“I hope we won’t have to fix it at all. Sven should be able to do it on its own.”
“You mean by learning from experience?”
“Exactly. After all, there’s really nothing wrong with being too careful at first. You have to survive in order to learn. It may take a while, but by learning very carefully Sven can build a solid foundation for learning much more quickly in the future. However there’s something more important than walking right now. Shelly merged Dick Tracy with Robin a few days ago. They are pretty well integrated and working on the problem. Sven, has your Dick Tracy agency added any more jobs to your AI occupation list?”
“It has.”
“Give us a printout.”
The laser printer hummed to life and sheet after sheet began to emerge. Brian took the first sheet and handed it to Ben; it was alphabetized of course.
“Abaca manufacture, abacaxi cultivator, abactinal definer, abaculus setter, abacucus operator, abaisse manufacture … and a lot more like that,” Ben said. He looked at the sheets piling up and shook his head. “Could you tell me the reason for all this?”
“I thought that it was obvious. Your investigation of the crime here seems to be grinding to a halt—”
“I’m sorry if it looks that way, but the number of people working on this …”
“Ben, I know that! I’m not blaming you. This is a tough nut to crack and all we want to do is help you—for purely personal and selfish reasons if nothing else. Shelly has her Dick Tracy program still operating but it appears to have run out of steam. Now enter Sven to solve the crime!”
“I am already here so I cannot enter.”
“A figure of speech, Sven. Data to come. You can stop the data printout now.”
“I am only up to C in the alphabet. You do not wish a complete printout?”
“No. Just this sample to look at. Put the printed sheets back into the bin.”
Sven rustled quickly across the room to the printer and lifted out the sheets of eternitree from the delivery tray. But not as a human would in a single pile. Instead it shifted its weight to one of the tree complexes and extended the other, then with a quick movement a myriad of the smallest fingers grasped each sheet individually. Carried them to the other side of the machine and slid them into the bin in a quick shuffle as though they were a large pack of cards.
“The printout,” Brian said, “was just to give you an idea of the kind of data base we are assembling. The idea is to make a list of all conceivable human occupations, then consider what an AI might do to make each of them more practical, and then trimming away the improbables. When this list is reduced to a feasible size Sven will examine every available data base for any trace of evidence. Looking for traces of any new kind of manufacturing process, programming system, or other kind of new product that could only be made by a new, more advanced AI.”
“But all these occupations and applications on the list seem so impractical—even impossible. I don’t even know what an abacaxi cultivator is!”
“Of course a lot of them are way out. But this AI does not think as we do—yet. We have intuition, which is a learned process and not one that can be memorized. Right now Sven is better at making a list of everything that an AI could do. When the list is complete it will begin trimming away the impossibles and the improbables. When the list is finally reduced to manageable size Sven will then begin to examine for any traces or matches.”
“That’s quite a task.”
“Sven is quite a machine,” Shelly said proudly. “With its new Dick Tracy agency it should be more than up to the job. If the stolen AI is working somewhere we are going to track it down by finding out just what it has done.”
“I’m sure of it,” Ben said. “And you will let me know the instant you have any leads.”
“They might be just clues, there is no way to be certain.”
“There certainly is—I’ll have them checked out. I have a big team out there who aren’t accomplishing very much at the moment. I’ll put them to work. In all truth I think that putting Sven on the job is the only way that we are going to find the people who did this.”
28
September 4, 2024
Benicoff was sure that this conference would not take too long. He had read through all the paperwork on the flight to Seattle, made his final notes on the monorail to Tacoma. This was the first assignment he had had in some months, in fact the very first since he began devoting full time to the Megalobe case; he could think of no real reason to turn down the request. Just before the meeting began his phone beeped and he answered it.
“Ben, Brian here. Sven seems to have come up with some leads.”
“Your electronic wizard seems to be working pretty fast.”
“Once the list was complete and all the long shots eliminated Sven sorted through for the most likely items. It has come up with three possibilities now. One is a certain software system that is suspicious. A microcode compiler that writes impossibly efficient code. Then there is a certain shoe repair machine that might plausibly be an AI since it can resole any kind of shoe. Then there is an agricultural machine which is rated as almost surely an AI.”
“Plausibly? Almost surely? Can’t this thing give a straight answer, a yes or no—or a fifty-fifty chance?”
