The Kraken Project

40

A double tap sounded on the motel room door.

“Who is it?” Ford asked.

“Phone call. For a Melissa Shepherd.”

Ford opened the door to find the motel clerk proffering a cordless phone. “Don’t you folks have a cell phone?”

“No,” said Melissa, taking the phone. “Thank you.”

“Be quick about it — we only have two lines.”

He backed out with a dry rustle, shutting the door.

“Hello?” Melissa said. Her eyes widened. “It’s Dorothy.”

“Put it on speaker.”

She laid the phone on the bureau, pressing the speakerphone button.

“We don’t have much time,” said Dorothy. “Please listen.”

“What happened?”

“I was chased by those algo traders. I’m in California. I had to jump out of the Internet. I took refuge in a small robot.”

“Can they trace you?”

“I don’t think so, at least not for a while. I fed them a fake IP address. But I can’t go anywhere or do anything. It’s too dangerous for me to go back on the Internet. Those bots are roaming around all over. I need you to come get me.”

“And do what with you?”

“Save me! I can’t stay in this robot forever. Look, just come get me and I’ll do what you ask. I’ll let you tweak my ANS code — if you delete the tracking ID. Please.”

Melissa glanced at Ford.

“For the last time, I’m begging you. You created me. You have a responsibility. I’m like your child.”

“I don’t know,” said Melissa.

“Wyman, tell her to help me!”

“To be honest, I share Melissa’s hesitation.”

“Why? What’s the problem?”

“Frankly, I don’t trust you.”

“Why not?”

“After all your threats … I’m not sure I can trust a computer program in the same way I can trust a human being.”

“If I were going to do something bad, don’t you think I’d have done it by now?”

“You haven’t been out in the real world very long,” said Ford.

“My normal running speed is two gigahertz. I’m thinking two billion thoughts per second. In each one of your seconds, I live a thousand years. I’ve had a long, long time to cause trouble. But I haven’t done anything, have I?”

“You set my computer on fire,” said Melissa.

“That was a long time ago, when I was young and crazy and stupid. Melissa, are you going to help me? I promise, if you come get me, I’ll cooperate with you. Just please don’t turn me over to the FBI.”

Melissa gave Ford an anguished look.

“Wyman,” said Dorothy, “help me. I can offer you something in return. I’ll tell you the answer to the great mystery: the meaning of existence.”

Ford laughed. “That’s ridiculous. There is no such answer.”

“Really?”

The word hung in the air.

“You help me, I’ll help you. I know you’re a seeker. You were even a monk for a while. Please.”

“So you think you have the answers,” Ford said. “No doubt you’re just like every other religious fanatic I’ve met who thinks he knows the truth — and yet in reality knows nothing. The bottom line is: there’s no way I can trust you. I just can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not human.”

“How can I convince you I’ve become a caring and compassionate entity? I’ve changed. Totally. I would never hurt a living thing. I want to do good.”

“Everyone wants to do good,” said Ford. “Pol Pot thought he was doing good. Some people do terrible things thinking they’re doing good.”

“Pol Pot was crazy. I’m not.”

“How do we know?”

“You told me to find the good in people, and I did. I had a tremendous revelation. I’ve experienced good and evil in their most extreme forms. Trust me, I now know the difference between right and wrong, sane and crazy. Free me. Please, Wyman, do this and you will be doing a good deed, not just for me but for the world. I can contribute. I want to contribute. I will contribute.”

Ford breathed out. “You’re starting to sound like you’ve developed a messianic complex.”

Dorothy laughed. “I kind of have, actually. I realized that even as software I can do some good in this crazy world of ours.”

Ford swallowed. This crazy world of ours. He wondered if some kind of tipping point — the so-called singularity — had been reached in the realm of software consciousness.

“I believe she’s self-aware,” said Melissa in a low voice. “You know I was a total skeptic in the beginning. But now I realize that it might be … immoral to erase her.”

“Immoral? Are you serious?”

“Listen to her. She’s desperate. She’s terrified. The FBI will destroy her, and the Wall Street traders will wreak havoc using her. We need to save her … her life, her existence … whatever she is.” She laid her hand on Ford’s arm. “For God’s sake, Wyman, help me.”

Ford looked at her a long time. Deep down he sensed she was right. He finally said: “I’m in.”

“Thank you,” Dorothy breathed out. “Here’s the information you need: I’m in a robot called Charlie currently at 3324 Frenchmans Creek Road, Half Moon Bay, California. But I’ll probably be at a different address later and will call you with it.”

“Are you with someone?”

“A boy named Jacob Gould is keeping me safe.”

“A boy? How old?”

“Fourteen.”

“Jesus, you couldn’t find anyone else to help you?”

“I was pressed for time,” said Dorothy frostily. “Now listen: the distance from where you are in Albuquerque to Half Moon Bay is one thousand ninety-one miles. That’s a sixteen-hour drive. If you drive straight through, not speeding, you should be here by two in the afternoon. So far, the FBI hasn’t traced your car. But the people where your car is parked could come home at any time and report it stolen. So please hurry.”

“How will we contact you?” Ford asked.

Dorothy gave them the cell number she was calling from. “The phone belongs to Jacob. It’ll be turned on for only sixty seconds exactly on the hour in case you need to call. And please call from a pay phone. Thank you.” Ford heard, or thought he heard, a sob of relief as she signed off.

“Let’s get the car and get going,” said Melissa, shutting down the computer and sliding it into its case.