The Turing Option

“That’s pretty specific. You have had brain trauma and have been operated on. In addition—”

“There is something wrong with my memory.”

Snaresbrook was startled. “How do you know that?”

There was a weak grin on Brian’s lips at this small victory. “Obvious. You wanted to know my age. I have been looking at my hands while you talked. How old am I, Doctor?”

“A few years older.”

“You promised that you would tell me only the complete truth.”

She had planned to hold this information back as long as possible; the knowledge might be traumatic. But Brian was way ahead of her. The truth and only the complete truth from now on.

“You are almost twenty-four years old.”

Brian ingested the information slowly, then nodded his head. “That’s okay then. If I was fifty or sixty or something really old like that, it would be lousy because I would have lived most of life and wouldn’t remember it. Twenty-four is okay. Will I get my memories back?”

“I don’t see why not. Your progress to this point has been exceedingly good. I will explain the techniques in detail if you are interested, but first let me put it as simply as I can. I want to stimulate your memories, then restore your neural access to them. When this happens your memory will be complete and you will be whole again. I can’t promise that all of your memories will be restored. There was injury, but—”

“If I don’t know they’re missing I won’t miss them.”

“That’s perfectly correct.” Brian was sharp. He might only have the memories of his first fourteen years now, but the thinking processes of his conscious brain appeared to be much older. He had been a child prodigy, she knew. Graduate school at fourteen. So he was not just any fourteen-year-old. “But not missing a memory is only a small part of it. You must realize that human memory is not like a tape recorder with everything stored in chronological order. It is very different, far more like a badly maintained file system organized by messy and confusing maps. Not only messy to begin with, but we reclassify things from time to time. When I say that I have memories of my childhood — that is not true. I really have memories of memories. Things that have been thought about over and over, simplified, reduced.”

“I think I understand what you mean. But please, before we get started, there are a few things you will have to tell me. Ten years is a long time. Things happen. My family…”

“Dolly has been here and wants to see you.”

“I want to see her too. And Dad?”

The truth only, Snaresbrook thought, although it would hurt something terrible.

“I’m sorry, Brian, but your father — passed away.”

There was silence as slow tears ran down the man’s — the boy’s — face. It was long moments before he could speak again.

“I don’t want to hear about that now. And me, what about me, what have I done in those years?”

“You’ve gotten your degrees, done original research.”

“In artificial intelligence? That’s what Dad does, what I want to do.”

“What you have done, Brian. You have succeeded in everything that you tackled. In fact you made the breakthrough to actually construct the first AI. Before you were injured you were at the threshold of success.” Brian noticed the juxtaposition of the terms, made the snap logical leap.

“You have told me everything so far, Doctor, I don’t think that you have held back.”

“I haven’t. It would be unfair.”

“Then tell me now. Does my injury have anything to do with AI? Was it the machine that did it? I always thought the stories of evil AIs were dumb.”

“They are. But men are still evil. You were injured in the laboratory by men wanting to steal your AI. And reality has turned out to be quite the opposite of myth. Far from being evil, your work with Al-assisted micromanipulators has aided me greatly — and has enabled me to bring you here and speak with you like this.”

“You must tell me all about AI!”

“No, Brian. We must rebuild your memories step by step until you can tell me how AI works. You were the inventor — now you are going to be the rediscoverer.”

11 October 1, 2023

The blinds had been pulled up by the nurse when she had brought Brian his breakfast. He had been awake since dawn, unable to sleep with the whir of thoughts in his head. Bandages covered it, he could feel them with his fingertips. What had happened to him that had made him lose all those years? Selective amnesia? It just wasn’t possible. He should ask the doctor to physically describe the damage — though maybe he better not. He really didn’t want to think about that now. Not yet. The same way he didn’t want to think about Dad being dead.