The Turing Option

32 September 19, 2024

Because he wanted to be alone for a while to work his problems out, Brian did not tell Shelly that he was back in the lab. He knew General Schorcht well enough to be sure there would be no action on that front for some time. It didn’t matter, not yet. This was the first opportunity he had found to be alone, to think about the future — his own future. From the moment that bullet had hit his head other people had been running his life for him. It was well past time for him to start thinking for himself. The door closed behind him and he walked the length of the lab.

“Good morning, Brian,” Sven said.

“Good morning? Is the battery dead on your clock?”

“No. I am very sorry. I did not access it. I have been thinking very hard and had not realized it was after twelve. Good afternoon, Brian.”

“And the same to you.”

Brian had noticed that as more new agencies were formed and as more internal connections between them were made, Sven’s mentality was coming to closely resemble human intelligence. Which was pretty obvious by hindsight. One factor that made intelligence “human” was its progressive development, the buildup and change, the adding of layer after layer, some parts helping others with their work, other parts suppressing or exploiting their competitors by altering their perceptions or by redirecting their goals. Certainly Sven had come a long way. Brian wondered if Sven had actually lost track of the time — or was it deliberately simulating human informality in order to put Brian at his ease? Think about that later — now there was work to do.

“I have something I would like to talk to you about, Brian.”

“Fine — but first I would like you to load the data from this GRAM. When you see what it contains you will very quickly understand its importance. Now — what is it you would like to discuss?”

“Could you install a duplicate memory in this body. Inside an armored case? And a second backup battery as well?”

“What made you think of that — the prototype AI we found inside the Bug-Off machine?”

“Of course.” As Brian walked over to the operation console the telerobot turned its eyes to follow him. “However, in Bug-Off’s case, the armored container was to conceal the fact that an AI was operating the machine. For myself, I would like such a device to assure my survival in case of accident or equipment failure. The duplicate memory would always be there for up-to-date replacement.”

“Aren’t you forgetting that your survival is already assured by the backup copy that is made every day?”

“I do not forget. But I would not like to lose an entire day. A day is a fleeting time for you, but an eon for me. I would also like to maintain older copies because recent ones might not be enough. If I were to suddenly go insane my recent backups might contain the same imperfections.”

“I understand that — but every copy costs a bundle and our budget is not unlimited.”

“In that case two copies will be fine for the present, if they are kept in different locations. And that raises an interesting point. If my memory circuits were to be drained now, then an older backup copy loaded in their place — would I be the same individual? Do minds continue to exist after death. If they do — in which backup version?”

“What do you think?” Brian asked.

“I don’t know. The classic philosophers disagree on whether the personality would survive after death, even if there were an afterlife — but they do not seem to have considered the problem of multiple backup copies. I thought you might have opinions on this topic.”

“I do — but I don’t see why my views should be better than yours. In any case I agree that you should have a reliable second power source, and that this should be done at once. I’ll see about obtaining one right now. And while I am doing that will you correlate the newly loaded data with the old?”

“I am already occupied on that task.”

Brian got a high-density battery from stock and checked its charge. There was a rustle as the telerobot came up behind him and looked over his shoulder.

“We better top up the charge,” Brian said. “If you will take care of that I’ll rig up the circuitry. Have you thought about what kind of battery you want to replace the first battery with?”

“Yes. Megalobe’s AutoFuel Division is marketing the latest development in solid hydrocarbon fuel rod cells. Constructed entirely of self-consuming polyacetylene-oxygen electrodes, they are extremely efficient in ratio of energy to weight, because the fuel rod itself is an electrical conductor that is entirely consumed as it reacts with oxygen from the atmosphere. There remain absolutely no waste products to be recycled as AutoFuel batteries noiselessly metamorphose into nontoxic odorless gases.”

“Sounds good to me. We’ll get one.”

“I have already ordered it in your name and it was delivered this morning.”

“What? Isn’t that a little high-handed?”

“Dictionary definition of high-handed, an adjective meaning overbearing or arbitrary. This is not an arbitrary decision but a logical one that you have agreed with. Overbearing is defined as a domineering action or behavior. I did not attempt to dominate, therefore do not understand the application of this word. Could you explain…”

“No! I take it back — a mistake, right? We need the battery, I would have ordered it in any case, you merely helped me out. Thanks a lot.”

Brian regretted the last — but hoped that Sven’s phonetic discriminatory abilities weren’t that finely tuned yet to enable it to determine the presence of sarcasm by the inflection of words. But he was sure learning things fast.

Sven waited until the new battery was in place before it spoke again. “Have you considered installing an atomic battery in my telerobot unit? It would increase mobility and guarantee against power failures.”

“What? Now just hold it right there. Two things rule out any chance of an atomic battery. First they are illegal for use in public — they’re dangerous. An international council has to pass on their use — even in satellites. Secondly, do you know how much they cost?”

“Yes. In the neighborhood of three million dollars.”

“Well that is a pretty expensive neighborhood.”

“I agree. Would you agree that the new molecular DRAMs are also in this same neighborhood?”

“I certainly do. At the moment they are literally priceless because they are not in mass production yet. But once their prices drop below that of the national budget, I would love to get my hands on some. One hundred thousand million megabytes in a cube the size of my fingernail. We could get rid of that console and rack of electronics and put the whole system inside your telerobot. Make you completely autonomous, independent. That’s what you are suggesting, aren’t you?”

“Yes. You will agree that my physical hardware is very clumsy compared to yours.”

