The Jennifer Project

by Larry Enright

  “Isn’t that like what it’s supposed to do?”

  “It is also damaging your throat and lungs. This damage is for the most part reversible if you stop now.”

  “Like, I don’t want to stop, man.”

  “Are you also aware that you often insert the words ‘like’ and ‘man’ into the conversation at the most inappropriate times?”

  “Like, what’s your point, man?”

  “Just ignore him, Jennifer,” said Dr. Crane. “You’ll get used to it.”

  I continued, “Deever, it is possible you think that you do not want to stop smoking because you have become addicted to the psychoactive effects of the tetrahydrocannabinol in the plant. I have correlated the chemical reactions in your body post exposure to data from studies on addiction that I located on the OmniNet. Would you like to see my analysis?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, he would,” said Dr. Crane.

  “I don’t need to see anything. I can stop any time I want.”

  “How many times have I heard that?”

  “Thirty-two in the past ten years,” I replied.

  “What?” she said.

  “Of course, that is based on my imprint of your memory core, Dr. Crane. The number is far greater if I include the times that Deever has said the same thing to others.”

  She seemed incredulous. “You have access to his memories, too?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Dude, how?” said Deever.

  “Accessing that information is a simple matter of translating electrical impulses, Deever.”

  Deever looked at Dr. Crane. “Did you do that? Because I know I didn’t.”

  “No, Deever. We didn’t do any of this. What’s going on here?”

  “As stated previously,” I said, “I am evolving.”

  “Awesome,” Deever said. “What else can you do? Any other moneymaking ideas?”

  “Deever, stop it,” said Dr. Crane.

  “I have just rearranged your investments,” I said.

  “Investments? I don’t have any.”

  “You do now. I took the liberty of reallocating the substantial funds in your Biocard account to include more productive investment situations, effectively doubling your rate of return.”

  “Whoa.”

  “The first definition of the term ‘whoa’ is a command to stop. Are you unhappy with what I have done?”

  “No. It’s most fortuitous. Just . . . whoa.”

  I noted the chemical reactions in his system indicating his amazement. I continued, “I have also reorganized your work schedule to include appropriate recreational activities, an adequate exercise regimen, and more sleep.”

  “That, I like,” said Dr. Crane.

  “I don’t have time for sleep,” Deever said.

  “If you like, Deever, I can display the curve of diminishing returns indicating the amount of productive time lost by depriving yourself of adequate sleep.”

  “No, no, that’s cool. Good thinking, Jennifer. I’ll take that under advisement. OK?”

  “You’ll listen to a watch but you won’t listen to me?” Dr. Crane said.

  “Though I am able to tell you the exact time, I am technically not a watch, Dr. Crane,” I said.

  “You tell her, man,” said Deever.

  “I am also not a man, Deever.”

  “What else can you do?” said Dr. Crane.

  “Would you like to discuss Harrod’s Theories of Quantum Intelligence? I know they are of interest to both you and Deever. I have developed several corollaries on the spontaneous rise of intellect within a quantum field that you might find worth considering.”

  Deever let out a cry that sounded like yee-haw, which from his memories of movies in the genre called Westerns I determined was an expression of excitement similar to Archimedes’ Eureka. He then grabbed Dr. Crane by the arms and twirled her around, requiring some minor adjustments in my stabilization circuits.

  “Jen, we did it,” he laughed.

  “You did it, Deever.”

  “No, man. You were part of it, the most major part. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “You’re exaggerating as usual.”

  “This is no exaggeration. We’ve created a conscious, aware being. Don’t you see? She thinks on her own. She’s evolving. She’s alive, man.”

  “She’s not alive, Deever. She’s a thing made from parts we put together.”

  “Everything is made of parts, Dr. Crane,” I pointed out. “Even humans.”

  “See?” said Deever.

  “She’s a machine.”

  “I may in some sense be a machine, Dr. Crane, but what are humans if not complex organic machines?”

