remembered.” Chuck wrote the
simple equation on the board. “You’ve answered the question so many times that
you simply pulled the data from memory. But if I asked you to calculate the
square root of seventy-six thousand, four hundred and twenty-nine, you wouldn’t
have a similar table of figures to refer to, would you?”
“You don’t know that for sure,” said Cam.
“I’m almost certain of it. When faced with a
more difficult problem, you have to fall back to calculation. However you
decide to come up with the answer—whether a calculator or pencil and paper—is
what we call the implementation . When you ask a synthetic what two plus two
is, for example, it actually does the calculation every time by representing
the numbers in binary and performing a basic add operation on them. But that’s
simple mathematics, a finite system of rules. So I’ll ask you a different
question. How are you feeling today?”
“Fine,” replied Cam. Truthfully, the pasta
fazool wasn’t sitting right with him; he made a note to give Cosimo a piece of
his mind if he saw him again.
“How do you know?” asked Chuck. “How do you
know you’re feeling fine? And what does that even mean, fine ?”
Cam smiled. “I see your point.”
“Do you? Do you really?” There was no
sarcasm in his voice; he seemed genuinely interested in the answer.
“Well, I think I do.”
“Yes, you accept the possibility I have a
point and you are willing to concede its veracity without fully understanding
it. So that’s how I know you’re not a human, er, not a synthetic. Pardon me.”
“So… was Cosimo human or not?”
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” asked
Sava. “You thought he was human.”
“The point I’m trying to make, Mr. Gray, is
that our synthetics are not intelligent—no matter what our marketing department
says. Their cognitive system is based on the idea that humans will accept an
interface so long as the implementation is hidden from them. When you ask a
synthetic what time it is, it may check its wrist before telling you the
answer. Does it really matter that looking for a nonexistent watch or sliver
was just for show, that it actually consulted the USNO master clock and
adjusted for your time zone?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Cam. “I would
expect nothing less.”
“And thus you define your own reality. But
an accurate answer isn’t always the most human answer, is it?” He turned to
Sava. “Honey, what time is it?”
She glanced at the digital clock on the wall.
“Almost two.”
“There you go,” said Chuck. “Not 1:57, but almost
two . A slight change to the interface, a fudging of the answer, and you’ve
got yourself a bona fide human response.”
Cam was suddenly overcome by a suspicion
that Chuck Huber wasn’t entirely human himself.
“Chuck, Mr. Gray here will be conducting
interviews with employees and synthetics today. Perhaps you could speak to him
about that thing you mentioned to me.”
“Ah yes,” said Chuck, capping his dry-erase
marker. “Mr. Gray, I would like to enlist your help as a beta tester. As an
outlander, you bring a unique perspective to our field trials. Perion employees
have become inured to the presence of synthetics. Advancements are no longer
blowing their skirts up like they used to, nor do they appreciate that the
robopocalypse remains unrealized.”
Cam resisted the urge to check his notes.
Hadn’t Sava casually mentioned something about the machines running amok?
“I would like you to put our synthetics
through their paces. Ask them paradoxical questions, challenge them to go
beyond their programming. Create and constantly redefine your own Turing test;
present it to every humanoid you meet. Some may fail instantly, but those who
pass are of great interest to me. In exchange for your time and effort, I will
make myself available to you around the clock to answer any questions you may
have.”
“Would you mind if I asked you a few
questions
simple equation on the board. “You’ve answered the question so many times that
you simply pulled the data from memory. But if I asked you to calculate the
square root of seventy-six thousand, four hundred and twenty-nine, you wouldn’t
have a similar table of figures to refer to, would you?”
“You don’t know that for sure,” said Cam.
“I’m almost certain of it. When faced with a
more difficult problem, you have to fall back to calculation. However you
decide to come up with the answer—whether a calculator or pencil and paper—is
what we call the implementation . When you ask a synthetic what two plus two
is, for example, it actually does the calculation every time by representing
the numbers in binary and performing a basic add operation on them. But that’s
simple mathematics, a finite system of rules. So I’ll ask you a different
question. How are you feeling today?”
“Fine,” replied Cam. Truthfully, the pasta
fazool wasn’t sitting right with him; he made a note to give Cosimo a piece of
his mind if he saw him again.
“How do you know?” asked Chuck. “How do you
know you’re feeling fine? And what does that even mean, fine ?”
Cam smiled. “I see your point.”
“Do you? Do you really?” There was no
sarcasm in his voice; he seemed genuinely interested in the answer.
“Well, I think I do.”
“Yes, you accept the possibility I have a
point and you are willing to concede its veracity without fully understanding
it. So that’s how I know you’re not a human, er, not a synthetic. Pardon me.”
“So… was Cosimo human or not?”
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” asked
Sava. “You thought he was human.”
“The point I’m trying to make, Mr. Gray, is
that our synthetics are not intelligent—no matter what our marketing department
says. Their cognitive system is based on the idea that humans will accept an
interface so long as the implementation is hidden from them. When you ask a
synthetic what time it is, it may check its wrist before telling you the
answer. Does it really matter that looking for a nonexistent watch or sliver
was just for show, that it actually consulted the USNO master clock and
adjusted for your time zone?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Cam. “I would
expect nothing less.”
“And thus you define your own reality. But
an accurate answer isn’t always the most human answer, is it?” He turned to
Sava. “Honey, what time is it?”
She glanced at the digital clock on the wall.
“Almost two.”
“There you go,” said Chuck. “Not 1:57, but almost
two . A slight change to the interface, a fudging of the answer, and you’ve
got yourself a bona fide human response.”
Cam was suddenly overcome by a suspicion
that Chuck Huber wasn’t entirely human himself.
“Chuck, Mr. Gray here will be conducting
interviews with employees and synthetics today. Perhaps you could speak to him
about that thing you mentioned to me.”
“Ah yes,” said Chuck, capping his dry-erase
marker. “Mr. Gray, I would like to enlist your help as a beta tester. As an
outlander, you bring a unique perspective to our field trials. Perion employees
have become inured to the presence of synthetics. Advancements are no longer
blowing their skirts up like they used to, nor do they appreciate that the
robopocalypse remains unrealized.”
Cam resisted the urge to check his notes.
Hadn’t Sava casually mentioned something about the machines running amok?
“I would like you to put our synthetics
through their paces. Ask them paradoxical questions, challenge them to go
beyond their programming. Create and constantly redefine your own Turing test;
present it to every humanoid you meet. Some may fail instantly, but those who
pass are of great interest to me. In exchange for your time and effort, I will
make myself available to you around the clock to answer any questions you may
have.”
“Would you mind if I asked you a few
questions
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