes as well.”