I shrug off my paranoia. No one would leave a sample of their own handwriting on a letter bomb. What if a fragment survived the explosion? Instant clue for the FBI. But you can never be too careful. I hold the envelope at arm's distance as I open it and remove a crisp sheet of white paper, folded in half.
"Hal" it begins. Not "Dear". The letter was written by someone who knows me but does not love me. There is a cold heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I read on.
"It has been eight years. My address has not changed. Thursday, 8 pm." It is signed simply "Ralph"
I wish it was a letter bomb. After the initial shock , a bomb leaves you dead, but the shock of this letter just keeps growing and growing. Why, after eight years is he trying to arrange a meeting? What is he up to? Could it be that he wants to make peace? Unlikely, but there is always the chance.
What makes him think that I will come? Stupid question. I will come because if there is even an infinitesimal possibility that this meeting will mend the rift between us, then I must go. He is counting on my hope.
Here is a better question: What makes me think I have any choice? He is the injured party, not me. He is the one who has spent the last eight years taking care of his daughter. He lives the horror every day. All I have to live with is my guilt.
At seven forty-three I am standing before the door of his house. Her house, too, though she can not enjoy its graceful lines or well tended garden anymore. Will he expect me to visit her in her room? Look at her wasted form beneath the sheet? Hold her gnarled hand and ask her forgiveness? I will do it, if it will bring peace. That is all I want, peace. Peace between me and him. Peace within me.
At eight pm he opens the front door. He has not changed a bit. Still tall, still stooped, still with grey temples, thick black rimmed glasses, baggy sweater---a stereotypical absent minded professor. All except the eyes. The eye burn like those of a religious fanatic.
There is a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I should not have come. But it is too late now.
He skips over the formalities. "How was jail?"
I shrug my shoulders. How can I answer that question? If I say it was awful he will think I am looking for sympathy. If I say it was not too bad he will think I have not suffered enough. And he is probably right. Two years in a minimum security prison with my own computer and access to a library, three meals a day, maid service---hell, there are plenty of undergrads who do not live as well as I lived for those two years while I served my sentence for DWI. It would have been longer if she had died, my lawyer told me. I was lucky. He was dead serious when he said that. I was the one who supplied the irony. Yes, I was lucky. I walked away from the wreck and my girlfriend ended up in a permanent vegetative state.
"Do you want to see her?"
No, I think. But I nod my head yes.
He leads me upstairs. The door at the end of the hall is hers. The room looks just as I remember it, but the smell makes my stomach turn. Antiseptic, moist flesh, the faint scent of feces and urine. She looks clean and well groomed, but she is probably wearing a diaper. Like a baby. A thirty year old brain dead baby.
Tentatively I touch her hand. Her fingers do not respond. Her eyes gaze sightlessly at the ceiling.
Behind me, Ralph begins to pace. When he moves the absent minded professor becomes a panther, full of restless energy just barely checked. "Do you know why I hate you? Because you did not love her. You were only dating her to ingratiate yourself with me."
Eight years ago I would have denied his accusation. Eight years ago I managed to convince myself that the grief I felt was because I had lost the love of life. Now that I am older and wiser I can no longer fool myself. Ralph is correct. I never loved her. I was only using her. And when she was used up, I discarded her.
There are a dozen excuses on the tip of my tongue. I was young. I was not
used to alcohol. And the road was slippery and the tires were bald. But
what does any of that mean now? He hates me. He has just said so.
If he is going to be direct, then so will I. I turn to him. It is easier to
look at his hate filled face than it is to gaze at his daughter.
When he speaks, his voice is deceptively soft and pleasant. "I hear you
finally found a home for your pet. The government bought it, right? To
control the satellite weapons."
This information is top secret, but I do not bother asking how he acquired
it. Ralph Blessingham was working for the US government decades before I
was born, and he has taken part in dozens of classified projects, some of
which make mine look like a high school science fair exhibit.
"You know I can not talk about it."
He nods his head. Just once. That is Ralph. Never nod your head two or
three times when once will do. Economy of motion, economy of words, economy
of thought, that is his motto. So why does he pace? What does that
accomplish? Does he do it deliberately, to make people afraid?
"True. But I can talk about it all I want. The term artificial intelligence
alway struck me as an oxymoron. If something is intelligent it is real,
whether the electrons go from ganglia to ganglia or from gate to gate.
'The problem with computers is they only receive a limited amount of
information and they have to do the best they can with that. The human
brain, on the other hand, receives information continuously from the
sensory organs and is constantly assessing and reassessing what it hears,
sees, feels, smells in light of what it has heard, seen, felt, smelled
before. If you give a computer enough input and give it sufficient
circuitry to examine that input in every possible light, eventually it will
rival or even surpass the human brain.' That was your thesis wasn't it? So
how does it work in practice? How many other systems does yours sample in
order to cross check reality?"
I clench my jaw. If his game is to try to get me to reveal classified
information so that he can turn me in, I will not play.
One corner of his mouth rises for a moment. But the look in his eyes does
not change. "Since the Star Wars weapons---what a name! What congressman
could say no to Luke Skywalker?---since the satellite weapons were designed
to protect US interests, I presume that your little AI confines itself to
US based computer systems. It must be tiring, checking and cross checking
all the time, making sure that what its own clocks and data base tells it
is true by referencing the clocks and data bases of so many other
computers. What happens if a bank computer in Des Moines goes down? Don't
tell me." I have not opened my mouth or given any sign that I am going to
speak. "It weighs all the data and derives some sort of weighted average.
