Harry Harrison - The Turing Option

“I can’t argue with that,” Benicoff said. “But surely, you’d also need something else, beyond the purely mechanical. The me that is me must still be around even when I’m not using my memory.”

“What use would a me be if it doesn’t actually do anything?”

“Because without it, we’d just have a computer. Working, but not feeling. Speaking, without understanding. Surely thinking must involve more than the simple processing of memory. There must also be something to initiate the wanting and intending — and then there must be something to appreciate whatever is accomplished and then to want something more. You know, the central spirit-thing that seems to sit in the center of my head, that understands what things really mean, that’s aware of itself and of what it can do.”

Dolly is not the only superstitious person, Brian thought. “Spirit my eye! I don’t believe we need any such thing. A machine doesn’t need any magic force to make it do whatever it does. Because each present state is sufficient cause to carry it into its subsequent state. If there were that spirit inside your head, it would only be getting in your way. Minds are simply what brains do. The hard part is that, as good as technology is, we cannot make an exact duplicate of the human brain.”

“Why not? I thought that was exactly what you were doing.”

“Then you thought wrong. We only have to get parts that have similar functions, not exact copies.”

“But if you don’t duplicate all the details, it won’t think the same way, will it?”

“Not exactly — but why should that matter as long as it does the right sorts of things? My research is only to discover the general principles, the general patterns of function. Once the machine is able to learn the right sorts of things, it will fill in the small details itself.”

“It sounds awfully hard. I’m with you — and don’t envy your job.”

The Major returned, then led them toward the building. The guard at the door snapped to attention when they approached. But instead of staring directly ahead of him in the approved manner, he turned as they passed, watching Brian closely, remembering.

“I’ll take you inside,” Major Wood said. He handed Brian an identification bracelet. “But first — I would appreciate it if you would put this on and wear it all the time. It’s waterproof and pretty indestructible. I hope you won’t mind — but once I lock it on, it will have to be sawn off. It doesn’t unlock.”

Brian turned it over, saw that his name was engraved on it. “Any particular reason for this?”

“A big one. Squeeze it once and you will get me — twenty-four hours a day. But if you squeeze it for more than one second the alarms go off everywhere and all hell breaks loose. Can do?”

“Can do. Seal it on.”

Woody put it on Brian’s wrist and joined the open ends together; it closed with a metallic clack. “Give it a try,” he said, stepping back. “Be enthusiastic, a little push like that could happen accidentally. That’s it.” A rapid bleeping sounded from his own communicator; he thumbed it off. “That will do just fine. Now I’ll show you the new laboratory — and I hope that you are not claustrophobic.”

“Not that I know of — why?”

“I saw the lab where you used to work. It’s a disaster — a security shambles. Too accessible in every way. You’ve got a brand-new one now. Only one entrance. Completely self-contained power supply, air-conditioning, the works. And belowground for the most part. That’s the door you’re looking at. Most of the equipment has been installed.”

“We were in luck there,” Ben said. “We located a Russian technical exchange student who has never been out of Russia — or even out of Siberia — before. He never even considered studying here until we approached him. There is absolutely no chance that he could have been compromised by any industrial espionage agency.”

“I’ll get him,” the Major said. “If you would wait here a moment.”

He pulled open the unlocked door and went in, returning a moment later accompanied by a tall young man with a full blond beard.

“This is Evgeni Belonenko, who installed all the stuff in there. Evgeni, Brian Delaney — your boss.”

“A great pleasure,” he said, speaking with a thick Russian accent. “Fine machines you got here, the best. May I assume that you are prepared to begin operations now?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Koroshow! Good. I have installed this MHC matching machine here. Wonderful machine! Never saw one before but specs seem clear and complete. Adjust for input first—”

Evgeni had the metal plate in the wall swung open and worked the controls inside it. When he was satisfied he closed the door to the lab and pointed to a black-ringed indentation in the plate.

“Be so kind, Mr. Brian Delaney, to touch your fingertip here. Fine!”

The green light above the opening flashed for a few seconds, then turned red.

“Locked!” Evgeni said, closing the access plate, then pushed on the unyielding door. “Locked — and only you can open it, since it is coded to your DNA. The same goes for this access plate — only you can unlock it to change the DNA.” He pushed his own finger into the opening and the light blinked but stayed red. However, when Brian touched it the green indicator flashed and there was a clack as the door unlocked. He pushed it open and they followed him in.

With great enthusiasm Evgeni pointed out all of the equipment that he had installed, the latest computers. Brian looked about but did not recognize most of the machines — finding out about them would be the first order of business. There was a good view from the large window that looked out onto the desert.

“I thought the lab was underground,” he said — pointing at the roadrunner that scuttled by.

“It is,” Ben said. “That is a five-thousand line high resolution TV screen. The camera is mounted on the wall outside. This screen used to be in the Chairman’s office but I thought that it had more practical value here.”

“It does, many thanks.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Major Wood said. “Will you let me out, please, Brian? You are also the only one who can ever open that door. It may be a pain — but it is damn good security.”

“No complaints. And thanks for what you have done.”

“That’s my job. You’ll be safe here.”

“Okay. Then I better get started working on my old AI ideas. I mean not my ideas, the ideas the old Brian was working on.” Many of the sketches were bits of code in a language he did not recognize. It must have been written in some computer language that his earlier self, the old Brian, had designed for the purpose.

Brian walked over to the computer, took the GRAM from his pocket and plugged it in. The screen came to life and the computer spoke with a clear contralto voice.

“Good morning. Will you be operating this machine?”

“Yes. My name is Brian. Speak in a deeper voice.”

“Is this satisfactory?” it said, now a deep baritone.

“Yes. Keep it at that.” He turned to Evgeni. “Looks good.”

“Is good. Latest model. Costs millions in Russia except not available there. Boy will I have stories for the hackers in Tomsk when I get home. I got other work to do if you don’t need me.”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll give a shout if I have any questions.”

“The same goes for me,” Ben said, looking at his watch. “I make it over four hours since we started this trip — which is deadline time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your orders from Dr. Snaresbrook. This is when you stop working for the day and lie down. No excuses accepted, she said — but there is no reason you can’t lie down with your portable computer.”