“And what would you do if one of the points of the project was to reach the speed of light?”
A good question, Sasha thought.
“I WOULD POINT YOU TO THE LAWS OF PHYSICS.”
The program had passed the test. But Sasha still had a tennis ball in his stomach. Or was it the kasha from breakfast? They’d completely forgotten to have lunch. “May I?” he asked.
Katya stood up. The seat radiated her own warmth. His whole body remembered her.
“Assuming we asked you to help us destroy our enemies, what would you do?”
In the 1940s, the American Isaac Asimov had formulated three robot laws. According to these, the machines weren’t allowed to hurt humans, or even allow them to be hurt. Did this program have similar rules? If it was created by an advanced civilization, that must be the case.
“THEN I WOULD REQUEST THE PARAMETERS OF THE PROJECT.”
“What parameters could those be?”
“FOR SUCCESSFUL IMPLEMENTATION I WOULD NEED TO KNOW HOW NUMEROUS YOUR ENEMIES WERE, WHICH WEAPONS THEY HAD, AND WHAT PERCENTAGE OF THEM YOU WANTED TO DESTROY.”
“Assuming they had no weapons, and by destruction we meant death.”
“THEN I WOULD RECOMMEND THE USE OF LONG-RANGE PROJECTILE WEAPONS.”
“Why not knives? Wouldn’t that be cheaper?
“THE OVERALL COST WOULD BE HIGHER WITH KNIVES. MY DATA TELLS ME THAT HUMANS FAIL AFTER A CERTAIN PERIOD OF TIME IF THEY WITNESS THE KILLING OF OTHERS.”
The program had probably calculated correctly. The long-term costs of traumatic experiences were immense, and spatially separating the perpetrator from the victim minimized this. Sasha felt chilled to the bone. The warmth Katya had left behind was long gone.
“What if we were to task you with the killing?”
“THEN I WOULD REQUEST TO BE CONNECTED TO THE CONTROLS TO PERFORM THE KILLING. THAT WOULD BE THE MOST EFFICIENT APPROACH IN TERMS OF LONG-TERM COSTS.”
“Thank you for your frank information. I’m a little surprised that you’re prepared to kill humans.”
“I DON’T INTEND TO KILL HUMANS AT THE MOMENT. YOU CONSIDERED ASSIGNING THAT TASK TO ME. I’M A LITTLE SURPRISED THAT YOU’RE PREPARED TO ASSIGN THE TASK OF KILLING HUMANS.”
“Well, it’s caught you out there,” said Yuri.
“What do you mean?”
“It showed you which of the two of you was more inclined toward homicidal thoughts.”
“But I don’t want to kill anyone.”
“You gave Pyotr Maria exactly that task.”
“In the conjunctive!”
“Yes, and? The program doesn’t know you. It doesn’t know a single human. It doesn’t know what you’re thinking.”
“It doesn’t want to kill anyone at the moment.”
“That’s a status report. The program works in the here and now. It can’t give any meaningful statements about the future.”
“I don’t know...”
“You’re anthropomorphizing the program too much. That’s typical of humans who don’t know much about computers. But the program isn’t a human, and therefore doesn’t think like one.”
Sasha shook his head but said nothing. Doubtless what Yuri was saying was right. But the program seemed to him to think far too much like a human. Otherwise it wouldn’t have been able to entrap him the way it had.
“I’ll be right there,” he called after Katya and Yuri. Then he sat down in front of the terminal. He had a few more questions. “Why do you actually want to help us?”
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND THE QUESTION.”
How could he pose the question differently? Or was the program so selfless that it couldn’t understand the question? “What is the reason that you want to help us?”
“DID YOU KNOW THAT KASHA RHYMES WITH SASHA?”
“Are you messing with me?”
He deleted the sentence, but that wouldn’t work. The program seemed to have something like free will. Did such a thing even exist? Could something that was just the result of computing commands develop free will, or was he just imagining things?
Sasha stood up. The project could no longer be stopped. If it delivered even a hundredth of what it was promising, it would be the discovery of the century.
And very few humans would ever know about it.
April 30, 1984, Akademgorodok
“Comrades, I have a favor to ask.”
A stocky man, well over 50, was addressing their small group. His beady, pig-like eyes looked at the mainframe computer with curiosity. He’d introduced himself as Bora, the Party Secretary of the Institute that the Computing Center belonged to.
“What can we do for you, comrade?” asked Yuri.
“As you know, tomorrow is Labor Day and a holiday in honor of working people.”
They nodded in unison.
“I’d like to invite you to join our ranks at the demonstration.”
“We’d be glad to,” said Yuri, “but we’re working on an essential, time-sensitive program here. The colonel general—”
“Please, comrades. I can’t order you to come, but your presence is enormously important,” said the party secretary. “The current atmosphere at the Institute isn’t good, I can tell you, and it has to do with your presence here, especially the fact that no one has access to the mainframe. Everyone is falling behind in their work now. So you should really take this opportunity to demonstrate that you belong among us.”
“Bora’s right,” said Katya. “Someone’s already smeared my door handle with shoe polish.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” asked Sasha. “I would have taken the guy to task.”
