The Turing Option

“That’s a good idea — we’ll try it tomorrow.”

“Will I really be able to get out of stir in a week?”

“Physically, yes, as long you do nothing strenuous. No stairs or fast walking, just about the same amount you do here in a normal day. After a while we can increase that. That is the physical side of the trip; your security is another matter. You’ll have to ask Ben about that.” Would the memory bank in Mexico have the records of his AI work? A lot was riding on that.

17 November 20, 2023

“This is it! I bring you Mr. Good News,” Benicoff said, bursting enthusiastically through the door. Brian closed the book he was reading, Introduction to Applied Excluor Geometry, and looked up, at first not recognizing the other man who came in behind Ben. Three piece dark suit, Sulka tie, gleaming black boots.

“Major Mike Sloane!”

“The same. A necessary disguise, since the high-powered Megalobe lawyers sneer with contempt at our country’s uniform — but look with humble respect at this sartorial souvenir of my civilian years. They’ve come around.” He opened his hand-tooled leather Porsche attache case and took out a thick wad of paper. “This is it. And it is my positive belief that it is just the contract that you wanted.”

“How can I be sure?”

“Because I checked it,” Benicoff said. “Not personally, but I sent it on down the line to Washington. We’ve got attorneys there that could eat Megalobe for breakfast. They assure me it’s brassbound, you got the terms you asked for, a better salary than expected. And after overhead, development costs and all the usual deductions, you’ll have something very close to a fifty-fifty split on profits. Ready for a little trip south of the border?”

“You bet. After I read through this.”

“Good luck. It’s tough going.”

Mike guided him through the less coherent and densest legalese clauses, explained everything. By the time the lawyer left two hours later the contract was signed, registered and duly filed in the legal data bank. Along with an archaic paper copy locked away in the hospital’s safe.

“Satisfied?” Benicoff asked as they watched the Yeoman seal the safe. Brian looked at his receipt and nodded.

“It’s a lot better than the first contract.”

“Which means that you have a job — when you’re able to go back to work. You did notice the clause about how if you can’t recover your backup files, which are hopefully in TJ, the company reserves the right to employ you or not? Or if they choose to employ you without your backup files, they can fire you whenever they feel like it and you get bupkas.”

“Mike Sloane pointed that out to me in very great detail while you were on the phone. It seems fair. So let’s open that Mexican file and see what’s in it. I suppose you have been thinking about how I’m going to do that?”

“Not just me — Naval Intelligence, the Army and the FBI. Not to mention Customs and Excise. A plan has been produced which has the approval of everyone. Simple instead of complex, but hopefully foolproof.”

“So tell.”

“Let’s go talk in your room.”

“At least tell me when all this is going to happen.”

Ben touched his finger to his lips and pointed to the exit. Only when the door to Brian’s room had closed behind them did he answer the question.

“Tomorrow morning, eight a.m., height of the navy rush hour here in Coronado. And your doctor has approved all arrangements.”

“I’m being sprung! How is it going to work?”

“You’ll find out in the morning,” Benicoff said with sadistic relish. “As of now only a handful of us know all the details. We want no slipups and no leaks. The best plan becomes no plan at all if someone talks.”

“Come on, Ben, give me a clue at least.”

“All right. Your instructions are to eat your breakfast at seven and to remain in bed after that.”

“Some instructions!”

“Patience is a virtue. See you in the morning.”

It was a slow day for Brian, and when he forced himself to retire he had trouble going to sleep. He was worried now. He had always assumed that his backups were in the files in Mexico. But what if they weren’t? How could he rediscover his work on AI without them? Would it mean more sessions with Snaresbrook and her machine in an attempt to get back memories of the future, his past, that he did not really want? The clock said midnight when he called the nurse for something to make him sleep. He would need all the rest he could get for the day to come.

At eight the next morning he was sitting up in bed staring at the morning news and not seeing it. Precisely on the hour there was a quick knocking and two navy corpsmen came in wheeling a gurney. Behind them was the floor nurse and what could have been two doctors, except for the fact that they stood with their backs to the closed door, fingers brushing the fronts of their white jackets. They were both big men and, for some reason, strangely familiar. And were those bulges in the armpits? Brian thought. Or do they do it different these days.