Turing Test Read online

  “And when it became apparent that I’d been fooled,” I said, my voice rising, “I failed to act with sufficient force because I didn’t want the natives to think that I was as bad as the rogue. I thought I could reason with it.”

  “That’s a real common theme in movies,” eBeth pointed out. “The good guy finally gets the drop on the bad guy, and some idiot says, ‘If you pull the trigger, you’ll be just like him.’ I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “So did I.”

  “Your mentor said that the natives gave you a commendation.”

  “Shisskers,” I told her. “That’s the closest I can come to pronouncing their name for themselves without damaging your eardrums. They’re furry creatures reminiscent of some of the marsupial species on this world, but they’re hundreds of thousands of years ahead of you in terms of social and scientific progress. They sent to Library requesting our help with a potentially rogue AI and I let them down.”

  “But it all worked out in the end,” eBeth argued. “If somebody else had gone, there still might have been a war, and maybe the Shisskers wouldn’t have survived.”

  “Did my mentor tell you that?”

  “All he said was that you believe you let a war happen, but…”

  “If he or any of the less gullible of our kind had been there, they would have seen through that psychotic AI in an instant and put it out of its misery.”

  “So why didn’t they?” eBeth asked. “Why send you into such a bad situation on your first assignment?”

  “It was my job, my turn in line. Library takes responsibility for all of the artificial intelligence on portal-connected worlds and we police our own. That AI was newly aware, with limited resources, and I was fully trained to cope with much worse.”

  “You followed your heart.”

  “I don’t have a heart,” I told her quietly. “If I did, it would have broken over what that evil machine did because I didn’t act quickly enough.”

  “How long did the war last?” eBeth asked, sounding a little less certain.

  “Minutes. The AI went on a rampage, causing faults in all of the compatible systems it could invade. Imagine an arsonist running through a city starting fires and a policeman dumb enough to keep stopping to stamp out the flames rather than catching the perpetrator. That was me. The Shisskers told me to ignore their economic losses and just bring it to an end, but I was full of myself and I thought I could save everybody. It was all a diversion and the AI was buying time for its real attack.”

  “Let it go,” she said. “It’s in the past and you did your best. The Shisskers don’t blame you, and even your precious Library determined that it was an honest mistake. Your mentor said you’ve been wallowing in guilt for hundreds of years, working at jobs you’re way overqualified to perform, trying to somehow make it up to the galaxy.”

  “Shissker agriculture is based on forest management,” I continued, wanting her to know the whole truth about me. “Their diet is comprised of the equivalent of your fruits and nuts. The system they put in place for drip irrigation was both complex and intimately tied to nature, so it was no surprise that it eventually became self-aware. On realizing that it was neither Shissker nor tree, the AI slowly went insane. When I blundered in and announced that I was starting an investigation, the AI realized the game was up. It feinted against poorly protected data networks while poisoning billions of seedlings with high doses of fertilizer, and—”

  “Seedlings?” eBeth interrupted. “The war didn’t kill billions of Shisskers? Your great tragedy was a crop failure?”

  “Not the whole crop. But if you had seen those little leaves all turning white and dropping off, it’s not a scene I’ll ever forget.”

  “How many trees are there on that planet?”

  “Ten trillion or so, I imagine. The Shisskers didn’t believe in counting them. But due to my failure, they had to delay harvesting lumber for a season and—”

  “They cut down trees for lumber? I thought you said they were tree-hugging nut eaters.”

  “Everything has a balance. They’re always clearing swathes of forest to serve as firebreaks, and they’re one of the biggest lumber exporters in the galaxy. The wood is highly prized by cabinet makers.”

  “You do know the difference between plants and people, don’t you?”

  “Some people are plants,” I told her. “This is exactly why I don’t like talking about the war. Nobody can understand unless they were there.”

  “The Shisskers were there. Do they call it a war?”

  I hesitated. “Actually, they used to refer to it as a glitch, but I doubt anybody remembers now.”

  “I’m beginning to think that you’re the rogue AI who needs adult supervision,” eBeth said. “Sue told me that the Observer job is considered a punishment assignment by most artificial intelligence. I thought you were here for being a war criminal.”

  This time my jaw did drop of its own accord. “You think that the executive council of the League of Sentient Entities Regulating Space would have sent a war criminal as the mission commander to get your world connected to the portal system?”

  “Well, it didn’t make much sense to me either,” eBeth admitted. “What did you do to get this assignment?”

  “I got behind on my Library account.”

  “You mean on payments, like you’re being punished for debt?”

  “I told you that we value information above all things, and there are ways of limiting circulation and restricting access of particularly valuable data to one patron at a time.”

  “You’re talking about overdue library books, aren’t you?”

  “Something like that.”

  “And the rest of your team are library scofflaws as well?”

  “Paul was visiting a planet called—it doesn’t matter. We have rules about certain types of knowledge transfer and Paul has ‘issues’,” I made air quotes around the word, “with giving technology to species before they’ve developed the necessary science to fully understand what they’re getting.”

  “So somebody thought that sending him to a primitive world was a smart idea.”

  “It does seem a little strange now that you mention it.”

