Harry Harrison - The Turing Option

While the introductions were being made the van driver was loading a large carton onto the hand truck; he wheeled it into the greenhouse. Joe himself pulled off the cover to proudly reveal — “Bug-Off. And that’s what this little baby is. The mechanical answer to all your biological problems.”

The machine looked very much like a fat fire extinguisher. It was a squat red canister slung between six spiderlike legs. From its top sprouted two jointed metal arms, each ending in a cluster of metal fingers. Benicoff hid his sudden great interest behind an accountant’s suspicious scowl. The redivided fingers, although larger, bore a distant resemblance to the branching manipulators of the AI.

“I’ll just take the travel locks off these arms and we will be ready to go.” Joe pulled free the restraining foam blocks, then took a red canister the size of a cigar box out of the carton and held it up. “Power supply. This plugs into any socket and is secured at ground level. Bug-Off is completely self-powered and self-contained. Right now his battery is charged and he’s raring to go. Night and day if needs be. And when his power gets low — why, he just trundles him-self over to this charger and gets a fix.”

“Sounds expensive,” Benicoff grunted.

“Looks expensive, Mr. Benck, and it is expensive. But not to you. You will find that our lease rates are more than reasonable. And I’ll bet my bippy that this bug-blasting Bug-Off will pay for himself from the word go.”

“Do you program it, or do I follow it around or what?” Nisiumi asked.

“It is so easy to use that you will just not believe it until you see this bug-plucking little guy in action. All that you do is just turn it on — and step back!” Joe did just that, throwing the power switch and stepping back. Motors whirred and the two arms extended to both sides, long metal fingers waving gracefully in the air. “This is the search program. Detectors in the tips of the fingers are looking for plant life. Day or night, as I said, see how they glow with their own light source?”

Drive motors hummed, the legs lifted and lowered gracefully as the machine picked its way in a very dainty manner toward the walkway between the plants. It stopped at the first vine and both arms slapped out, picked their way over the soil to the stems beyond. They moved quickly now, flicking over the leaves and stems, apparently caressing the green lengths of the cucumbers, running lightly over the yellow flowers on their tips. There was a quick click as the lid on the arm flicked open then shut again.

“No chemicals, no poisons, no pollution — wholly organic. Even though you are watching this happen before your very own eyes I’ll wager that you can’t believe it. I don’t blame you — for this is something entirely new in the universe. Before your very eyes there are almost invisible eyes at work, the optic cells on those fingertips which are now seeking out aphids, spiders, mites — bugs of any kind. When one is found it is plucked off the plant — just like that. Picked off and whisked away. Bug-Off’s arms are hollow and they will soon be filled with bugs. A treat for your pet bird or lizard — or use it as fertilizer. There it is, gentlemen — the mechanical miracle of our age!”

“Looks dangerous,” Benicoff said sourly.

“Never! Built-in protection. Won’t touch anything except a plant and if you or anyone else gets in the way it stops automatically.”

The salesman walked over and grabbed onto a cucumber just ahead of the flashing fingers. The moving hand withdrew and the machine beeped unhappily until he let go.

“I don’t know,” Benicoff said. “What do you think, Mr. Nisiumi?”

“If it works the way Joe says it does — well then maybe there is a possibility. We both know that organically grown vegetables fetch a better price.”

“What’s the minimum lease period?” Benicoff asked.

“One year—”

“Too long. We gotta talk. In the office.”

Benicoff squeezed the contract terms as far as he could. Got a few concessions, made none of his own. Joe sweated a bit and his smile faded but in the end they reached agreement. The contracts were signed, hands shook, Joe’s smile returned.

“You got a great machine there, a great machine.”

“I hope so. What if it breaks down?”

“It won’t — but we have a mechanic on call twenty-four hours a day just to give our customers peace of mind.”

“Do you come around to inspect it?”

“Only if you ask us to. There is a check every six months, you will be called first for an appointment, but that is just routine maintenance. Other than that all you have to do is unleash that bug-picking little devil and step back! You gentlemen will never regret this decision for an instant.” Benicoff grunted suspiciously and read through the contract again. Nisiumi showed Joe and the driver out while Benicoff looked over the top of the contract and watched them through the office window. The second the van was out of sight he grabbed up his phone and called the FBI office, then Brian.

“I don’t know how Sven spotted this Bug-Off — but I think that we are onto a winner. Everything about this machine smells of Brian’s AI research.” There was a grate of tires outside as a Federal Express delivery van pulled up. “The FBI is here now. They are going to crate this thing and get it on a plane. It will be there in the morning — and so will I!”

The truck driver, wearing a Federal Express uniform, was Agent Perdomo.

“Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Nisiumi,” Perdomo said. “We couldn’t have got anywhere without your help. We’ll take the machine off your hands now.”

“What do I say if that salesman or any of his people want to see it?”

“Stall them,” Benicoff said. “And get in touch with Agent Perdomo here at once. The chances are that they won’t bother you as long as you pay your lease fees on time. Send the bills to Perdomo as well — you’ll be reimbursed at once. The salesman said they wouldn’t want to service the machine for six months. Our investigation should be completed long before that.”

“Whatever you say. Anything else I can do let me know.”

“Will do. Thanks again.”

They shut down the Bug-Off and put it and its charger back into the carton, then wrapped it completely in brown paper. Benicoff rode in the back of the truck with the machine to the empty warehouse in the outskirts of Seattle. The FBI team were waiting there.

“Torres, bomb squad,” their leader said. “You Mr. Benicoff?”

“That’s right. I appreciate the quick response.”

“That’s our job. Tell me about this thing. Do you think there’s explosive in there?”

“I doubt it very much. From what I have discovered there are at least a hundred more of these around the country. I doubt if they would all have bombs in them — -just one of them going off and there would be unwanted attention, big trouble. No, what I’m concerned about is any internal defenses the thing might have as protection against industrial espionage — what some people call reverse engineering. I am sure that the manufacturers don’t want their invention revealed. I have a strong suspicion that the technology this thing might be based on was stolen only last year. There are no patents on it yet. There is also a chance that this machine may relate to a criminal investigation now under way. If those people are involved they won’t want anyone to know what makes this thing tick.”

“So it might be booby-trapped to prevent anyone finding out what makes it tick? Maybe do itself some injury if someone gets nosy?”

“That’s it. Its internal computer might be set to destroy itself, its program or memories. It could use a standard self-immolation module. Seen a lot of them since they shortened the patent-life time. Neutralizing it should be pretty straightforward. But I’ll have to ask you both to leave. SOP. We’re onto most of their tricks so it shouldn’t take long.”