Harry Harrison: The Turing Option

“That it will work!” Ben shouted, slamming his fist into his palm. “That it has to work. Those bums, whoever they are, paid millions for absolutely nothing. Let’s drink to that.” Ben looked around the room. “Got a bar here?”

“No — but I can ring down for whatever you want.”

“Champagne. Vintage. And about six sandwiches. I haven’t eaten for over five thousand miles.”

Only one thing happened that spoiled Brian’s complete satisfaction. The press no longer mobbed the hotel; police were at the front entrance and admitted only other guests and journalists he had made appointments with. He had eaten enough meals in hotel rooms so he joined Ben next morning in the restaurant for breakfast.

“Where’s Sven?” Ben asked. “I thought he liked publicity and his newfound freedom?”

“He does. But he discovered that Stockholm has phone numbers for what is called therapeutic sexual conversation. So he is both practicing his Swedish and doing research into human sexual practices.”

“Oh, Alan Turing, would you were but alive in this hour!”

They were finishing a second pot of coffee when Shelly came into the dining room, looked around, then walked slowly over to their table. Ben stood up before her.

“I don’t think you’re wanted here — even if Military Intelligence managed to get you past the police.”

“I’m here on my own, Ben. No one helped me. I simply registered in the hotel. And if you don’t mind, I would like to hear Brian tell me to leave. I want to talk to him — not you.”

Brian half stood, his face red, his fists clamped. Then he dropped back into the chair and ordered the anger to drain away.

“Let her stay, Ben. This will have to be done sooner or later.”

“I’ll be in my room.” The big man turned away and left them alone.

“May I sit down?”

“Yes. And answer one question—”

“Why did I do it? Why did I betray you? I’m here because I want to tell you about that.”

“I’m listening.”

“I hate it when your voice gets cold like that, your face freezes. More like a machine than a man—”

Tears rolled down her cheeks and she dabbed at them angrily. Brought herself under control.

“Please try to understand. I am a serving officer in the United States Air Force. I took an oath — and I can’t betray it. When I went to Los Angeles to see my father, that was when General Schorcht sent for me. He gave me an order. I obeyed it. It’s as simple as that.”

“That is not very simple at all. At the Nuremberg trials—”

“I know what you are going to say. That I am no better than the Nazis who were ordered to murder Jews — and did so. They tried to escape justice by saying they were just obeying orders.”

“You said it, I didn’t.”

“Perhaps they had little choice, they did what everyone else was doing. I’m not defending them — just trying to explain what I did. I had a choice. I could have resigned my commission, walked right out of there. I wouldn’t have been shot.”

“Then you must have agreed with the order to lie to me — to spy on me?” Still calmly, still without anger.

She had emotion enough for both of them, pounding her fists slowly and silently on the table, leaning forward to whisper out her words.

“I thought that if you escaped alone you would be in danger, I really did. I wanted to protect you—”

“By phoning from the train and telling Schorcht all my plans?”

“Yes. I believed that there was a strong possibility that you couldn’t cope, might be hurt, so I wanted you protected. And, yes, I believe that Military Intelligence should have known what you were doing. If you had knowledge that was vital to the country I believe that it was vital for your country to know it as well.”

“National security goes before betraying a friend?”

“If you want to phrase it that way then, well, yes I think it does.”

“Poor Shelly. Living in the past. Putting nationalism, flag-waving jingoism ahead of personal honor, ahead of everything. Not knowing that little nationalism is dead and world nationalism is the name of the game. The cold war is dead as well, Shelly, and hopefully soon, all war will be dead. And we’ll be free of the burden of the military at last. A fossil, extinct — but too stupid to lie down. You’ve made your decision and you have told me about it. End of conversation. Good-bye Shelly, I don’t think we’ll be meeting again.” He wiped his lips with his napkin, stood and turned away.

“You can’t dismiss me like that. I came to make some explanation, apology maybe. I’m a person and I can be hurt. And you are hurting me, do you understand that? I came to make amends. You must be more machine than man if you can’t understand that. You can’t just turn your back on me and walk away!”

Which of course is exactly what he did.

The date brushed against the edge of Erin Snaresbrook’s attention as she read her personalized morning newspaper. There was very little news of the accepted sort in it, no politics, no sports, but plenty of biochemistry and brain research. She was engrossed in an article about nerve growth and the nagging bothered her. Then she looked again at the date — and dropped the sheets of eternitree onto the table, took up her cup of coffee.

That date. She would never forget it, never. It might be put aside for a while when she was busy, then something would remind her and that day would be there again. The first sight of that shattered skull, the ruined brain, the immense feeling of despair that had overwhelmed her. The despair had passed to be replaced by hope — then immense satisfaction when Brian had survived.

Had another year really passed? A year during which she had not seen or talked to him, not once. She had tried to contact him but her calls were never returned. While she thought about it she touched his number, got the same recorded response. Yes, her message was noted and Brian would get back to her. But he never did.

A year was a long time and she did not like it. She stared out at the Torrey pine trees and the ocean beyond, unseeingly. Too long. This time she was going to do something about it. Woody answered his phone on the first ring.

“Wood, security.”

“Woody, Dr. Snaresbrook here. I wonder if you could help me with a problem of communication.”

“You name it — you got it.”

“It’s Brian. Today is the anniversary of that awful day when he was shot. This drove home the fact to me that it must be a year at least since I talked to him. I phone but he never calls back. I presume he is all right or I would have heard.”

“He’s in great shape. I see him at the gym sometimes when I’m working out.” There was a long moment’s silence before Woody spoke again. “ If you’re not busy I think I can arrange for you to see him now. Is that all right?”

“Excellent — I’m free most of the day,” she said as she turned to the terminal to change a half dozen appointments. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

“I’ll be waiting. See you.”

When she pulled her car out of the garage the sun had vanished behind thick clouds and there was a splatter of rain on her windshield. It grew heavier as she drove inland, but as always the barrier of the mountain ranges held back clouds and storm. Sunlight broke through as she drove down the Montezuma Grade and she opened the window to the desert warmth. Good as his word, Woody was waiting at the main Megalobe gate. He didn’t open it, but instead came out to join her.

“Got room for a passenger?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. Climb in.” She touched the button and the door unlocked and swung open. “Brian’s not here?”