The Turing Option

by Harry Harrison

  “Are there any other rooms on this floor that are empty?”

  “Just 330. But it is a double …”

  “That doesn’t matter. Now change the indicator board and the records to show Delaney in 330, and 314 as being empty.”

  “There will be trouble …”

  “Do it.”

  She did—with great reluctance. As she punched in the changes another nurse hurried in, still pinning on her badge. Schorcht nodded grimly.

  “About time, Lieutenant. Get into the station. The rest of us are leaving. If anyone asks, the patient Brian Delaney is in room 330.” He silenced the staff nurse with a quick chop of his hand. “Lieutenant Drake is a military nurse with a great deal of hospital experience. There will be no trouble.” His beeper sounded and he switched on his radio and listened to it. “Understood.” He put it back on his belt and looked around him.

  “We have about two minutes, possibly. Listen and don’t ask questions. We will all leave this area—leave this floor in fact. Lieutenant Drake knows what to do. We have just learned that there will be an attempt on the patient’s life. I not only want to prevent this crime but obtain information about the would-be perpetrators. You can all help by simply leaving now. Understood?”

  The General led the way; there were no arguments. Nurse Drake stood almost at attention as they were hurried down the corridor to the stairwell and off the third floor. Only when they were gone did she take a deep breath and relax slightly. She pulled her uniform straight and turned to the mirror on the wall to make sure her cap was square and correct. When she turned back she controlled her start of surprise when she saw the young man standing at the counter.

  “Can I help you … Doctor?” she said. He was dressed in hospital whites and had an electronic stethoscope hanging from his pocket.

  “Nothing important. I just came on. Passed some worried visitors asking about a Brian Delaney. A new admittance?” He leaned over the counter and tapped the indicator. “Is that him?”

  “Yes, Doctor. Intensive care, 330. Critical but stable.”

  “Thanks. I’ll tell them when I go out.”

  The nurse smiled at him. Nice-looking, tanned, late twenties, carrying a black bag. Still smiling, she put her hand to her waist and as soon as he had turned his back pressed twice on the button of what appeared to be an ordinary pager.

  Whistling softly through his teeth, the young man went down the corridor, turned a corner and past 330 without a glance. He stopped at the next cross corridor and looked both ways—then ran swiftly and silently back to the room. No one was in sight. With his hand in the black bag he threw open the door and saw the empty beds. Before he could react the two men inside the room, one to each side of the door, pushed automatic pistols into his midriff.

  “Whatever you’re thinking of doing—don’t!” the taller one said.

  “Hello there,” the young man said and let the bag drop, swinging up the bulbous-tipped revolver at the same time.

  They fired to wound, not kill. Quick shots into his arms and shoulder. He was still smiling as he fell face-forward. Before they could grab him and roll him over, there was a muffled pop.

  They looked very uncomfortable when Schorcht came stalking in.

  “He did it himself, sir, before we could stop him. Single shot into the chest with an explosive bullet. Blew a great damned hole in himself. Nothing left to patch up-even being right here in the hospital.”

  The General’s nostrils flared and his glare, aimed first at one then the other of them like a swiveling cannon, was far worse than anything he could have said. It smoked with demotion, reprimand, blighted careers. He turned on his heel and stomped out to the waiting Benicoff.

  “Get the FBI onto the body. Find out anything, everything!”

  “Will do. Can you tell me now what this is all about?”

  “No. This is a need-to-know situation—and you don’t need to know anything further. Let us say only that this Megalobe business has become slotted into something much larger that we have been aware of for some time. And this sort of attack will not be permitted to happen again. There will be guards here right around the clock until the patient can be moved. When he can he is going to go right out of here and over there, across the bay to Idiot’s Island. Coronado. I don’t like the Navy—but at least they are part of the military. They should be able to guard one man inside their hospital inside the largest naval base in the world. I hope.”

  “I am sure that they can. But you are going to tell me the background to this assassination attempt. Or my own investigation will be compromised.”

  “When the time comes you will be informed.” Icily. But Benicoff was not buying it; his voice was just as cold as the General’s.

  “Not satisfactory. If the people behind this are the same as the ones who shot Brian then I do need to know. Now tell me.”

  It was a standoff—until General Schorcht reluctantly made the decision.

  “I can tell you the absolute minimum. We have an informant in a criminal organization. He discovered this assassination attempt, contacted us as soon as he could. He knows only that the killer was hired—but as yet he doesn’t know who made the approach. If and when he acquires that information it will be passed on to you. Satisfactory?”

  “Satisfactory. As long as you remember to tell me.” Benicoff smiled cheerfully in response to General Schorcht’s glare of hatred, turned and left. He found Snaresbrook in her office, closed and locked the door before he told her what had happened.

  “And no one knows yet who is behind this attempt, or why they are doing it?” the surgeon asked.

  “The why is pretty obvious. Whoever stole the artificial intelligence equipment and details wants a monopoly—and no witnesses. They wanted to be sure that Brian would never be able to talk.”