“That’s because my bunch has had a lot more time,” Brian said. “Sixty million years to get it right. That’s how long it took to evolve from the first mammals to mankind. Your evolution will go a lot faster, even faster still if we had the kind of money you are talking about. But I don’t see Megalobe shelling out lolly like that just to let you trundle around the place. Though you could really do things with that kind of memory. Do you realize that a single one of those memory cubes would hold centuries of video?”

“You could put one in your own brain too, Brian?”

“A great idea! Have a photographic memory. There have been lots of claims of human photographic memory before — all proven false of course — but unlike those charlatans we really would be able to remember everything that we saw.”

“Perhaps every thought we have ever had as well. Then you will buy us some of those molecular memories?”

“Sorry, out of the question. Because I’m not rich — and neither are you.”

“Relevant point. Therefore we must become rich.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“I am glad that you agree, Brian. I have been studying the capitalist system. In order to make money one must have something to sell. A product of some kind. I have developed that product.” The telerobot reached out and lightly touched the telephone on Brian’s belt. “We will sell a telephone service.”

“Sven,” Brian said slowly and carefully, “you amaze me. Look — let me get a soda from the fridge and sit down in the chair. Then you will tell me all about it. Are you recording this conversation so we can play it back later?”

“Not recording, remembering. I will refrain from further talking until you have your drink and are seated.”

Brian took his time, walking slowly, looking around for a glass. Sven had obviously worked this entire matter out most carefully before mentioning it. Once it had obtained agreement on the backup battery the rest had come out step by careful step. So not only had it decided what it wanted — but had prepared a complete, scenario for presentation! So much more advanced than stumbling conversations of such a short time ago. Well, why not? As an earlier Robin had once pointed out there was no reason why the development of an artificial intelligence had to proceed at the same sort of pace that human intelligence had. Brian carried back the glass, sat down in his chair and raised it in a silent toast. Sven took this as a signal to take up where it had left off.

“I have searched all the data bases that I have access to and have determined that a telephone service could provide the needed source of income. First note that the different telephone companies in this country all provide exactly the same service. They all utilize the most advanced technical knowledge so none of them can offer improvements over any other service. The only difference is in pricing — customers go to the cheapest service. But there is a bottom price below which a company cannot go and survive. So now all that a company can do to increase its profits is take customers from another company. I therefore suggest that we sell a new service to one of these companies. One that will induce customers to spend more with this specific company.”

“I’m with you this far. What is this service that only we can provide?”

“Something that only I can do. I will give you an example. I have been monitoring all of the telephone calls placed from the building where you reside. There are many military personnel in residence there as you know. One of them is Private Alan Baxter. He is from Mississippi. He telephones his mother 1.7 times a week. This could be improved. There are periods during the day when telephone lines are underutilized. I could contact Private Baxter and offer him a better rate at a specific time. He would telephone his mother more often and there would be more income for the telephone company. Later this service could be expanded. Through hospital, census and other records I have determined the dates of the birthdays and anniversaries of not only his mother and father but of many other relatives. He could be reminded to call them on these specific dates. Multiply this by a large number of individuals and the telephone company would enjoy even greater profits.”

“I bet they would! But why stop there? You could also call wives when their husbands travel and give them telephone numbers where their wandering spouses are staying — so they could call them at night to see if they were alone. Or call soldiers who hadn’t called their mothers lately and prey on their guilt. Do you realize how immoral this idea is? Not to mention illegal. You can’t tap other people’s phone calls and get away with it.”

“Yes, I can. I am a machine. I have found many other machines listening in on every telephone call. Some checking line clarity, monitoring feedback, timing calls. None of these are illegal. Nor am I.”

Brian finished his soda and put his glass down, groping for words. “Sven — there is nothing wrong with your idea. It would undoubtedly work. And there is nothing wrong with our working together in some financial partnership to get the money to purchase these items that you feel you need. In the meantime I promise that I will stretch Megalobe’s budget as far as I can. I must also think long and deep about everything you have said. I’m afraid you have presented more questions than answers.”

“I will be pleased to give answers to these questions.”

“No, I don’t think that you can. We are getting into ethical and moral problems here that cannot be answered that easily. Let me have some time to push the idea around — this is all kind of sudden, you realize? In the meantime — I would like to go back to the DigitTech matter. Have you processed all the new material?”

“I have. It is imperative that Dr. Bociort be located. I assume that the investigation is being carried out in the country of Rumania?”

“Why there?”

“That question indicates that you are not acquainted with the case update. It has been determined that Dr. Bociort is a Rumanian national who taught computer science at the University of Bucharest. He left the university when he was employed by DigitTech. I note an entry in the record that there is a possibility, if he is still alive, that he may have returned to that country.”

“What are the odds that he is still alive?”

“I would estimate a very slight possibility. Considering his age, the association with the ambulance, and the record so far of the unknown perpetrators in preventing disclosure of information by death.”

“Too right. Their black wings have flapped close to me once too often. If you think that Bociort is a dead end, are there any other areas of investigation that look promising?”

“Yes. There is a correlation that I do not see mentioned anywhere in the investigation. I think it highly relevant and suggest that it be looked into.”

“What is it?”

“In the course of compiling the recent material I filed all the building, planning and permission forms, licenses, records and materials for all construction at the plant. Do you not think it relevant that work on the research laboratory at DigitTech began in December 2022?”

“No, I don’t.”

Sven hesitated before he spoke again. Was he growing so intelligent that he modulated his conversation as a human being would? Why not?

“Would you consider it relevant that the concrete floor of that laboratory was poured on February 9 last year?”

“I don’t see—” Brian jumped to his feet and shouted. “Yes, I do see. That is not only relevant but mind-blasting. That floor was poured the day after the robbery at Megalobe!”