The Turing Option

“Poor Shelly. Living in the past. Putting nationalism, flag-waving jingoism ahead of personal honor, ahead of everything. Not knowing that little nationalism is dead and world nationalism is the name of the game. The cold war is dead as well, Shelly, and hopefully soon, all war will be dead. And we’ll be free of the burden of the military at last. A fossil, extinct — but too stupid to lie down. You’ve made your decision and you have told me about it. End of conversation. Good-bye Shelly, I don’t think we’ll be meeting again.” He wiped his lips with his napkin, stood and turned away.

“You can’t dismiss me like that. I came to make some explanation, apology maybe. I’m a person and I can be hurt. And you are hurting me, do you understand that? I came to make amends. You must be more machine than man if you can’t understand that. You can’t just turn your back on me and walk away!”

Which of course is exactly what he did.

44 La Jolla, California February 8, 2026

The date brushed against the edge of Erin Snaresbrook’s attention as she read her personalized morning newspaper. There was very little news of the accepted sort in it, no politics, no sports, but plenty of biochemistry and brain research. She was engrossed in an article about nerve growth and the nagging bothered her. Then she looked again at the date — and dropped the sheets of eternitree onto the table, took up her cup of coffee.

That date. She would never forget it, never. It might be put aside for a while when she was busy, then something would remind her and that day would be there again. The first sight of that shattered skull, the ruined brain, the immense feeling of despair that had overwhelmed her. The despair had passed to be replaced by hope — then immense satisfaction when Brian had survived.

Had another year really passed? A year during which she had not seen or talked to him, not once. She had tried to contact him but her calls were never returned. While she thought about it she touched his number, got the same recorded response. Yes, her message was noted and Brian would get back to her. But he never did.

A year was a long time and she did not like it. She stared out at the Torrey pine trees and the ocean beyond, unseeingly. Too long. This time she was going to do something about it. Woody answered his phone on the first ring.

“Wood, security.”

“Woody, Dr. Snaresbrook here. I wonder if you could help me with a problem of communication.”

“You name it — you got it.”

“It’s Brian. Today is the anniversary of that awful day when he was shot. This drove home the fact to me that it must be a year at least since I talked to him. I phone but he never calls back. I presume he is all right or I would have heard.”

“He’s in great shape. I see him at the gym sometimes when I’m working out.” There was a long moment’s silence before Woody spoke again. “If you’re not busy I think I can arrange for you to see him now. Is that all right?”

“Excellent — I’m free most of the day,” she said as she turned to the terminal to change a half dozen appointments. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

“I’ll be waiting. See you.”

When she pulled her car out of the garage the sun had vanished behind thick clouds and there was a splatter of rain on her windshield. It grew heavier as she drove inland, but as always the barrier of the mountain ranges held back clouds and storm. Sunlight broke through as she drove down the Montezuma Grade and she opened the window to the desert warmth. Good as his word, Woody was waiting at the main Megalobe gate. He didn’t open it, but instead came out to join her.

“Got room for a passenger?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. Climb in.” She touched the button and the door unlocked and swung open. “Brian’s not here?”

“Not often these days.” When he sat down the door closed and locked, the seat belt slipped into place. “He usually works at home. Have you been to Split Mountain Ranch?”

“No — because I never even heard of it.”

“Good. We like to keep a low profile there. Just head east and I’ll show you where to turn. It’s not really a ranch but a high security housing area for the top MI personnel. Condos and homes. Now that we have expanded into manufacturing here we needed someplace close by and secure for them to live.”

“Sounds nifty. You look and sound concerned, Woody. What is it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. That’s why I thought you might talk to him. It’s just that, well, we don’t see him much anymore. Used to take meals in the cafeteria. No more. Hardly see him around. And when I do, well, distant is maybe the word for it. No joking, no small talk. I don’t know if something is bothering him or not. Hang a right at that road coming up.”