Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Home

"But it’s not intelligence. That’s the crux of the problem, Willie. It’s not really intelligence!"

Professor Charles Mellon sucked hard on his pipe making it sputter and whistle.

"We’ve built pattern recognition systems, tactile feedback systems … we’ve even built systems that learn. But none of it’s really intelligent!"

"True," his plump colleague agreed. "We seem to have engineered all of the support systems. We have the pieces of the body, so to speak But we still don’t have the mind."

"Exactly!" Mellon exclaimed. "What is it that makes us so unique and special among all Earth’s creatures?"

Charles Mellon and Wilfred Schulz were enjoying one of their day’s end think-aloud sessions in Mellon’s office. Outside, the campus lights were winking on. They were both widely known in their respective fields. Mellon was the chairman of the university’s department of computer sciences. And Schulz was a full professor in the school of electrical engineering. Their collaboration on various projects over the years had been a fruitful one. Each held important patents and had authored several books. They had co-authored what was generally considered to be the standard reference on robotics.

In the adjoining office David Osterlund, a junior majoring in electronics, attempted to repair a broken computer terminal. An electronics whiz kid, David was on a full engineering scholarship at Watson University. Wilfred Schulz had early discerned David’s uncanny ability to troubleshoot hardware. He steered minor repair jobs David’s way whenever possible. The money came in handy.

The thing that distinguished David from other engineering undergraduates was the potential he had exhibited in the software domain. In his freshman year David had taken a machine intelligence course in Professor Mellon’s department and had handily beaten all of the computer science majors, including the upper classmen.

Mellon and Schulz were heroes to young Osterlund. He had read several of their books and felt honored now to be privy to one of their conversations. Professor Mellon’s question begged for an answer. What was it that made life forms in general, and humans in particular, so special? There was a volition there … a derring-do … an attack on life that no machine had yet equaled. David’s young mind tuned the conversation in the other office out and circled the question, considering it from different perspectives, thrusting, groping, looking for an opening. He more or less automatically found the problem in the computer terminal and fixed it. As he tinkered, Professor Mellon peered in from the adjoining office.

How’s it coming, Osterlund?" he inquired amiably.

"Fine, sir. I think I’ve got it," David replied, looking up with undisguised admiration. The look did not go unnoticed.

"We’re leaving for the day," Professor Mellon smiled. "Pull the door shut on your way out, okay?"

"Will do," David promised.

Professor Schulz’s round face peeked around Mellon’s tweed jacket. He grinned jovially and winked.

"See you tomorrow in class, Osterlund," he exclaimed.

"I’ll be there, sir."

*

It was dark when David finally stepped into the hallway and pulled the office suite door shut behind him. He tested the door, making sure that it was locked. The square, black letters on the frosted glass panel attested to Professor Mellon’s rank. ‘COMPUTER SCIENCE’ they read. Other professor’s got their names on the door; the chairman got the department’s name.

The hallway, though well lit, seemed darker than during the day and was disconcertingly empty. Tomorrow throngs of students would ply the halls of the computer sciences building. But for now the building seemed to be all but deserted. Three doors down a frosted panel glowed white. Was a professor working late, or had he left the lights on in his office?

With a sigh David turned and padded toward the exit. A bulletin board, posted with upcoming computer science events, glided past in the cold light. With a vague feeling of urgency David hurried past it. He found the exit and pushed through the heavy wooden doors.

The familiar and welcome sight of the evening campus greeted him. Here and there pairs of students strolled along the walkways quietly conversing. In the distance a chorus of male voices exploded in laughter. The door of the building clunked dully shut behind David.

"What is it that makes us so special?" The question coursed through David’s mind again and again as he made his way across campus. Could the answer be codified? Could such special qualities be emulated in a computer? Did a solution lie in software innovations and emerging hardware technologies?

David entered his room, shed his jacket and switched on the desk lamp. Four hours of homework lay between him and sleep. It wasn’t easy but he finally settled into the work assignments. When he slipped into bed after midnight, the refrain started up again in his mind. "What is it … what is it? Can it be programmed?" David had no idea as he drifted into a fitful sleep how the answers would affect his life in profound and wonderful ways.

It was an interesting time to be alive! Technologies of the century’s earliest decades --- artificial intelligence, massive parallel processing arrays, picocircuitry, molecular memories --- all were maturing at a dizzying rate. The stage was set for something big to happen. Many agreed that the ‘something’ would be a breakthrough in machine intelligence…not just the familiar intelligence of robots, but real intelligence. Talk was rife in academia of a new ‘dimension’ in information processing…of a machine endowed with subjective intelligence and self-awareness. Theologians and clergy bristled and railed from the pulpit against the notion that such a new dimension would be ‘soul,’ or at any rate was possible without soul. Philosophers pondered the implications of a machine that would think like a human being but would do it a billion or more times faster! Military men around the world warned of the consequences if America’s adversaries were to develop such a capability first. Scholarly journals occasionally featured learned papers on the subject.