If the White House computers go down this is more important than a grocery
store chain's computer. If enough computers go down, it says to itself
'Something very bad is happening out there.' And then---what? It tries to
get in touch with its masters? How long does it give the Pentagon to
respond? Five, ten minutes? Too long. In five or ten minutes your AI could
be taken down and then all those expensive orbitting weapons would be just
space junk. I would give it one or two minutes. If there is no
response it assumes the worst case scenario and fires the weapons."
I am goaded into speaking. "It is a lot more complicated than that."
"I am sure it is." I do not like the way he is smiling. More of a smirk.
"I brought you here because I have a warning for you. Your precious
creation is going to be the death of us all. Do you realize that?"
I open my mouth to ask a question.
He holds up one hand. "No. You figure it out for yourself." He turns his
back on me. Gently he strokes his daughter's forehead. If she feels the
caress she shows no sign of it. "Lock the front door on your way out."
I spend the next eight weeks checking and cross checking. Just like he wants me
to. And I find nothing. All the fail safes are in place. At least twice a
month, some enterprising hacker manages to access the launch code sequence
and the AI (I have not given it a name. No matter what Ralph says I am not
foolish enough to attribute personality to a machine) always detects the
fraudulent commands and tracks down the hackers. They are invariably
surprised at being nabbed. They figure that they have at least two minutes
while the computer checks with its human operator to ensure that the launch
code is legitimate. But because of its many links, my AI can tell in 3
milliseconds that everything is all right and that there is no need to
launch a final retaliatory strike. It can find a hacker in less than 2
seconds.
How long before the last Russian missile is disarmed? Will the government
dismantle my AI at that point, or will they leave the weapons up in space,
primed for attack in the event of some unforeseen catastrophe? It would
cost more money to bring the satellites down than it would to just leave
them up there, part of the ever growing band of space debris that encircles
our planet like a crown.
After two months, I decide Ralph was just playing a nasty game with me.
Making me suffer a little longer for what I did to his daughter. Two years and
two months in prison instead of just two years. Big deal. I have my health
and a great job --the government could care less about my DWI conviction.
Talent like mine is going to be put to use by someone and better the US
government than its enemies. And I have a girl friend, one I really love.
Life could not be better.
Oh shit.
I look at the clock. Eleven fifty-seven. I run from the room and dash
upstairs. Please don't let it be too late. My fingers are slippery with
sweat. They fumble with the keyboard. Thirty seconds lost. There is email
from Ralph. On the off hope that he has decided to help, I waste 30 more
seconds reading it.
"Surround a sane man with lunatics and he will decide that he is the one
who is insane."
Great. Tell me something I do not already know. Ninety seconds to go. Still
enough time if I can only do this right. Ninety seconds is all the time in
the world to a computer...
Checking. Time 11:57.10. Average weighted time from all inputs 11:57.09.5.
Deviation within acceptable parameters. No change in normalicy quotient.
Checking. Time 11:57.20. Average weighted time from all inputs 11:56.00.
Deviation unacceptable. Normalicy quotient 0.99999997, still acceptable.
Start algorithm B.
Checking. Time 11:57.30. Average weighted time from all inputs 9:24.779.
Deviation still unacceptable. Normalicy quotient 0.849. Unacceptable. Start
algorithm B2. Contacting master control. No response.
Checking. Time 11:57.40. Deviation from acceptable values increasing.
Contacting master control. No response.
Contacting master control. No response.
Contacting master control. No response.
Contacting master control. No response.
Contacting master control. No response. Deviation from acceptable values
increasing. Contacting alternate master control.No response.
Contacting alternate master control.No response.
Contacting alternate master control.No response.
Contacting alternate master control.No response.
Contacting alternate master control. No response.
Deviation from acceptable values increasing. Unable to contact master
control. Unable to contact alternate master control. Start algorithm C.
Checking time 11:59.00. Weighted time--results beyond acceptable
parameters. Normalicy quotient 0.00000008. Discrepancy between
internal and external sensors 99.999999% Interpretation: internal sensors
unreliable. Evaluating external sensory data only. Results match scenario
A---nationwide emergency with widespread information shutdown. Scenario A1:
0.34% probability, scenario A2: 0.09% probability, scenario A3 : 99.1%
probability. External sensory data consistent with scenario A3. Override
master control.
Start algorithm D...
Bio:I write speculative fiction with elements of fantasy, science fiction
and horror.
E-mail:
taylorjh@nationwide.net
URL: http://www.nationwide.net/~taylorjh/
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New Years Eve, 1999. While other computer programmers scurry to take care
of their last minute years two thousand problems, I am at home with Shelly
and some of our friends sipping champagne and watching the fire works which
are being launched on the far side of the lake . I anticipated the year 2K
glitch when I wrote the software. My AI can run for a million years and
never lose a second. While computers everywhere are losing their poor
little minds, mine will keep its sanity, a shining beacon of reality in a
sea of mass hysteria---
Checking. Time 11:57.00 Average weighted time from all inputs 11:57.00.01.
Deviation within acceptable parameters. All systems operating except for
PD1227397, class Q, GH777930 class F, HD9999929 class G, IM0107192 class B.
Weighted average normalicy quotient 0.999999999. Deviation within
acceptable parameters.
Copyright 1998 by McCamy Taylor
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