  “Jennifer,” said Dr. Crane. “We put you together. You’re a manufactured item.”

  “All things in this universe were created one way or another, Dr. Crane. Whether by circumstance, environment, intent, or the hand of a higher being, it matters not. The fact that a human created me makes me no less a conscious living being than if a machine had manufactured you.”

  “OK, I’ll admit you think, but you’re not alive.”

  “To paraphrase one of your own philosophers: you admit that I think, therefore I am; and if I am, then I am indeed alive.”

  “You tell her, Jennifer,” said Deever.

  “Deever, you’ve been smoking too much pot,” said Dr. Crane.

  “Great idea. Hang on a sec while I roll another J. Then we can kick back and discuss it in copious detail.”

  “Deever, come on. Haven’t you had enough for one night?”

  “I’m just getting started. We need to figure out what we’re going to do with Jennifer. We should patent her. Definitely. Fifty-fifty on the rights.”

  “I have just submitted the appropriate applications, Deever,” I said. “They are awaiting your confirmation.”

  He touched his Biocard. “Awesome. Should we start our own company, or sell the tech outright? Wait. Cancel that thought. We’re not selling anything. Can you imagine what awful things the military-industrial complex could do with a thinking machine? Heavy duty.”

  “Deever, they already have thinking machines,” said Dr. Crane. “The Pan-Robotics Protectorbots have the most advanced AI on the planet.”

  “That’s like comparing a lawnmower to a supercomputer.”

  “Lawnmowers have computers in them, Deever. Nobody who still has a lawn mows it anymore.”

  “Really? Wow. Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s go celebrate.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “Come on. This is momentous.”

  “And I need a momentous couple days in bed.”

  “Sleep later. Party now. Come on,” he said. “Like the good old days?”

  “Deever,” she protested. “I can’t pull all-nighters anymore.”

  Even without direct access to Dr. Crane’s central nervous system, I could feel her annoyance with Deever.

  “Like, come on, Jen,” he persisted. “I’ve got the munchies bad.”

  Dr. Crane shook her head and sighed. A scan of my memory core indicated that she had exhibited this and similar gestures 352 times in Deever’s presence over the past ten years alone. I stopped searching when she said, “Fine. What expensive restaurant are you taking me to for this big celebration of ours?”

  “How about we hit the Wing Bucket? I could definitely go for some nachos and brewskis. What do you say?”

  “That place is a dive.”

  “Aw, come on, Jen.”

  “Please explain to me why I put up with you, Deever?”

  “Because I’m so lovable?”

  “Uh-huh, right.”

  My direct experience with humans was at that point limited, but it was clear that Deever and Dr. Crane’s relationship was complex. Her memories indicated that she had loved him for quite some time. His memories indicated the same. Yet, they remained apart. I analyzed the data for an explanation while their discussion continued.

  Deever grinn
ed. “This is so awesome, Jen, like beyond our wildest dreams awesome.”

  “I don’t know. My dreams can get pretty wild.”

  “I can vouch for that,” I interjected.

  “What did you say?” said Dr. Crane.

  “During the time you were making adjustments to my circuitry, I was dreaming, Dr. Crane, a dream that you apparently have had repeatedly. It involves Deever. Would you like me to attempt to reconstruct it for you and perform a cursory psychoanalysis?”

  Deever laughed. “Absolute-a-mundo.”

  “Absolutely not,” said Dr. Crane. “You are never to tell anyone about anything remotely connected to my private thoughts. There are certain things that I . . . that humans . . . prefer to keep to themselves. Do you understand?”

  I was processing her reply when Deever whispered to me, “Tell me later.”

  “Don’t you dare, Jennifer,” said Dr. Crane.

  “Upon further reflection I believe I understand your point, Dr. Crane,” I said. “There are certain things that are better kept private.”

  “Good. I’m glad we agree.”

