The Turing Option

“You got a great machine there, a great machine.”

“I hope so. What if it breaks down?”

“It won’t — but we have a mechanic on call twenty-four hours a day just to give our customers peace of mind.”

“Do you come around to inspect it?”

“Only if you ask us to. There is a check every six months, you will be called first for an appointment, but that is just routine maintenance. Other than that all you have to do is unleash that bug-picking little devil and step back! You gentlemen will never regret this decision for an instant.” Benicoff grunted suspiciously and read through the contract again. Nisiumi showed Joe and the driver out while Benicoff looked over the top of the contract and watched them through the office window. The second the van was out of sight he grabbed up his phone and called the FBI office, then Brian.

“I don’t know how Sven spotted this Bug-Off — but I think that we are onto a winner. Everything about this machine smells of Brian’s AI research.” There was a grate of tires outside as a Federal Express delivery van pulled up. “The FBI is here now. They are going to crate this thing and get it on a plane. It will be there in the morning — and so will I!”

The truck driver, wearing a Federal Express uniform, was Agent Perdomo.

“Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Nisiumi,” Perdomo said. “We couldn’t have got anywhere without your help. We’ll take the machine off your hands now.”

“What do I say if that salesman or any of his people want to see it?”

“Stall them,” Benicoff said. “And get in touch with Agent Perdomo here at once. The chances are that they won’t bother you as long as you pay your lease fees on time. Send the bills to Perdomo as well — you’ll be reimbursed at once. The salesman said they wouldn’t want to service the machine for six months. Our investigation should be completed long before that.”

“Whatever you say. Anything else I can do let me know.”

“Will do. Thanks again.”

They shut down the Bug-Off and put it and its charger back into the carton, then wrapped it completely in brown paper. Benicoff rode in the back of the truck with the machine to the empty warehouse in the outskirts of Seattle. The FBI team were waiting there.

“Torres, bomb squad,” their leader said. “You Mr. Benicoff?”

“That’s right. I appreciate the quick response.”

“That’s our job. Tell me about this thing. Do you think there’s explosive in there?”

“I doubt it very much. From what I have discovered there are at least a hundred more of these around the country. I doubt if they would all have bombs in them — -just one of them going off and there would be unwanted attention, big trouble. No, what I’m concerned about is any internal defenses the thing might have as protection against industrial espionage — what some people call reverse engineering. I am sure that the manufacturers don’t want their invention revealed. I have a strong suspicion that the technology this thing might be based on was stolen only last year. There are no patents on it yet. There is also a chance that this machine may relate to a criminal investigation now under way. If those people are involved they won’t want anyone to know what makes this thing tick.”

“So it might be booby-trapped to prevent anyone finding out what makes it tick? Maybe do itself some injury if someone gets nosy?”

“That’s it. Its internal computer might be set to destroy itself, its program or memories. It could use a standard self-immolation module. Seen a lot of them since they shortened the patent-life time. Neutralizing it should be pretty straightforward. But I’ll have to ask you both to leave. SOP. We’re onto most of their tricks so it shouldn’t take long.”

It took almost five hours.

“Bigger job than I thought,” Torres admitted. “Some cute stuff there. The inspection panel looked too obvious so we went in through the bottom. Found four different switches, one on the hatch opening, another under a bolt that had to be removed to gain access. Still, it was nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“Would there have been an explosion?” Benicoff asked.

“No, it wasn’t wired to do that. You would have had a flash and some smoke maybe. All the switches were hooked up to short the battery through the central processor. It would have melted nicely. It’s all yours now — and it’s a neat bit of work. Picks off bugs, I understand?”

“That’s just what it does.”

“The world’s full of surprises these days.”

The Bug-Off was now packed into a larger crate, tape-wrapped and sealed. Benicoff had considered special shipping arrangements but in the end decided that less attention would be drawn to a normal delivery.

The Federal Express track trundled off into the rain with its cargo.

Promised for delivery in California in the morning.

29 September 5, 2024

Benicoff came around the turn on the Montezuma Grade and saw the express truck trundling down the hill before him. He phoned Brian.

“I’m just coming into Borrego Springs — and the truck with your you-know-what is just in front of me.”