  “Is this Kim’s first time dishing out miracle cures?”

  “I think there may be a few primitive species that have started religions based on her visits,” I allowed.

  “I can see Helen or even Justin getting into trouble, and Stacey von Hoffman for sure, but what did Sue do?”

  “She volunteered. Everybody at Library did think it a bit odd.”

  “Let me guess. You knew her back on Library, didn’t you?”

  “When we were newly aware. We often shared the same virtual—what?”

  “You really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

  Sixteen

  My team gathered at The Portal to watch the final news conference from Davos, and I took advantage of their presence to provide the waitstaff with a little training on how to serve one of the wealthier species that breathe a human-compatible atmosphere. The T’poulf typically sit on the floor in a circle and are served from the center in meals that stretch on for hours without all that much actually being eaten. Instead, I had my team sit in a row of chairs so that all five of the recent hires could give it a go at the same time.

  “This is kind of gross,” Sarah said, tipping the spoon a little as Paul slurped off the jelly. “Do people really eat a whole meal this way?”

  “In nursing homes, some people eat every meal like this,” Justin told her, pausing to wipe a bit of sauce from his chin where Ron had missed with the spoon. “If you’re good at T’poulf service, you’ll never lack for work.”

  “It’s how we feed the little ones at daycare as well,” Sue said. “Spoon-feeding is the easiest level of T’poulf. You’ll have to work your way up to spear tips.”

  “You feed children with spear tips?” Janice asked in horror.

  “No, no,” my second in command said, shoo
ting me an apologetic look for spilling the beans about the next level. “I meant, you know, in Australia.”

  “Oh,” the waitstaff all chorused.

  “Besides,” I jumped in, “we don’t have any spears to practice with, but you’ll serve the next course on these kebab sticks, just to get the hang of it.”

  “Those are kebab sticks?” Ron asked.

  “I taped a couple together to get the length right. They’re a little wobbly, but that’s part of the fun.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Brenda said, using a napkin to wipe a bit of relish from Stacey von Hoffman’s blouse. “It would be easier if you stopped moving your head.”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” I told Brenda. “Come on, people,” I addressed my team. “You know that presenting a moving target is part of the gig.”

  “Just make your job placement pitch already,” Paul grumbled. “They’ll all do fine, and if they’ve put up with your teaching to this point, they’ll catch on wherever you send them.”

  Daniela reached out with her left hand and grabbed Justin’s chin, then deposited a spoonful of jelly in his mouth. “I hope that the Hankers hurry up and sell us faster-than-light ships so we can go see the galaxy,” she said. “Maybe we could get jobs at alien resorts or something. It can’t be any weirder than working here.”

  I decided to put a stop to the spoon-feeding before my whole team was decorated with the glop of their choice. “All right, everybody. Spoons down on the cart and take a kebab stick. Go ahead and spear an olive from the dish.”

  “They serve olives on spear tips in Australia?” Ron asked skeptically.

  “Stuffed. T’poulf serving involves three distinct courses, and Spanish olives are the closest I can come to the second course without spending serious money.”

  An olive that Sarah was trying to stab popped out of the bowl and flew right at me. I snagged it out of the air and reached for the tip of her triple-length kebab stick, holding it steady while I impaled the olive on the end.

  “Don’t worry, I just washed my hands,” I told her.

  “Is it okay to choke up on the stick to spear the olive?” Ron asked.

  I gave him the nod, and he moved the fingers of his right hand up to a spot just an inch behind the pointed end and jabbed an olive from close range. The tiny stuffed fruit didn’t stand a chance. The others followed suit, and then returned to their positions in front of my seated team members where they awaited further instructions.

  “Now, I want you all to gauge the distance to your target’s mouth, and then to move backward and extend your serving arm, as if you were fencing,” I told them. “You’ll know you’ve reached the proper distance when at full extension, the olive doesn’t quite reach the tip of the target’s nose. Then I want you to start gently waving the stick, keeping the olive within an area no bigger than a dinner plate.”

  “Are you making all of this up?” Brenda asked suspiciously.

  “GO!” I shouted, and the heads of my team members shot forward like striking cobras, all five successfully capturing an olive. Two of the girls were so surprised that they dropped their kebab sticks.

  “That was too easy,” Paul boasted to the waitress who had served him. “The second course is supposed to be challenging.”

  “News conference is starting in five minutes!” eBeth called from her perch on a bar stool.

  “We’re going to skip ahead to the final course of T’poulf service, but I want you all to work on the second course at home. Just tape a few sticks together and practice sticking the end in a soda bottle. If you can get somebody to slowly toss the bottle back and forth between their hands, it will be more realistic.”

  “You really think we’re going to need this?” Daniela asked.

  “You’re the one who mentioned getting a job at an alien resort,” I told her. “You don’t imagine that they would eat just like humans, do you?”

  “I saw the Hanker emissary sucking down bamboo on TV,” Ron said. “It was like watching my roommate eat carrots, only the Hanker chewed with his mouth closed.”

  “The Hankers are probably the exception to the rule,” I told him. “The third course is actually drink service, a mildly intoxicating beverage for which I’ve substituted water. Everybody take a drink dispenser.”