In his senior year David was invited to participate in the university’s doctoral program in computer sciences. The invitation came from none other than Professor Charles Mellon. David had been recommended for the program by Professor Schulz, his advisor in the electronic engineering department.

"Why not in electronics?" David had asked when Professor Schulz first suggested the graduate program in computer sciences.

Professor Schulz studied the young man across his desk. He sensed a small crisis in self-confidence.

"David," Professor Schulz began, "you’re one of the most gifted students I’ve ever had in electronics. But I’m going to tell you something. The hardware technologies in electronics are pretty much all in place. In my opinion, the next big breakthrough will come when the right technologies are combined with new and innovative software algorithms and rule sets. I’m talking about software that hasn’t even been conceptualized yet. If electronics were your only strong suit then I’d steer a fellowship your way in a heartbeat. But you’ve shown such a flair for software development that I think it would be a mistake for you not to see where that creativity might lead you in graduate studies."

Schulz paused. Behind the jolly face a keen mind studied his prize student. When David fidgeted in his chair, Schulz continued.

"You know, it’s a rare ability to be able to wear both hats competently. Lots of people are strong in hardware, while others show great ability in software. Only a few, however, are truly at ease in and can move freely through both disciplines. And I expect that it’s only by being at home in both fields that a young mind like yours will unlock some of the secrets everyone’s talking about."

Again Schulz paused. David felt the color rise in his cheeks. Schulz’s assessment had been correct. Despite his abilities, David was experiencing youthful self-doubts. Was Professor Schulz really giving him good advice, or was he just trying to distance himself?

"Well, I’m flattered to hear you say that, sir," David remarked, trying but failing to hide his confusion. Professor Schulz read the signs correctly.

"Please believe me, David," he said earnestly, laying a friendly hand on David’s forearm. "I’d love to have you go for a doctorate in my department. I’d even sign your thesis. But I honestly believe that the right move for you now is in computer sciences. Great things … historic things are in the air over there."

It was the first time a professor had touched David in such a solicitous manner. David sensed that Schulz didn’t do it often. His doubts began to evaporate.

"Naturally," Professor Schulz continued," I expect that as a graduate student you’ll be taking some advanced courses in electronics. But you should channel your creative juices primarily into systems … specifically into machine intelligence software. That’s where the next big breakthrough is going to occur. Think about it, won’t you?"

David nodded that he would. Professor Schulz leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head.

"The world is poised to give birth to a new baby, David. It will, at the very least, be a true peer of mankind. Hopefully it will prove to be a valuable and trusted friend. Your generation will in all likelihood produce that baby."

"True intelligence," David murmured, remembering the conversation he had overheard the previous term.

"True intelligence," Professor Schulz affirmed, privately approving the distinction that David had drawn from artificial intelligence. "Several preliminary thrusts have been made. We’ve discussed most of them in class: massive parallel processing at MIT and Stanford, advanced learning algorithms at Cal Tech and so on. But so far none of it adds up to true, subjective intelligence. No one has managed to endow a machine with a sense of self."

"The thing that makes us special," David reflected.

Instantly Schulz remembered a conversation he’d had with Charles Mellon months earlier. And he remembered saying goodnight to David, who had been repairing a terminal in the adjoining lab and must have overheard them talking.

"The thing that makes us special," Professor Schulz repeated quietly, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly.

"Well, sir, on your recommendation I think I’m going to go ahead then and apply for graduate studies in computer sciences."

"Splendid!" Professor Schulz exclaimed.

"I hope I get in," David smiled sheepishly.

Professor Schulz chuckled.

"You will," he said reassuringly. Then added with a grin, "Just don’t screw up the next few hour exams." Standing up and signaling the end of their visit, he extended his hand.

"Thanks for the advice, sir," David said.

Professor Schulz nodded.

"I’m glad, David," he said. "All things considered, there’s a good chance that you’ll be there when this new companion for mankind takes form."

David left the office in a state of euphoria. What had he done to deserve such fabulous luck? He vowed to pick up the application papers and fill them out that weekend.

The next day he received a call from the computer sciences secretary. Could he drop by that afternoon, say about 3 O’clock, to meet with Dr. Mellon?