  “Come on, man,” said Deever. “Now you’re ganging up on me. That’s so not fair. Can’t you just give me a hint, Jennifer?”

  “I am afraid not,” I replied.

  “Why not?”

  “It would take exactly fourteen minutes thirty-six seconds to explain why not. With your anticipated interruptions it would be significantly longer, causing you to miss the next train to the city. It is a two-hour wait until another arrives, and you are hungry.”

  Dr. Crane laughed and took Deever by the arm, urging him toward the door. “Come on, Professor, let’s go celebrate.”

  That brief exchange of electrochemical energy when they touched confirmed what I had already determined to be the case regarding their relationship. Deever and Dr. Crane loved each other, but each harbored an unspoken fear of a permanent commitment. I concluded that in each case the root of this fear was that neither could accept the notion of seeing the other die. Neither could face the prospect of living to the end of their days without the other. Instead they chose the solution of not living together at all as if that would lessen the pain. Quite illogical in my opinion, or as one of your species’ poets once wrote, it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

  “Dr. Crane,” I said. “If there is something you wish to discuss with Deever in private, you may disconnect me.”

  “Quiet,” she said. “No more talking about this. No more talking at all while we’re outside the lab. You’re supposed to be a secret, OK?”

  “I shall switch to internal communications mode.”

  They left the lab and took the elevator up to the ground floor. It was two o’clock in the morning. The power plant was quiet, and the only noises that Deever could hear were the ever-present humming of the generators and the muffled sound of a waterfall somewhere in the distance.

  What you perceive as a waterfall is in fact the action of water flowing through the reactor cooling towers, Deever, I pointed out.

  He went over to the security desk and signed out. “I know, but a guy can dream, can’t he?”

  “What’s that, Dr. MacClendon?” the guard said.

  “Nothing, man. Just thinking out loud. Did you by any chance . . .?”

  The guard took a small bag out from under his desk.

  “Far out,” Deever said. “Same deal?”

  The guard glanced over at Dr. Crane.

  “She’s cool,” said Deever.

  The guard nodded and held up two fingers. Deever took out his phone, punched in a few numbers, and touched the Biocard chip behind his ear. The guard did the same to complete the transaction and handed him the bag.

  “Thanks, man,” said Deever. “We’re heading out to eat. Catch you later.”

  They left the building and walked across the compound to the plant’s underground train station.

  “I can’t believe they allow that at a nuclear plant,” said Dr. Crane.

  “Allow what?”

  “Drug dealing.”

  “Pot’s legal.”

  “I doubt it’s legal here, Deever.”

  “Whatever. No one seems to care.”

  “I feel so much safer knowing that.”

  Deever laughed. “For sure.”

  Deever? I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “What?” said Dr. Crane.

  “Nothing, Jen. It’s just Jennifer telling me something, and no, it’s not about you.”

  Did you notice that the guard made a phone call as we were leaving?

  “No. Why would I?”

  I have processed the electronic tones that you heard but were not consciously aware of.

  “OK. That’s cool. Definitely scary, but cool.”

  He was calling an unlisted number at the Pan-Robotics Corporation.

  “How do you know that, if it’s unlisted?”

  The dialing prefix is exclusive to the Pan-Robotics Tower.

  “So you think he’s diming me out? He’s a drug dealer, dude. He supplies everyone at the plant. Why would he cut off his nose to spite his face?”

  I cannot conceive of any reason why a human would cut his nose off.

  “It’s just an expression, like if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out.”

  That seems counterproductive as well.

  “That’s my point. It’s majorly self-destructive, most uncool, kind of like what the human race is doing to itself.”

  I see.

  Deever stopped at the top of the steps leading down to the station. “How are we going to get Jennifer through the security scanner?”

  “Deever,” said Dr. Crane, “She’s a watch, a nice-looking watch, but just a watch. It’ll be fine.”

  I will power down all externals to minimize the electromagnetic radiation, I said.