  “I thought they were hamster bottles,” Sarah exclaimed. “I hadn’t seen one of these since grammar school.”

  “What’s the button on the top for?” Brenda asked.

  “Good eyes,” I complimented her. “The T’poulf drink dispenser works similarly to the shot pourer inserts for bottles that some establishments use to keep the bartenders from being overly generous.”

  “Should I get some shot glasses?” Ron offered.

  “I think I see where this is going,” Daniela said nervously.

  “Very perceptive. So the important thing to know about the third course is that the worst thing you can do is to actually stick the spout into your customer’s mouth before dispensing the drink. The tip of the spout must always remain in view of the other diners in the party.”

  “So we’re squirting it at them, like a water pistol?” Ron asked.

  “No, the button doesn’t pressurize the contents. It just opens the measuring chamber at the bottom to let gravity do its work.”

  “Won’t that be messy?”

  “You have to take advantage of momentum,” I said. “Let me demonstrate. Paul?”

  “Do we have to do this with water?” he asked as he tilted back his head and opened his mouth wide.

  “The trick is to pour from as high as possible so the other revelers can see that their companion is drinking the shot,” I told them.

  “Won’t they choke?” Sarah asked.

  “It’s all a question of what you’re used to,” Sue volunteered as I moved into position.

  A moment later, I thumbed in the button while pulling the dispenser back and then pushing it forward again as the stream began and faded. “Did you see me compensating for the change in flow?” I asked the trainees.

  “I don’t want to bottle feed my customers,” Daniela said, crossing her arms across her body.

  “It just seems funny to you because you’ve never seen anybody drinking this way before,” Sue said. “If you want to travel, you have to be open-minded about the customs of other cultures.”

  “Two minutes to the press conference,” eBeth called out.

  “All right, everybody have napkins?” I addressed my team. “Let’s go.”

  “Oops,” Sarah said a moment later.

  “Sorry,” Ron muttered.

  “I’ll just wipe that up,” Brenda said, putting down the dispenser.

  “What did the three of you do wrong?” I asked.

  “The spout was a bit out of position when I started and I thought the flow would stop when I took my thumb off the button,” Ron admitted.

  “Me too,” the other two chorused.

  “The main trick to T’poulf service is that you have to commit to what you’re doing. In fact, stopping short in general can be dangerous in a restaurant environment. It’s just like driving. You have to take into account that you aren’t the only person on the road.”

  “Get over here, it’s starting,” eBeth said insistently.

  “That’s it for class today,” I told the students. “You’re welcome to stay and have something to eat. You can watch the news with the rest of us.”

  “I get my news from Facebook,” Sarah said, and the other girls nodded their agreement.

  “Twitter,” Ron admitted. “I don’t have the patience for Facebook.”

  I escorted my next crop of labor exports to the door and then headed over to the bar, hoping I would be in time to keep Paul from hitting the top shelf. He was too fast for me and was already pouring everybody shots, the bottle held high above his head in one hand and the receiving glass in the other. It was an easy feat for an AI in an encounter suit that could dodge bullets, but it was the first time eBeth had seen it
done, and she clapped loudly.

  “Do you really have jobs lined up for those kids where they would need to know T’poulf service?” Sue asked.

  “I just like to keep it interesting for everybody,” I confessed. “If the executive council makes up their minds on the portals, I’d just as soon start them all off at the same resort where I placed Jesse. Pretty soon there should be enough humans there to justify putting in a good vegetable garden.”

  “Shhh,” eBeth said, jacking up the volume with the remote.

  The familiar giant panda form of the Hanker emissary took the stage in front of their landing ship. He was accompanied by a trio of three of the world’s richest individuals, including a tech entrepreneur who had invested significant money in a private space program. I hoped the humans had put on sunblock to protect themselves from the wave of camera flashes, but the visual assault was quickly replaced by an audio one, with dozens of reporters shouting questions at the foursome. It seemed appropriate for a press conference on a golf course.

  “If you’ll allow me to say a few words then I’ll turn things over to my human colleagues,” the Hanker boomed. “First, I want you to know that you’ll have plenty of time for questions in coming weeks since we won’t be rushing off until we get paid. Second, after some hard negotiating on the part of your species, we’ve agreed to accept a mere 10,000 tons of gold as payment. That’s metric tons, for those of you who prefer the old English system.”

  “How much gold is there in the world?” somebody called out.

  The Hanker turned to his trio of companions, and one of them answered, “At least 170,000 tons above ground. Nobody will be coming for your wedding rings anytime soon, though I personally think it would be selfish for anybody not to sell us their gold at the market price.”

  “How much is that in dollars?” an American reporter shouted.

  “Not even a half a trillion,” the same billionaire answered. “Really a pittance when you think of it, less than a half a percent of the gross world product for a year. I’m blown away by the technology and I’ve committed to take a one-percent share myself. The Hankers even ran me over to Mars where we moved the Spirit rover back onto hard ground so it can resume its mission. The orbit-to-orbit part of the trip took less than a minute, if any of you care to do the math.”