The Turing Option

“More than enough for today,” she said.

“If you say so. Can we see now things went?”

“Run a benchmark, you mean? Why not? Wait a moment while I load one of the texts at random into my machine, then I’ll hit it with a random page number. Everything here looks medical—”

“Dorland’s Medical Dictionary, forty-fifth edition.”

“That’s it. Have you ever heard of parendomyces?”

“That’s a genus of yeastlike fungi species of which some have been isolated from various lesions of man.”

“And kikekunemalo?”

“An easy one. It’s a resin, like copal.”

“You have it, Brian. Everything we downloaded, it’s all there. And you can tap into it at will.”

“Just as if they were real memories.”

“They are real memories as far as you are concerned. Just filed away in a different manner. Now — I’m sorry, but we’ll have to break off here. I have an appointment that I must keep.”

When he got back to his room there was a message from Benicoff waiting for Brian; he dialed the number at once.

“I got your call…”

“Got a moment to speak with me, Brian?”

“Of course. You want to come up to my room?”

“I would prefer the tenth-floor hanging garden.”

“Fine by me. I’m on my way now.”

Brian arrived first, was halfway through his beer, a Pilsner Urquell, when Ben arrived, dropped heavily into a chair.

“You look beat,” Brian said. “Want one of these?”

“Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check. Now the news. You’ll be pleased to hear that a company of the Eighty-second Airborne has moved into the Megalobe barracks. Their commanding officer, Major Wood, is a combat veteran who takes a very dim view of research scientists being shot. He doesn’t want you to get there until he has his security arrangements and rosters set — and has run a few tests. After that the choice of a move is yours. And Dr. Snaresbrook’s of course.”

“Has everything been ordered that I asked for?”

“Ordered and shipped and in the lab. Which leads us to the next item. Your assistant.”

“I’ve never had one.”

“In this brave new world you will. Make your work that much easier.”

Brian finished his beer and put it down, looking closely at Ben’s expressionless face.

“I know that look. It means that there is more — but I should be able to figure it out for myself. And I can. They have made three attempts to kill me. I might not live through the fourth. So everyone would be very much happier if there was at least one other person who knew what was going on with the AI research.”

“Security — you figured it out. The tricky part mat comes next is getting someone who can do the work — but who can be trusted as well. Industrial espionage is a graduate course in most universities now, a major growth industry as well. Something like AI can be very tempting — as you have unhappily found out. I have narrowed my short list down to an even shorter list — two. I am off in the morning for a meet with a very promising lead, a graduate student at MTT. But until I get to see him I won’t know. So let us run with the other possibility. How do you feel about the military?”

“Outside of our friend the General I don’t have much feeling one way or the other. Certainly the Navy and the Marines have done a good job here. And I assume the Army will do the same at Megalobe. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’ve tracked down a Captain Kahn who is in the Air Force and has a very responsible job in the Expert Program section at the academy in Boulder, Colorado. Second-generation Yemenite greenie — slang term for a greenhorn, an immigrant. Kahn is working on programs for aircraft control. Interested?”

“Why not? Contact Boulder and…”

Ben shook his head. “No need. In the hopes you would say yes I had the Captain flown here.”

“Well wheel him in and let’s hope.”

Ben smiled and made the call. The officer must have been waiting close by because the marine guard appeared a moment later.

“Your visitor, sir.”

Ben climbed to his feet; Brian turned and saw why. He stood as well.

“Captain Kahn, this is Brian Delaney.”

“Very pleased to meet you, sir,” she said. Her hand was cool, her grip good. One quick shake and back to her side. She was a firmly built and attractive woman, dark-haired and dark-skinned. And very serious. She stood straight, silent, her face set and unsmiling — as was Brian’s. Benicoff realized that the interview was not going that well.

“Please sit down, Captain,” he said, pulling over a chair. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“I’m going to have a beer. You too, Brian?” A quick shake of the head no was his only answer. He dropped into his own chair. “Well then, Captain — that can’t be your first name?”

“It is Shelly, sir. At least that is the name most people use. Shulamid is my name in Hebrew, which is not that easy to pronounce.”

“Well then — Shelly — thanks for coming. I’m afraid I didn’t tell you much about the work, since security is tight. But now that you are here I know that Brian will be able to explain much better. Brian?”