  “In that case—let us see what we can do to interfere with their plans. But the relocation to Coronado will not be easy—or soon. Brian’s in no condition to be moved, nor am I willing to interrupt the healing process. As I have said, this is a battle against time. So you and your obnoxious General will just have to find a way to make this hospital secure.”

  “He is going to love that. I’ll take another coffee before I even think about facing him.”

  “Help yourself. But I have to get back to the O.R.”

  “I’m going with you. I’m staying there until I see just what kind of security the General comes up with.”

  6

  February 19, 2023

  The next morning Benicoff got to Dr. Snaresbrook’s office just before she left for the operating room.

  “Got a moment?”

  “Just that and nothing more. This is going to be a difficult day.”

  “I thought you might want to know about the assassin. As was expected no identification, no labels in his clothes, no identification. His blood was more revealing. The report said that his blood type placed his origin in South America. Colombia in fact. I didn’t know they could be that specific.”

  “Blood typing is getting more and more refined—and you will probably find that given enough time they will be able to pinpoint his origin exactly. Is that all?”

  “Not quite. He had full-blown AIDS and was a three-bag-a-day heroin addict. He came down from his high just long enough to pull the job—but he had a hypodermic in his bag loaded with a dose that would kill a horse. Se we have a hired gun, more than ready to kill for his expensive fix. The trail gets cold there but the investigators are trying to work through the people who arranged the contract with him for the hit. I have not yet even been told who they are or how this information reached us. So you will appreciate that it is not very easy.”

  “I appreciate. Now if you will excuse me I have to go to work. Come with me.” They scrubbed and dressed in silence, then went into the O.R. Once more the covering on Brian’s open brain was pulled back.

  “This operation will hopefully be the last,” Erin Snaresbrook said. “This is a computer that will be impl
anted in his brain.”

  She was balancing an oddly shaped black plastic form on the palm of her gloved hand, holding it up so that the camera that was recording the operating procedure could get a clear view of it. “It is a million-processor CM-10 connection machine with a 1,000-megahertz router and then a thousand megabytes of RAM. It has the capacity to easily do 100 trillion operations per second. Even after the implantation of the connection chip films there is space in the brain left for this where the dead tissue was removed. The computer case was shaped to exactly fit into this space.”

  She laid the supercomputer on the sterile tray. The tendrils of the machine above dropped down over it, examined it, picked it and rotated it into the correct position for implantation. When the preparation was complete the computer was lifted, then lowered into the opening in Brian’s skull.

  “Before being finally positioned the connections are made between the computer and each of the films. There, the connections have been made, the case is being fitted into its permanent position. As soon as the last, external connection is complete we will begin closure. Even now the computer should be in operation. It has been programmed with reconnection-learning software. This recognizes similar or related signals and reroutes the nerve signals within the chips. Hopefully these memories will now be accessible.”

  “It’s a strange kind of graduation present,” Dolly said. “The boy needs clothes and a new jacket.”

  “He’ll get them, just take him shopping after school,” Paddy said, grunting as he bent to tie his shoes. “Anyway, clothes aren’t any kind of real present for a boy. Especially on an occasion like this. He’s finished high school in less than a year and is looking forward to the university. And he’s only twelve years old.”

  “Have you ever thought that we are pushing him too fast?”

  “Dolly—you know better than to say a thing like that. There’s no pushing here. If anything we have to work hard not to hold him back. It was his idea to finish high school so quickly because there are courses he wants to take that aren’t available in secondary education. That’s why he wants to see where I work. The security regulations prevented him coming until now. So this is a very exciting moment in his life because he now has all the grounding that he needs to go ahead. To him the university is the horn of plenty, bursting with good things to consume.”

  “Well that’s all right. He really should eat more. He gets into that computer and forgets where he is.”

  “A metaphor!” Paddy laughed. “Intellectual food to feed his curiosity.”

  She was hurt, tried not to show it. “Now you’re laughing at me, just because I worry about his health.”

  “I’m not laughing at you—and his health is fine. And his weight’s fine, he grows like a weed and swims and works out just like every other kid. But his intellectual curiosity—that’s what is different. You want to come with us? This is his big day.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not for me. Just enjoy yourself and see that you are back by six. I’m making a turkey with all the trimmings and Milly and George are coming over later. I want to be cleaned up before they get here—”

  The door crashed open and Brian thundered in.

  “Aren’t you ready, Dad? Time to go.”

  “Ready when you are.” Brian was at the front door, almost out of it; Paddy called after him. “And say good-bye to Dolly.”

  “Bye,” and he was gone.

  “An important day for him,” Paddy said.

  “Important, of course,” Dolly said quietly to herself as the door closed. “And I’m just the housekeeper around here.”

  The artificial island and attendant oil platforms were home to Brian now; he was no longer aware of this unusual environment. When it all had been new to him he used to explore the rigs, sneaking down the gangways to the bottom level with the sea surging around the steel legs below. Or up to the helipads, even climbing around a locked barrier once to clamber up the ladder to the communication mast on the administration building, the highest point in UFE. But his curiosity about these mechanical constructs had long since been satisfied; he had much more important and interesting things to think about now as they walked across the bridge that led to the lab rig.