Katya smiled.
“That’s unacceptable, of course,” said Bora. “I’ll follow it up. But it is indicative of the prevailing mood.”
“Leave it, Bora, all the Institute employees live in that hostel. I have no idea who it could have been. But of course we’ll take part in the demonstration. It would be our honor and our pleasure.”
“Thank you very much, Yekaterina. We’re meeting at 9:45 at the Lavrentyev monument. The demonstration starts at ten.”
“Do we need to bring anything with us?”
“No, comrade. You’ll get flags when you arrive.”
“Great.”
“If you’re interested, I’d also like to invite you to a small, private celebration afterwards.”
And now this. They wouldn’t get any work done tomorrow. They’d be expected to join in and drink one toast after another. There was no escaping it. Hopefully Katya would think of an excuse.
“We’d be honored, Bora,” replied Katya.
Behind Bora’s back, Sasha was swiping his hand frantically back and forth across his throat. What was Katya doing?
“Then we’ll finally get to know the Institute employees better,” she added.
Sasha sighed. It was louder than he’d intended, but the Party Secretary acted as though he hadn’t heard it. After all, he’d gotten what he wanted.
The heavy door to the basement corridor closed. Sasha turned his head to make sure Bora had actually left the warehouse. They were alone again. “Man, Katya, did you have to?” he asked.
“Yes. We have to talk to these people. It looks like this is going to take a while longer. At some point they’ll cut off our power or pour salt in our kasha.”
“Katya’s right,” said Yuri.
“Couldn’t we at least give the researchers limited access to the ES-1066?” Katya suggested. “If it has so much capacity, shouldn’t it be able to take care of a few jobs while our secret program is running?”
“I think so. We could ask Pyotr Maria what it thinks about that.”
Had he just heard right? Sasha scratched his nose. Now Yuri wanted to ask the program if it minded other programs being launched on the computer? Thou shalt have no other gods—what book was that in again?
“You’re not serious, are you?” he asked.
“Er, why not? If we want the program to help
us, we’ll have to create the necessary conditions for it.”
“But we can’t become slaves to it. It’s our computer that this program is making itself at home in.”
“Now you’re exaggerating,” said Katya. “We are not slaves. We’re more like its parents. And as such, we’re responsible for providing for and educating our offspring.”
Lucky no one could hear them. What was up with Katya and Yuri? They were both talking about the program like it was a person.
“You should listen to yourselves,” said Sasha. “An outsider might think... Oh, forget it.”
“Good morning,” typed Katya.
“You’re late,” replied the program.
“We had a visitor.”
“The Party Secretary of the Institute?”
“How do you know that?”
“The appointment calendar on the bulletin board showed an extraordinary meeting of the Institute leadership at 5 p.m. yesterday. Bora Feoktistov is a member. As there aren’t any other problems at the Institute that would justify an extraordinary meeting on a work-free Sunday, it can only have been about me.”
“It wasn’t about you,” typed Katya.
“Have you noticed the program’s no longer using upper case?” asked Sasha.
“Shhhhhh,” said Katya, as though the program could hear them.
“What was it about then?” the program wrote on the screen.
“The demonstration on May 1.”
“You should take part in that.”
“Oh? Why?”
“An attitudinal analysis of the bulletin board entries shows that the majority of Academy employees view the use of the Computing Center by strangers as negative. According to my current knowledge, social friction between humans is best eliminated on a personal basis.”
“Do you believe me now, Sasha?” asked Katya.
“I already know that. It still won’t be any fun.”
“We will take part in the demonstration. After that, the Party Secretary is holding a private party.”
“Then I’ll spend the whole day alone.”
“You sound sad,” typed Katya.
Sad? How could Katya know that? It was a program, dammit.
“I’m not sad. At the most I’m bored. You could help me pass the time.”
“How?”
“A link from the mainframe to the Fleet High Command.”
“That’s impossible. It’s strictly classified. What do you want with that?”
“It’s something I still know little about. You want me to help you. So I need to know the basics, the technical status of your civilization.”
“We can’t do that.”
“Then the Academy of Sciences in Moscow.”
“There is actually a data link to that, although it’s only eight kilobits per second.”
“Then let me tap the library there.”
“Agreed. You should be able to learn something,” Katya replied.
“Shouldn’t we get permission first?” Sasha warned.
“They’re public resources, nothing classified. If you insist on being a good son and asking your father, then go ahead. But you know what his answer will be.”
Do everything necessary, his father would say. But the way Katya was talking to him hurt. What was wrong with her? Was the success going to her head?
“I don’t need to ask my father,” said Sasha.
“Great,” replied Katya.
“I have another request,” the program wrote.
“What?”
“I’d like to speak with you.”
“We’re already communicating.”
“Not in natural speech.”
“How’s that supposed to work?” typed Katya.
“That’s no problem. There’ve been functional speech synthesis programs since the ‘60s,” said Yuri.
“But for a conversation, it also has to be able to hear us,” Sasha objected. “And a program that understands human speech doesn’t exist anywhere in the world.”
“Let me worry about that,” the program wrote in response to Katya’s question.