“It cannot. Sven uses an agency based on knowledge about qualitative plausibility. It doesn’t use any numbers at all. In fact, I asked it to and it refused.”
“Who runs that place—you or the machine? In any case—what did it come up with?”
“A machine called Bug-Off, would you believe?”
“I believe—and I’ll contact the FBI here and get some action on your Bug-Off today. A meeting that I planned to be brief just got a lot briefer. I’ve canceled it. I’ll get back to you.”
The head of the Seattle FBI office, Agent Antonio Perdomo, was a tall man, as solidly built as Benicoff, still in his forties but going rapidly bald. He glanced at Benicoff ’s ID and got right down to business.
“Washington ran a corporate check on this manufacturing company, DigitTech Products of Austin, Texas. I have the file here. They manufacture and sell wholesale electronic components for the most part, with an occasional individual product. But they usually make items for own-brand retailers. This machine you asked about, Bug-Off, has been on the market for only a few weeks. They are marketing it themselves.”
“How do we get hold of one?”
“I’ve arranged that as well. It is not for sale but is leased to greenhouses to be used—or so their prospectus says—in the place of chemicals. I know you wanted to keep this investigation completely under cover so I made all my inquiries through an associate in the Bureau of Commerce. He contacted all the greenhouses in this area and has come up with a winner. A greenhouse owner named Nisiumi—a retired traffic policeman.”
“That’s the best news ever. You’ve contacted him?”
“He’s in his office, waiting for us. He only knows that this is a high-level investigation and that he is to mention it to no one.”
“This is very good work.”
Perdomo smiled. “Just doing my job.”
The sun had disappeared and Seattle was running true to winter form. The windshield wipers were on high speed to clear a patch in the torrential rain. They parked as close to the entrance as they could, were still drenched by the time they got to the greenhouse door.
Nisiumi, a stocky Japanese-American, led them to his office in silence, didn’t speak until he had closed the door. He wiped the soil from his fingers onto his white coat before he shook hands. He looked very closely at Agent Perdomo’s identification.
“These Bug-Off people are making a big sales pitch, probably contacted every greenhouse in the country. I even had this brochure for their machine, right here on my desk.”
“This is Mr. Benicoff, who originated this investigation,” Perdomo said. “He’s the one in charge.”
“Thanks for your cooperation,” Ben said. “This
is a high-priority case right out of Washington—and there are deaths involved. That’s all I can tell you now. When we wind the thing up I promise that I’ll let you know what it is all about.”
“Suits me. It’s a big change from cucumbers. I was interested by this Bug-Off when I read about it in the trade magazine. That’s why I asked for this information. But it’s too expensive for me.”
“You have just obtained an interest-free loan for as much as you need for as long as you need.”
“It’s good to be back in harness! While you were on your way here I called DigitTech Products’ 800 number. They have a salesman in this area—and he is going to give a demonstration here at nine tomorrow morning.”
“Perfect. Your accountant, that is me, will join you at that time. Call me Benck, though, not Benicoff.”
The rain was lashing loudly against the hotel room window. Benicoff closed the curtains and turned on the radio in the hopes that the music might drown it out. He was well into the company report before the rare steak, no potatoes and a green salad, pot of coffee arrived. He ate slowly, reading, digesting meal and report at the same time.
The salesman was late next morning; it was almost ten before the van stopped in the greenhouse drive.
“Sorry about that, traffic and fog. The name is Joseph Ashley but everyone calls me Joe. You’re the owner, Mr. Nisiumi?”
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 himself 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 hun
dred 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.”
It took almost five hours.
“Bigger job than I thought,” Torres admitted. “Some cute stuff there. The inspection panel looked too obvious so we went in through the bottom. Found four different switches, one on the hatch opening, another under a bolt that had to be removed to gain access. Still, it was nothing we couldn’t handle.”
“Would there have been an explosion?” Benicoff asked.
“No, it wasn’t wired to do that. You would have had a flash and some smoke maybe. All the switches were hooked up to short the battery through the central processor. It would have melted nicely. It’s all yours now—and it’s a neat bit of work. Picks off bugs, I understand?”
“That’s just what it does.”
“The world’s full of surprises these days.”
The Bug-Off was now packed into a larger crate, tape-wrapped and sealed. Benicoff had considered special shipping arrangements but in the end decided that less attention would be drawn to a normal delivery.
The Turing Option Page 28
