The Turing Option

“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.”