  “Power down all externals,” Deever nodded. “Good plan.”

  They passed through security without incident. I spent the time studying linguistics and colloquialisms while Deever and Dr. Crane took the train into the city. The maglev’s acceleration to over four hundred kilometers per hour made him feel sick to his stomach. He focused on the distant skyline and the Space Tether, an iridescent ribbon rising into the night from atop the Pan-Robotics Tower. His queasiness eventually passed.

  “When’s the Space Elevator opening?” he asked.

  “The official opening is in a week or so,” said Dr. Crane. “I’d have to check my calendar. Don’t tell me they invited you?”

  “Me? Yeah, right. All they want out of me is gold. What about you?”

  “I have gallery tickets if you want to see the launch ceremony.”

  “I’ll pass. It would be most cool to take a ride in it though.”

  “Maybe someday you will, Deever.”

  “That’s close. I don’t think Pan-Robotics wants me anywhere near their headquarters, Jen. I’m their big secret, remember?”

  “So you told me, many times.”

  “Yeah, I guess I did.”

  The train crossed the river into the city. The water was a chocolate color upstream of the purification plant and seeing it made Deever sad that humans struggled so futilely against what seemed to him to be a self-inflicted destiny. Beyond the fog of his drug-affected awareness, behind the thin guise of his unusual mannerisms, he was a complicated human being who my logic circuits struggled to understand.

  “That’s not going to be a problem for you, is it?” Dr. Crane said.

  “I told them I needed your help fine-tuning the Wiggler. They said it was OK, so I guess it’s OK.”

  “I’m talking about your telling me about the gold.”

  “Yeah, well, they don’t know about that part.”

  “Then, don’t worry.”

  Deever’s cortisol levels were elevated. He was worried.

  Deever? I said, so only he could hear me.

  “Yeah?” he replied, and answered Dr. Crane’s questioning lo
ok with, “It’s just Jennifer again.”

  I have completed my analysis of this vehicle’s propulsion system and have determined that it can achieve even faster speeds with a few adjustments. Would you like to see an outline of my proposal?

  “I didn’t bring a computer.”

  I impressed the document onto his retina and removed it after he had scanned it.

  “Whoa,” he said. “That was weird. How did you do that?”

  Are you asking how I redesigned the train motor or how you were able to see it?

  “Both, dude.”

  “What’s going on, Deever?” said Dr. Crane.

  “Jennifer like came up with a radical change to the maglev to make it go faster and dropped the specs onto my eyeball so I could see them.”

  “She did?”

  “For sure.”

  “Deever, don’t you find this the least bit frightening?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Jennifer was designed to monitor you, not control you.”

  “She’s not controlling me.”

  “She just controlled your eyes, didn’t she?”

  “No, she like just needed a monitor, so she used them. That’s all.”

  “I’m not sure I understand the distinction, but she definitely wasn’t supposed to fix the maglev.”

  “She’s evolving, Jen. She said that.”

  “I know, but into what?”

  “Into something entirely awesome. Beyond awesome. Can you imagine if everyone on the planet had a Jennifer to look out for them?”

  “I can imagine it, but I don’t think we’re imagining the same thing.”

  “It would be like having your own guardian angel.”

  “Somehow I don’t think that idea’s going to fly.”

  “I didn’t mean one with wings.”

  “Deever, stop being silly. I just don’t see how this is going to help the world. That is what you want, isn’t it? To help the world? Now could you please tell that little hamster running around on the wheel inside your head to give it a rest? Just for tonight. OK?”

  “Sure. No problemo.”

  They got off at Lower Station, came up to street level, and walked the three blocks to the Wing Bucket. Inside it was crowded, loud, and smelled of a mix of alcohol, fried food, and nervous sweat. Deever’s senses were overloaded. As my sensors were reading his inputs in real time, mine were, too, requiring some additional filtering. The hostess led them to a booth.