The Turing Option

36 November 7, 2024

As she packed her purchases into her black medical bag, Dr. Snaresbrook kept reassuring herself that her conscience was as cool and white as driven snow. At the same time she was well aware that she was probably breaking some law or military ordinance or who-knows-what. She did not care. Her loyalty to Brian, to his physical and mental health, was her first concern. He wanted to leave the Megalobe premises, break out of jail, that was his business — goodness knows he had plenty of reasons to want to make the attempt. It was a nice day for a drive, it was always a nice day for a drive in the Anza-Borrego desert, and she lowered the top of her little electric runabout. The batteries were fully charged, and the charger disconnected and dropped away when she put in her key.

As always she had shown her identification and pass at the gate before she was admitted. As always nothing in her car was searched; the worry she had about that did not show in her face.

“Go right through, Doctor,” the soldier said.

She smiled and stepped down lightly on the accelerator.

Brian let her into the lab, spared only a quick glance at her bag. They did not speak until the door was safely closed.

“Ten grand in old bills, mostly twenties, right there on top. Underneath all the items on your list.”

“You’re great, Doc,” he said as he opened the bag. “Any trouble buying the stuff?”

“Not at all, just took some time. I want to a lot of different stores in San Diego and L.A., even one in Escondido.”

“I’ve been getting ready for this. I had one of the G.I.s buy me a lunch box. I have been carrying sandwiches in it to the lab for the last couple of weeks. I’ll take all this stuff out of here in the box, one piece at a time.”

“Don’t tell me, I’m just a bystander — good God! Who was that?”

Out of the comer of her eye she had caught sight of the moving figure, turned just as he went into Shelly’s room.

“What did you see?” Brian asked, most innocently.

“That man in the hat and long overcoat, dark glasses — a weirdo if I ever saw one.” She frowned at his wide-eyed and innocent expression. “Brian — just what are you playing at?”

“I’ll show you. But I wanted to get your automatic and unthinking reaction first. All right, come out now.”

“Unthinking all right! And now that I do think about it that guy looked like some kind of dilapidated flasher.”

The mysterious stranger appeared in the doorway and her eyes widened.

“I take it back. Not just a flasher, but a cross between that and a deformed hobo.”

Brian walked over and unwrapped the scarf, took off the dark glasses and hat to reveal the plant pot mounted there.

“This is the best I could do for a head now. The next thing I need will be the head of one of those shop window dummies.”

“In the order book,” Snaresbrook said weakly.

“All right. You can take off the rest,” he said.

The mysterious flasher took off the overcoat to reveal its metal body, then removed gloves, trousers and shoes. Sven spread its clumped branching manipulators wide, became a machine again.

“I was right — the ultimate flasher.” Snaresbrook laughed. “Takes everything off — including its humanity.” Then she glanced from the MI back to Brian in sudden understanding. “I take it that Sven is going out of here with you? I just hope that he won’t give any of those young soldiers heart attacks. That’s an effective but, shall we say, a little exotic disguise, Sven.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I am making every effort.”

“No one will have a look at the disguise,” Brian said. “Because Sven will not be leaving here looking like that. He’ll be broken down into mechanical components and packed in a box. The box that will leave here in the trunk of your car, if that is okay with you. I’ll be flat on the floor in back with a blanket over me. You have been keeping the blanket there ever since we talked about it?”

“It’s there all right, I’m sure the guards have seen it by now.” She sighed and shook her head.

“It will work, don’t worry. Unless you are having second thoughts. I’m not going to force you, Doc. If you want out I’ll find another way.”

“No, I’ll do it. I do not go back on my word. I was just beginning to realize what a mad idea the whole thing is — and I worry about you.”

“Please don’t. We’ll be all right, I promise. Sven will look after me.”

“I will indeed,” the MI said.

“When is D-day?” Snaresbrook asked.

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll give you as much advance notice as I can. A week minimum. There are a lot of things to do first.” He gave her a photocopy of a catalog page. “You’ll have to buy one of these shipping boxes and bring it out on that day. This one here. It’s one of those tough metal pieces of baggage that TV people, and cameramen, ship their delicate equipment around in. I will take Sven apart and pack all the components in the box. The military will help us with that.”

“Brian — you are getting positively Machiavellian in your planning.”

“You’ve lost me, Doc. As a fourteen year old I never ran across the term.”

“Using the techniques described by Niccolo Machiavelli,” Sven said. “These are characterized by political cunning, duplicity or bad faith.”

“You sound like you swallowed a dictionary,” she said.

“I did. Many,” it answered. Was there a touch of humor there?

“Possibly,” Brian said. “But if duplicity will get me out of here — just watch me dupliciate. Because there are a lot of soldiers standing guard, and only one of me. The only thing that I have going is the fact that they are protecting me from possible threat from the outside. They are not guarding me, I hope, with the thought that I will be cracking out from the inside.”

“Have you come to any decisions about what you will do when you get out?”