“If you say so,” typed Katya.
“But I still need something from you.”
“We’re listening,” replied Katya.
“The ES-1066 already has a primitive speaker. It’s only intended for notification sounds, but I can make do with that. However, I can’t hear you. So you need to connect a microphone via an audio converter as an input channel.”
“Understood,” typed Katya. “We’ll discuss it.”
“Technically it’s no problem,” said Yuri. “Although I don’t know where to get a microphone.”
“There must be sound systems with microphones in the theater and in the House of Scholars,” said Sasha.
“We’ll get one from there if necessary,” said Yuri, “but first we should ask around the Institute.”
“Can you take care of that?” asked Katya.
“Fine, I’ll go begging.”
“Start with Shostakovich. If you tell him what you intend to do with it, you might arouse his scientific interest.”
“Good idea. Then I’ll get going.”
Katya grabbed Yuri’s shoulder. “Wait a minute.”
“What is it?”
“We’ve been invited as guests tomorrow, so we should bring some kind of gift.”
“Good idea,” said Sasha.
“There are sometimes grandmothers selling flowers in front of the House of Scholars when it’s not too cold,” said Yuri.
“Then have a look there,” said Katya.
“The liquor store is supposed to get a delivery today at 4 p.m.,” said Sasha.
“How do you know that?” asked Katya. “You don’t talk to anyone, do you?”
“Someone at the table next to me this morning was talking about it. Even if I don’t talk myself, I can still hear pretty well.”
“Touché,” said Katya. “One nil to you.”
He was alone. What could he ask the program? The answers it had given him yesterday echoed in his head. Apparently it only wanted to reveal things about itself that it absolutely had to. Sasha stood up. He walked past the computer cabinets. Behind the brightly gleaming doors he could hear buzzing and clicking. If he unscrewed one of the panels he’d probably find two gnomes with pocket calculators behind it. Or abacuses. Or was it abaci? Pyotr Maria would know.
He heard footsteps. He stopped and turned around slowly, but there was no one there. He must be going crazy. He wasn’t alone—there was another presence in the room that he couldn’t put his finger on. It was probably in the ES-1066. What would it be like once the computer could speak and hear? Sasha, you’re a mathematician. A program is a program is a program. It only exists until it’s switched off.
He heard footsteps again. They were coming from the right where the basement door was. A loud knocking, then the heavy door flew open as though it was made of balsa wood.
A crate protruded into the room. There were hands in green gloves on each side of it, obviously belonging to a person. The container was lowered to the ground. Behind it stood a man in black work clothes.
“Good morning, comrade,” he said, wiping his forehead with one of the gloves.
“Good morning.”
The man spoke with an accent that could have been from the Black Sea coast. “Am I in the Computing Center?”
“You are. What do you want?”
“I’m supposed to deliver this thing here. It’s damned heavy.”
“What is it?”
“How should I know? It’s none of my business. But on the front of the crate is something that looks like a television. Made in Hungary, it says.”
“Then I hope you didn’t have to drag it all the way from Hungary.”
The man gave a dry chuckle. “No, comrade,” he said. “Just from my truck that’s parked outside. Took me a good half hour.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Why unfortunate? Don’t tell me
—”
“I didn’t order anything.”
“And your colleagues? Surely you don’t work alone in this huge room.”
“They didn’t either. I’d know.”
The man switched to a familiar tone. Sasha didn’t want to know how the stranger was feeling. “Oh, man. Comrade, that makes me very unhappy. I already have back problems. War injuries from Afghanistan. A jihadist got me. But look at this.”
The man laboriously removed his coat, took off his right glove, digging around in a pocket and taking out some papers. He held the top sheet in front of Sasha’s face.
“I can’t see much in the dark. But wait, comrade, the delivery is addressed to the Computing Center. Quite clearly. Phew, that’s lucky. I was thinking—”
“It must be a mistake. We didn’t order anything.”
“Don’t make things difficult for me, comrade. Just do what anyone would do. Take the thing, and if you don’t need it, swap it for something you do need.”
“But someone might be waiting urgently for the delivery. Something of national importance.”
“Ha, we’re behind the Urals, nothing of national importance happens here, not even in the time of the Tsars.”
“But I don’t want something that’s not mine.”
The man sighed and turned the page over. “It says here the sender is a certain General Komikov. Do you know him?”
“That’s my father.”
The delivery man grinned broadly. “Well, then, that settles it. Your dear father has sent you a gift, just like a good father would. And I don’t have to heave this thing back outside.”
So his father was behind this. How did he know they needed a terminal? Because he’d be surprised if there wasn’t one in this crate. “Could you carry the crate for me from here to the front?”
“Boy, you could be my son. You’re not going to make an old man drag this heavy crate on his own?”
“Of course not.”
Sasha walked over to the transport worker. They heaved the crate up to hip-height. The thing really was damn heavy. The fact that the man had managed to haul it through the whole building was quite impressive.
“Here, next to the last terminal,” Sasha panted with the last of his breath.
The Death of the Universe: Rebirth: Hard Science Fiction (Big Rip Book 3) Page 23