  “All the electronic laboratories are here,” Paddy explained. “That’s our generator over there, the dome, since we need a clean and stable power supply.”

  “Pressurized water reactor from the submarine Sailfish. Junked in 1994 when the global agreement was signed.”

  “That’s the one. We go in here, second floor.”

  Brian stared about in silence, tense with excitement. It was Saturday so they had the place entirely to themselves. Though an occasional sudden humming of drives and a glowing screen showed that at least one background program had been left running.

  “Here is where I work,” Paddy said, pointing to the terminal. A charred briar pipe was resting on top of the keyboard and he removed it before he pulled the chair out for Brian. “Sit down and hit any key to turn it on. I tell you I’m proud of this yoke, the new zed seventy-seven. It gives you an idea of the kind of work we’re doing if they pop for something like this. Makes a Cray look like a beat-up Macintosh.”

  “Really?” Brian’s eyes were wide as he ran his fingers along the edge of the keyboard.

  “Well, not really.” Paddy smiled as he rooted in his pocket for his tobacco. “But it is faster in certain kinds of calculation and I really need it for the development work on LAMA. That’s a new language that we are developing here.”

  “What’s it for?”

  “A new, rapidly developing and special need. You write programs in LOGO, don’t you?”

  “Sure. And BASIC and FORTRAN—and I’m learning E out of a book. My teaching has been telling me something about Expert Systems.”

  “Then you will already know that different computer languages are used for different purposes. BASIC is a good first hands-on language for learning some of the simplest things computers can do—for describing procedures, step by step. FORTRAN has been used for fifty years because it is especially good for routine scientific calculations, though it now has been replaced by formula-understanding Symbolic Manipulation systems. LOGO is for beginners, particularly children, it is so graphical, making it easy to draw pictures.”

  “And it lets you write programs that write and run other programs. The others don’t let you do that. They just complain when you try.”

  “You’ll discover that you can do that in LAMA, too. Because, like LOGO, it is based on the old language LISP. One of the oldest and still one of the best—because it is simple and yet can refer back to itself. Most of the first expert programs, in the early days of artificial intelligence, were developed by using the LISP language. But the new kinds of parallel processing in modern AI research need a different approach—and language—to do all those things and more. That’s LAMA.”

  “Why is it named for an animal?”

  “It isn’t. LAMA is an acronym for Language for Logic and Metaphor. It is partially based on the CYC program developed in the 1980s. To understand artificial intelligence it is first vital that we understand our own intelligence.”

  “But if the brain is a computer, what is the mind? How are they connected?”

  Paddy smiled. “A question that appears to be a complete mystery to most people, including some of the best scientists. Yet as far as I can see it’s really no problem at all, just a wrong question. We shouldn’t think of the mind and brain as two different things that have to be connected, since they are just two different ways of looking at the same thing. Minds are simply what brains do.”

  “How does our brain computer compute thoughts?”

  “No one really knows exactly—but we have a pretty good idea. It isn’t really just one big computer. It’s made of millions of little bunches of interconnected nerve cells. Like a society. Each bunch of cells acts like a little agent that has learned to do some little job—either by itself or by knowing ho
w to get some other agents to help. Thinking is the result of all those agents being connected in ways that make them help each other—or to get out of the way when they cannot help. So even though each one can do very little, each one can still carry a little fragment of knowledge to share with the others.”

  “So how does LAMA help them share?” Brian had listened with complete concentration, taking in every word, analyzing and understanding.

  “It does this by combining an Expert System shell with a huge data base called CYC—for encyclopedia. All previous Expert Systems were based on highly specialized knowledge, but CYC provides LAMA with millions of fragments of common sense knowledge—the sorts of things that everyone knows.”

  “But if it has so many knowledge fragments, how does LAMA know which ones to use?”

  “By using special connection agents called nemes, which associate each knowledge fragment with certain others. So that if you tell LAMA that a certain drinking-cup is made of glass, then the nemes automatically make it assume that the cup also is fragile and transparent—unless there is contrary evidence. In other words, CYC provides LAMA with the millions of associations between ideas that are needed in order to think.”

  When Paddy stopped talking to light his pipe the boy sat in silence for almost a minute.

  “It’s complex,” Paddy said. “Not easy to pick up the first time around.”

  But he had misunderstood Brian’s silence, misunderstood completely because the boy had followed what he had said to its logical conclusion.

  “If the language works like that—then why can’t it be used to make a real working artificial intelligence? One that can think for itself—like a person?”

  “No reason at all, Brian, no reason at all. In fact that is just what we are hoping to do.”

  7

  February 22, 2023

  Erin Snaresbrook felt logy with sleep—even though she had slept for only five hours. It had not been by choice but by necessity, since she hadn’t been to bed at all for almost three days. She was beginning to hallucinate and more than once had found her eyes closing in the O.R. for lack of proper rest. It was too much. She had used one of the vacant intern’s rooms, fallen into a black hole of fatigue and, what seemed like a moment later, had been dragged painfully awake by the clamor of alarm. A cold shower shocked her back to life; reddened eyes blinked back at her from the mirror as she put on a touch of lipstick.