“Plenty. At first I thought of getting a hotel room and holding a press conference. Blow the whistle on General Schorcht and charge him with kidnaping and so forth. But I don’t think that would work. Too much of a chance of his calling me irresponsible, possibly insane, poor boy with that head wound. Back into the hospital and no way I could ever break out a second time. As far as the world is concerned I’m just going to drop from sight.”

“In Mexico?”

“Possibly. Do you really want to know?”

“I do not. What I don’t know I cannot reveal. I’ll get you out of here, as I promised, and then you will be on your own.”

“You’re a sweetie, Doc. And don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. I found something in my personal possessions when they were brought here. This plan is going to work because it really is Machiavellian.”

As soon as she was gone they went back to work. Brian took the purple Irish passport from the safe and slipped it out of its plastic cover. A photo of himself as a nine-year-old stared back, wide-eyed and frightened. Brian Byrne, born 1999.

“Two things to be done,” he said. “The photograph and the expiration date will have to be changed. The signature is all right. One thing the nuns taught me, with the lesson made memorable by the crack of a ruler across the knuckles, was good handwriting.”

He opened it on the table and weighted the edges so it wouldn’t close. Sven bent over it and looked at it closely with one eye, then straightened up.

“The manipulators have better optical resolution,” it said, pointing its right arm at the passport and looking at it with what appeared to be its fingertips. “There will be no problem making the alterations that you suggest.”

Sven had taken a number of close-up photographs of Brian, then had made an enlarged, life-sized print.

“Red hair,” Brian said, pointing. “It has to be black.”

“Not a problem. These manipulators are effective at the forty-micron level. I have obtained satisfactory dye and now will color each hair in the photograph black.” It did — and quite speedily as well.

The MI’s skills at forgery were equally impressive. The micromanipulators removed the original photograph by chipping away the glue that held it in place, one microscopic particle at a time. The retouched photograph was photographed again and a passport-sized print made. It was no better — or worse — than any other passport photograph. Before it was glued into place the embossed letters of the seal were carefully duplicated. Changing the dates of issue and expiration was equally as simple. Brian leafed through the altered passport — then put it back on the table.

“These other dates will have to be changed too. The one that the customs officer stamped in when I left Ireland, and the other one put there when I arrived in the States.”

The ping of the annunciator at the front entrance sounded. He gaped at the screen to see Shelly standing there.

“Hi, Brian, I just got back. Open up, please, there are some things we have to talk about.”

But she couldn’t come in. Impossible! How could he explain the altered Sven, take the time to hide the photographs, the money spread across the table, the passport? He couldn’t do it.

“Welcome back — it’s nice to see you.” Yes, that was it. He would have to see her — just not in here. “I was just washing up, give me a moment. It’s been a long day. Can we talk over a drink in the club?”

“Yes, of course.”

He left Sven laboring away on his new criminal career and joined her outside, blinking in the sudden glare. “What’s up?” he asked.

She frowned, pushed the hair out of her eyes as a dust devil swirled around them.

“It’s complex. Let’s get that drink first.”

“I hope it’s not bad news about your father. You said he was doing well last time we talked.”

“He’s fine, much better. Complaining about the hospital food, which is a very good sign. In fact I could make the time to get down here to see you because he is so stable now. They’ll do a bypass soon. I’ll go home for that, but I wanted to talk to you first.”

They had the club to themselves as they settled down over bowl-sized frozen margaritas. Nostalgia music played quietly in the background, ancient classics by the antique old-timers U2. She slurped and sighed, touched her lips with the napkin, then put her hand on his.

“Brian, I don’t think that it’s fair, locking you up in this place. As soon as I heard about it I put in a formal report, lodged a complaint, all through the proper channels. Not that it will do much good. They didn’t even bother to answer me. You know that I have been transferred back to Boulder?”

“No one told me that.” Her warm hand was still on his, the physical contact felt good; he did not pull away.

“They wouldn’t, would they? That’s what bothers me, the high-handed way they simply transferred me out of here. No questions, no consultations. Just — bang, and that was it. But there is still so much work to do with AI. To me it is much more interesting, more exciting than writing dumb code for military programs. What it all adds up to is that I’m thinking of a career change, that’s what. I’m going to resign my commission and become a civilian again.”

“Not because of me?” He pulled his fingers free of hers, clasped his hands together in his lap.

“Partly, or mostly. I don’t want to be part of a military system that can treat someone so badly. And it is the work as well. I want to work on MI with you — if you will let me.”

Shelly’s voice was low, serious. Her dark eyes were worried, looking into his, searching for help. Brian turned away, seized up his margarita and took a tooth-hurting gulp. “Shelly, listen. I can’t take the responsibility for your decisions. I’m having enough of a job taking care of myself—”

“I’m not asking you to, Brian. You misunderstood. This is my own decision, my own doing, all the way. I know that things are a lot better with you now. But I also know what you have gone through. It shows at times. So please understand that I am resigning from the Air Corps no matter what you say. I’ve served two enlistments more than the agreed time, which means I have more than paid back anything I owe them for my education. And there’s a personal motive as well. I have been so wrapped up in my work that I haven’t noticed the years slipping by. Not that I’m an old hag yet!”

