The Turing Option

Ben had phrased the question clearly. How could it have got out of the valley? There was a paradox here; it had to go out by air, nothing went out by air. Brian heard the question.

His implanted CPU heard the question as well.

“Out of the valley by truck. Out of the area by air,” Brian said.

“What do you mean?” Shelly asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I didn’t say that, the CPU did.” He tried not to smile at their blank expressions. “Look, we’ll go into that some other time. Right now let’s analyze this. How far could the truck have gone?”

“We worked out a computer model early in the investigation,” Ben said. “The maximum number of men to have loaded the truck, without getting in each other’s way, is eight. The variables are driving time from the gate to the lab, loading time, back to the gate. Once out of the gate the best figure we could come up with was twenty-five miles distance at fifty-five miles an hour. There were roadblocks up on every road out of here as soon as the crime was reported, well outside that twenty-mile zone. Radar covered the area as well, from copters and ground units, and after dawn the visual searches began. The truck could not have escaped.”

“But it did,” Shelly said. “Is there any way a truck and cargo could have been airlifted out? We don’t know — but we are sure going to find out. Let me at the computer, Ben. I am going to have this program check every flight recorded that day within a hundred- then a two-hundred-mile radius.”

“Couldn’t the criminals have gotten records of that flight erased? So there would be no traces at the time of the crime?”

“No way. All the radar signals are maintained for a year in FAA archives, as well as screen-dumps from each air traffic controller’s terminal. A good computer hacker can do many wonderful things, but the air traffic system is simply too complex and redundant. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of different kinds of records of every detected flight.”

Shelly did not look up, was hard at work, oblivious of them as they left.

“Shelly doesn’t know about the implant CPU,” Ben said. “Was that what you were talking about?”

“Yes. I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but Dr. Snaresbrook and I have had some success in my accessing the CPU by thought alone.”

“That is — what can I say — incredible!”

“That’s what we think. But it is early times yet. I have instructed it to do some math — that’s how it started, in a dream, would you believe it? And I read data from its memory files. It is all exciting and a little frightening. Takes some getting used to. I have a strange head and I’m not sure I like it.”

“But you’re alive and well, Brian,” Ben said grimly. “I saw what that bullet did to you…”

“Don’t tell me about it! Someday, maybe. In fact I would like to forget this for a while, get on with AI. And you and Shelly get on with your Dick Tracy program. I don’t like hiding — or the perpetual threat to my life. I’m beginning to feel like Salman Rushdie — and you remember what happened to him! I would like to, what can I say, rebuild my life. Be as normal as the rest of you. I’m beginning to feel like some kind of freak—”

“No, Brian — don’t ever think that. You are a tough kid that has been through too much. Everyone who has worked with you admires your guts. We’re on your side.”

There was little more that could be said. Ben mumbled an excuse and left. Brian punched up yesterday’s work where he had been transcribing his notes in more complete and readable form but it made no sense to him. He realized that he was both depressed and tired and could hear Dr. Snaresbrook’s voice giving the obvious order. Right, message received, lie down. He told Shelly that he would be back later and went to his rooms.

He must have fallen asleep because the technical journal was lying on his chest and the sun was just dropping behind the mountains to the west. The black depression still possessed him and he wondered if he should call the doctor and report it. But it just didn’t seem serious enough. Maybe it was the room that was getting him down — he was spending more time alone here than he had in the hospital. At least there someone was always popping in and out. Here he even had to eat his meals alone; the novelty of this had worn off quickly.

Shelly had finished for the day and she mumbled goodbye when she left, her thoughts involved in her work. He locked her out and went in the opposite direction. Maybe some fresh air would help. Or some food, since it was getting dark and he had forgotten to eat lunch again. He left the building and walked around the lake and toward the orderly room. He asked if the Major was in — and was taken at once to his office.

“Any complaints — or recommendations?” Woody asked as soon as they were alone.

“No complaints, and I think your troops are doing a tremendous job. They never seem to get in the way, but when I am out of the lab there always seem to be a few in sight.”