Harry Harrison: The Turing Option

“Not often these days.” When he sat down the door closed and locked, the seat belt slipped into place. “He usually works at home. Have you been to Split Mountain Ranch?”

“No — because I never even heard of it.”

“Good. We like to keep a low profile there. Just head east and I’ll show you where to turn. It’s not really a ranch but a high security housing area for the top MI personnel. Condos and homes. Now that we have expanded into manufacturing here we needed someplace close by and secure for them to live.”

“Sounds nifty. You look and sound concerned, Woody. What is it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. That’s why I thought you might talk to him. It’s just that, well, we don’t see him much anymore. Used to take meals in the cafeteria. No more. Hardly see him around. And when I do, well, distant is maybe the word for it. No joking, no small talk. I don’t know if something is bothering him or not. Hang a right at that road coming up.”

The road twisted out through the desert and ended in a wide gate set into a wall that stretched away on both sides. The Spanish colonial design, trees and planters, could not hide the fact the wall was solid and high, the apparently wrought iron gate more than decorative. It swung open as they approached and Snaresbrook drove into the courtyard beyond and stopped before a second gate. An elderly, uniformed man strolled out of a gatehouse disguised as a cantina.

“G’morning Mr. Wood. Just a few secs you and the doctor can go in.”

“Good enough, George. Keeping you busy?”

“Day and night.” He smiled calmly, turned and went back into the gatehouse.

“The security here is pretty laid-back,” Snaresbrook said.

“The security here is the best in the world. Old George is retired. Likes the job. Gets him out of the house. He’s just hired to say Hi to people — which he does very well. The real security is handled by an MI. It tracks every vehicle on the ground, every plane in the sky. By the time you got to Megalobe it knew who you were, what you were doing here, had contacted me, checked your identification and got my approval.”

“If it’s so great why the delay now?”

“No delay. Sensors in the ground are examining this car, checking all of its components, searching it for weapons or bombs, checking your home exchange to make sure that your phone is your phone — there we go.” The outer gate was closed before the inner one opened. “This one MI does a better job than all my troops and technology over at Megalobe. Straight ahead now and it is about the fourth or fifth drive, name of Avenida Jacaranda.”

“Quite something,” Snaresbrook said as they parked in front of the large, starkly modern home.

“Why not? Brian is a millionaire or better by now. You should see the sales figures.”

The voice spoke to them as they approached the front door.

“Good morning. I’m sorry to tell you that Mr. Delaney is not available right now—”

“I am Wood, security. Just shut up and tell him that I am here with Dr. Snaresbrook.”

There was a short delay — then the door swung open. “Mr. Delaney will now see you,” the disembodied voice said.

When they went down the hall and entered the high-ceilinged room Snaresbrook saw why Brian no longer needed to go to the laboratory. The one he had here was probably much better. Spartan and shining, computers and machines covered one wall. Before it sat Brian with an immobile MI at his shoulder. He was not looking at them but was staring vacantly into the distance.

“Please excuse us for a moment,” the MI said. “But we are conferencing over a rather complex equation.”

“Is that you, Sven?”

“Dr. Snaresbrook — how nice of you to remember. I am just a subunit programmed for simple responses. If you will be patient…”

Sven stirred then, formed its lower manipulators into legs and walked over to them. “What a distinct pleasure to see you both. We rarely get visitors here. I keep telling Brian all work and no play — you know. But he is a bit of a workaholic.”

“So I see.” She pointed at Brian, still not moving. “Does he know we are here?”

“Oh yes. I told him before I left the calculation. He just wants to work on it a bit more.”

“Does he? All charm and friendship, our Brian. Woody, I see what you meant. Our friend Sven here is more human.”

“Kind of you to say that, Doctor. But you must remember that the more I study intelligence and humanity, the more I become human — and hopefully more intelligent.”

“You are doing a great job, Sven. I wish I could say the same for Brian.”

Her sarcastic words must have penetrated his concentration, disturbed him. First he frowned, then shook his head. “You are not being fair, Doc. I have work to do. And the only way to get it done is to isolate emotions from logic. One cannot think clearly with hormones and adrenaline being pumped around the body. That is a big advantage over mankind that Sven and his lot have over flesh and blood intelligence. No glands.”

“Admittedly I have no glands.” Sven said. “But static discharges disrupt in the same manner from time to time.”

“That is not true, Sven,” Brian said coldly.

“You are correct — I was attempting a small joke.”

Snaresbrook looked at them in silence. For an instant there Sven had seemed the more human of the two. As the MI was learning humanity — was Brian losing it? She brushed the terrible thought away. “You said that you were conferencing. You no longer need the physical optic-fiber connection?”

“No.” Brian touched the back of his neck. “A slight modification and communication is accomplished by modulating infrared signals.” He stood and stretched, attempted a weak smile. “Sorry if I was rude. Sven and I are onto something so big that it is frightening.”

“What?”

“Not sure yet — I mean not sure if we can do it. And we are pushing like crazy because we want to get it done before the next meeting of the Megalobe board. It would be great to spring it there. But I’m being a bad host—”

“You certainly are!” Sven said. “But I hurry to make amends. Sir, madam, the sitting room is this way. Cool drinks, soft music, we are very hospitable when we but try.”

Sven’s hand flicked lightly in Brian’s direction, a slight movement that suggested apology — perhaps resignation.

Brian and Woody had soft drinks but Snaresbrook, who rarely drank save at social functions, felt the sudden need for something different.

“Bombay martini on the rocks with a twist — and no vermouth. Can you manage that, Sven?”

“Well within my powers, Doctor. A moment if you please.”

She sat in a deep and comfortable chair, folded her hands on her purse, and held her anger at bay. The martini would help. “How have you been keeping, Brian?”

“Very well. I work out when I can.”

“And your head? Any negative symptoms, pains, anything at all?”

“Perfectly fine.”

She nodded her thanks to Sven, sipped the drink. It did help. “It’s been a long time since we have had a session with the connection machine.”

“I know. I feel there is no need for that anymore. The CPU is integrated and I can access it at will. No problems.”

“That’s nice. Did you ever think of telling me about it? I never published more than a general description of the operation, since I was waiting for final results before I did.”

There was a cold edge to her voice now. Brian was aware of it, flushed slightly.

“That’s an oversight on my part. I’m sorry. Look, I’ll write up everything and get the material to you.”

“That would be nice. I’ve talked to Shelly a few times—”