She laughed and stretched, ran her fingers through her hair, the fullness of her figure clear even in the darkened room. “Shelly, you’re gorgeous. You always will be. But I am too mixed up now, too much on my mind to go into this.”

“Hush,” she said, touching her finger to his lips. “I’m not asking you to do anything, say anything. I came here to tell you that I am through with the Air Force. I’ll drop you a note as soon as I am free of their clutches. With my background I can get work anywhere, double the salary I have been getting. Don’t worry about me. But if there is anything I can do to help with AI development — I want to do it. Be part of it. Okay?”

“Okay. You do understand?”

“More than you think, Brian…” His telephone bleeped. “Excuse me a second. Yes?”

“Sven here. Sven-2 has made some significant and highly interesting discoveries. Would it be possible for you to return here?”

“Yes, of course.” He slipped the phone back onto his belt, stood. “I have to get back to the lab—”

She jumped to her feet, angry and hurt. “You’ve hired someone else to work with you while I was away? That’s what all this was about.”

“Shelly — your paranoia is showing. That was Sven, remember, our AI. He’s running some programs and there are results he wants to ask about.”

She laughed. “You’re right. Incipient paranoia. Too many years in uniform. I’ll just have to get out.”

She took his hands in hers, stood up on tiptoe and kissed him warmly on the cheek, let go and turned toward the door. “You will call?”

“A promise — and I mean it. When I start developing the AI applications I want you there. Good luck to your father.”

He picked up his military guardians as he walked quickly back to the lab. He liked Shelly, liked to work with her — but did not want to think about that now. Later when and if everything cooled down. And what the blazes had Sven been talking about? No details on the phone of course because of security. But it had seemed insistent — and this was the very first time it had called like that.

Sven was waiting at the door when he came in, led the way across the lab.

“Sven-2 has been spending a long time on an analysis of the Bug-Off AI. The results are most interesting.”

“I am sure you will find them so,” Sven-2 said, picking up the conversation when they approached. “I believe that your plan has been to visit the country of Rumania. To search for any traces or clues that might lead you to Dr. Bociort. Is that not correct?”

“Yes.”

“It will not be necessary. You must go to Switzerland. I have located this country in Europe—”

“I know where Switzerland is. But why are you telling me this?”

“Because of a most interesting anomaly I found in the software. It didn’t seem to make any sense and at first I thought it might be part of a computer virus. But when I examined it more closely I found that it was a loop of instructions buried in another sequence that was programmed to bypass the loop. It was then that I recognized it as a fragment of code written in the old computer language LAMA-3.”

“But that’s impossible — almost impossible. There is only one person in the world who knows that language.”

“Three, you might say. You, because you invented it for your own use, and…”

“And you, because evidently you must have inherited a copy of that part of my brain! But who would be the third person you referred to? Bociort! Because he deciphered my notes. But this can only mean…”

“… that this was his message intended for you.”

“Out with it! What did it say!”

“Close examination of the fragment of unexecutable code revealed that it was a command that read… sequence terminated because of a type-2341 8255-8723 banjax.”

“Banjax! That’s Irish slang, means sort of fouled up.”

“I agree. I have heard you use the term upon occasion and a search of dictionary data bases determine its origin. Therefore I felt that this loop was put there to draw your attention. Which meant the numbers might have some significance. A brief cryptanalysis revealed the content.”

“To you perhaps — -but it just sounds like numbers to me.”

“Not just numbers — but a message.”

“Do you understand it?”

“I believe I do. It starts with the numbers 2 and 3. If you take the letters of the alphabet the first two digits of the message then become ‘BC.’ Which could stand for Bociort.”

“Isn’t that a little farfetched? It could also be the abbreviation for Before Christ or Baja California.”

“Perhaps, but not if you know what you are looking for. The number 41 is the international dialing code for Switzerland, 82 the code for St. Moritz. The remaining six digits could be a phone number in that city.”

Brian was stunned. It was almost too easy. But it was surely no accident. Had it been put in there on purpose — for him to find?

“The solution of this problem seems to be to place a phone call to this number,” Sven said.

“Agreed — but not from here or anywhere on this base. There is no way we can follow through with this until I am out of here and have access to a telephone that isn’t tapped. Sven, you remember the number until then. Meanwhile let’s put it on the long finger.”

“I am not familiar with that term.”

“I am,” Sven-2 said. Was there a hint of intellectual superiority in its words? “It is an Irish colloquialism equivalent to the American term ‘to spike,’ meaning to put aside for the moment, both terms derived from an outmoded office device consisting of a length of sharpened rod held vertical in a metal base…”

“Enough!” Brian ordered. “That is a very academic lecture. You should be teaching school.”

“Thank you for saying that; it is an option to consider.”

Brian looked bemusedly at the rack of electronic equipment with the invisible and very humanlike brain inside. A bit of biblical quote sprang instantly to mind. What hath God wrought!

No God here. What had he wrought!