Harry Harrison - The Turing Option

“I don’t believe—”

“You’ll greatly enjoy it. You see it happens at a congress of international linguists and the Spanish linguist asks the Irish linguist if there is a word in Irish with the same meaning as the Spanish manana. Well your man thinks for a bit and says, why yes, sure enough there is — but it doesn’t have the same sense of terrible urgency.” Fergus slapped his knees and laughed enough for all three of them.

He helped them collect Brian’s bag and the sample robot now released from customs. On the short drive to the hotel they heard three more of what he referred to as Kerryman stories. They could all be clearly recognized as familiar Polish or Irish jokes. Brian wondered which minority or subhuman race might be named as the subject of these same jokes when they were told in Kerry.

Fergus Duffy dropped them in front of the hotel, promised to call in the morning. While they were talking Shelly checked them in, came back with two keys and an ancient porter with a trolley.

“You share with Sven,” she said as they followed the septuagenarian toward the elevator. “I have no desire at all to catch your cold. I’m going to unpack and freshen up. I’ll be over as soon as I feel a little more human.”

“Is there any reason for me to remain in this box?” Sven asked when Brian opened it. “I would enjoy a little mobility.”

“Enjoy.” Brian sneezed thunderously, then attached Sven’s right arm and unpacked his toilet kit.

“What is the electricity supply in Ireland?” Sven asked as it fitted the other arm into position.

“Two hundred and twenty volts, fifty cycles.”

“Easy enough to adjust for. I’m going to recharge my batteries. Use them until we can obtain more fuel for the cell.”

Brian found a tube of antihistamine tablets in his toilet kit and washed one down with a glass of water. Sat back in the chair and realized that, for the first time in what — two days? — he had finally stopped running. The telephone was on the table beside him and it reminded him of the mysterious number that Sven-2 had uncovered. Could it possibly be a phone number in Switzerland? Hidden there by the vanished Dr. Bociort? He still didn’t think much of the theory, but he ought to at least try to place the call before he started running all over Europe. There was only one way to find out if Sven-2’s theory made any sense. He reached out for the phone — and stopped.

Could the phone be tapped? Or was he just being paranoid after General Schorcht’s constant surveillance? He was the subject of a police investigation here so there might be a long chance that it was. He pulled his hand back, took the phone card from his pocket. Five pounds it said and he must have used only a small part of that. More than enough left to call Switzerland. He went and looked out of the window. The sun had come out but the streets were still wet from the rain. And down the block was a brown building with the name “Paddy Murphy” over the curtained windows. A pub — the perfect place. He could have a jar and make his call. He dozed in the chair until Shelly’s knock jumped him awake. She was wearing a sweater with a bold Aztec design.

“You look great,” he said.

“I’m glad one of us does. You look like you have been dragged through a knothole.”

“That’s exactly how I feel. I’ll have a wash and shave, then we’ll go out to the pub.”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping rather than drinking?”

“Probably,” he called back through the open door. “But I want to make that phone call first, to that number that Sven-2 thinks he discovered.”

“What number? What on earth are you talking about?”

“It’s a long shot but one worth trying.”

“We’re being mysterious, aren’t we?”

“Not really. I’ll try to make the call first. Then there really might be something to talk about. Sven, I never wrote the number down. What was it?”

“41 336709.”

Brian scribbled it on the back of the stub from his boarding pass. “Great. I’ll be out in a minute.” He closed the door and began to undress.

The bartender was chatting with a solitary drinker at the far end of the bar, looked up and came over to mem when they entered and sat down at a table near the open fire.

“What will you have, Shelly?” Brian asked.

“Wine of the country, of course.”

“Right. Two pints of Guinness, if you please.”

“Going to rain again,” the barman said gloomily as he slowly and patiently filled the glasses, placed them on the bar to settle.

“Doesn’t it always. Good for the farmers and bad for the tourists.”

“Get away with you — the tourists love it. They wouldn’t recognize the country if it wasn’t raining stair rods.”

“There is that. You have a phone here?”

“In back, by the door to the lounge.” He topped up the glasses and brought them over.

Brian sipped at the creamy head of the jet black liquid.

“This is delicious,” Shelly said.

“Nutritious as well. And enough of it will get you drunk. I bet it cures colds too. I’m going to make that call now.”

He took another sip and went to find the phone. Inserted the card and dialed the Swiss number. As soon as he got past the first four digits there was a high-pitched interrupt and a computer-generated voice spoke.

“You have dialed Switzerland from Ireland. The exchange you have entered does not exist. This message will be repeated in German and French …”

Brian crumpled up the slip of paper, threw it into the ashtray next to the phone, went back to the table and drained his pint and signaled for another one.

“You look glum,” Shelly said.

“I should be. It doesn’t work. The number was not a phone number. Sven-2 found the sequence buried in one of the stolen AI programs and seemed to think that it was. It wasn’t. The chances are it was just a line of code that I wrote myself for the original AI. Let’s forget the whole thing.”

“Cheer up. You’re a free man in a free world and that should mean something.”

“It does — but not much at the present moment. Must be the cold getting me down. Let’s finish these and get back to the hotel. I think some sleep is in order now. With the pills and the pints I should be able to sleep around the clock.”

It was after seven that evening before Brian woke up, blinking into the darkness of the room.

“I detect the motion of your eyelids,” Sven said. “Do you wish me to turn the lights on.”

“Do that.”

Ten minutes later he came out of the elevator and headed for the dining room. Shelly was sitting at a table by the far wall and she waved him over.

“I hope you don’t mind but I started without you. The salmon is absolutely delicious. You ought to try it.”

“You talked me into it — particularly since I just realized that I am starving. Airline muck and cheese sandwiches leave a lot to be desired.”

“You look a lot better.”

“Feel a lot better. The pills and sleep did the trick.”

“Your solicitor telephoned. I had told the front desk that you were sleeping so they put the call through to me. He was quite happy about everything — including the fact that you are going to have to pay a fine of fifty pounds.”

“Why?”

“He wasn’t quite sure. He said that he thinks it is just a slap on the wrist to sort you out — and wind up the case. He has already paid so you are a free man. He is also looking into a passport for you and thinks he can pull enough strings to get one by tomorrow. Said to phone him in the morning. I wasn’t too impressed by that. Takes ten minutes in the States.”

“Ahh, my fair colleen, but you are.not in the distant country where all the computers work and the trains leave on time. Let me tell you — one day for a new passport in Ireland is lightning.”