The Turing Option

“For real, Doctor?” They may have been twenty-four years old but the eyes had the wide-eyed stare of a fourteen-year-old. Erin Snaresbrook nodded.

“Mr. Benicoff is a presidential appointee as well. He is in charge of an ongoing investigation — well, he’ll explain that himself.”

“Hi, Brian. Feeling okay?”

“Great. That was quite a ride.”

“You have been seriously ill. If you want to postpone this…”

“No thanks. I’m a little tired, but other than that I feel fine now. And I really would like to know what happened to me, what is going on around here.”

“Well, you do know that you succeeded in developing an operating artificial intelligence?”

“The doctor told me that — I have no memory of it at all.”

“Yes, of course. Well then, without being too detailed, you were demonstrating the AI when the lab you were in was attacked. We have reason to believe that everyone there with you was killed, while you were badly wounded in the head. By a bullet. We assume that you were left for dead. All of your notes, records, equipment, everything to do with the AI was removed. You were taken to the hospital and operated on by Dr. Snaresbrook. You recovered consciousness in the hospital and of course everything that has happened since then you know about. But I must add that the thieves were never caught, the records never recovered.”

“Who did it?”

“I am afraid to say that we have absolutely no idea.”

“Then — why the military maneuvers?”

“There has already been one other attempt on your life, when you were in the hospital that you just left.”

Brian gaped around at their blank faces. “So what you are telling me is that the AI has been pinched. And whoever has it wants to keep it their secret. So much so that they are ready to bump me off to keep it a secret. Even though I don’t remember a thing about it.”

“That’s right.”

“This takes some getting used to.”

“For all of us.”

Brian looked over at the General. “How does the Army fit into this?”

“I will tell you.” General Schorcht stamped forward. Benicoff started to interfere, then hesitated. Best to get it over with. Snaresbrook was of the same mind and nodded agreement when she saw Benicoff draw back. The General raised his single hand and held out a recorder.

“You will identify yourself. Name, date of birth, place of birth.”

“Why, your honor?” Brian asked in a wondering voice, his Irish brogue suddenly thick.

“Because you have been ordered to. Statements have been made about your health and sanity that need corroboration. You will answer the question.”

“Must I do that? I know why. I’ll bet it’s because these people here been telling lies about me. Have they told you wild stories about me being only fourteen years old when with your own fine blue eyes you can see that is not true?”

“Perhaps something of that nature.” The General’s eyes sparkled as he leaned forward. “You are speaking for the record.”

Benicoff moved away so the General could not see his face. He had spent time in Ireland. He knew what “putting the mickey to someone” meant — even if the General did not.

Brian hesitated and looked about him, licking his lips.

“Am I safe now, General?”

“I can guarantee that one hundred percent. As of this moment the United States Army is in charge.”

“That’s nice to know. I feel a great relief as I tell you that I woke up in me hospital bed, sore in the head. And with not a memory I could find after my fourteenth year. I may not look it, General, but as far as I know I am fourteen years old. And very tired. Feeling suddenly ill. I have something of medical importance to discuss with my attending physician.”

“Mr. Benicoff,” Dr. Snaresbrook said, right on cue, “would you and General Schorcht please leave. You may wait outside.”

Whatever the General had to say never came out. His face was bright red, his jaw working. In the end he spun about so sharply on his heel that the pinned-up arm of his uniform jacket flew up. Benicoff was holding the door open for the General and closed it behind them as they left. Worried, Dr. Snaresbrook hurried to Brian’s side.

“What’s the trouble, Brian?”

“Don’t worry, Doc, nothing terminal. I just had enough of that one. But, yes, there is one thing.”

“Pain?”

“Not quite. If you will excuse the expression — I just have to pee.”

13 November 9, 2023

Almost two weeks passed before Benicoff saw Brian again. But he did get daily progress reports from Dr. Snaresbrook, which he passed on instantly to the President’s office. He did not hurry the second report that he had to file every day. Out of sheer malice at three in the morning, his E-fax was programmed to send a copy of the progress report to General Schorcht’s unlisted security number. In the hope that some excitable staff officer might find an item in the report that was interesting enough to wake up the General. This thought sent Benicoff to sleep with a smile every night.