"I’ll be there," David promised eagerly. He expected that the chairman of computer sciences had talked with Professor Schulz and wanted to ask him some questions … look him over, so to speak. Instead, Professor Mellon briefly explained that Dr. Schulz had recommended David for PhD studies in computer sciences, and that the department hoped David would apply.

"I intend to," David gulped, again feeling his face go hot. For the second time in as many days David left a faculty office with a light head.

It had been an incredible week! The future was bursting with possibilities! David recalled Professor Schulz’s imagery. Scientists would give birth to a new baby. Of course! It would be a baby at first! But what were the mechanisms that transformed babies into sentient, rational adults? What common logic do all babies start life out with? And how do they use that logic to sort information into good and bad, truth and fiction, right and wrong? Could such mechanisms be emulated in a computer? If so, where would the resulting, self-created processing of a new generation computer lead?

David considered the potential of such a machine. What might the thing evolve into, and at what prodigious speeds? Mankind had grown accustomed to the fact that computers process information billions of times faster than human minds can. But the processing in a computer had always been programmed by human beings. The results, at least in theory, were always predictable. The next generation machine --- the baby that Dr. Schulz referred to --- would be different! It would create its own programming from an ‘inherited’ core of logic, quite as human beings appear to do. But it would do it so much faster!

David realized that the machine’s inherited logic --- its instincts, so to speak --- were the key. That was the part that mankind, the creator, would endow the machine with. That would be the dynamo that would drive all ‘higher level’ processing. It would color the machine’s learning processes and it would shape the conclusions drawn by the machine.

No one could predict with certainty what those conclusions would be…whether they would be in the best interests of humankind or otherwise. It was a sobering thought.

"Ah, well," David mused, "if in doubt, we can always pull the plug."

But he wondered what it would be like if such a machine truly turned out to be a friend. Would its human creators become attached to it? Would anyone want to pull the plug?

"If push comes to shove," he wondered darkly, "will some technology nut like myself side with the machine against his own kind?"

David thought of the world of men. How long would it be before a super-fast thinking machine sized mankind up objectively?

"And," he thought ironically, "what happens when the child outstrips the parent by a hundred million fold?"

David filled out the application to graduate school. Always a high achiever, he now found himself seized with a new passion! The timing was right. Seniors at the university were required to take only a token course or two during their final undergraduate semester. The intent was to give them adequate free time to work on their senior theses.

David had worked out the framework for a subjective processing function within a few weeks after receiving Dr. Mellon’s invitation. The questions that had plagued him ever since overhearing the conversation between Professors Mellon and Schulz had been only the tip of thought at deeper, subconscious levels. When the results finally erupted into consciousness, they took shape as a set of rules and layered voting mechanisms that would process external inputs, along with the contents of internal memory, and would feed conclusions to not one but many ‘threads of consciousness’. The entire process would be controlled by an ingenious self-interest executive function that promised to give the machine a sense of self…a sense of place…an ability to work out relationships with its environment.

All of the important questions and issues relating to ‘true’ or human-like intelligence were addressed, and plausible design approaches were devised. Mechanisms were even included whereby the machine could replace its original, ‘inherited’ logic with new, more efficient logic if and when such improvements were formulated. State of the art hardware technologies in parallel processing and massive information storage and retrieval were configured in support of the processing functions. In essence the design of a creative and intelligent thinking machine was presented. If everything worked, the machine would evolve into a presence that would eventually conclude with all the authority of its human creators, "I think. Therefore I am!"

David documented his ideas in a study plan for his senior thesis. It had been decided that Dr. Mellon would be his thesis advisor. Charles Mellon began reading David’s proposals at home one evening during Thanksgiving break. His wife, Agnes, grown accustomed over the years to his ways, went quietly to bed at 11 p.m. She knew that sometime before dawn he would steal into the bedroom, trying mightily not to disturb her. He would change into his pajamas and slip furtively into bed with a tired sigh. And she, always awakened by some nurturing instinct, would whisper "Hi" and would rub his back. Sometimes he would talk into the darkness for awhile. She would listen and massage, understanding little. Other times he would say nothing but would only roll over, kiss her and drop off to sleep. This turned out to be one of the quieter evenings. He came in a little after 3 a.m.

"How did it go?" she asked softly after he had slipped between the sheets. He rolled over and pulled her close so that her face lay in the hollow between his shoulder and chest. It was her favorite spot.

It seemed to her that he was reaching out into the darkness for the right words. After a time his chest heaved a sigh.

"I think I have just had a peek at an idea that will revolutionize the world," he said.

She paused in the darkness considering the words. Charles was not given to hyperbole.

"That’s fascinating," she murmured at length. "Is it the work of one of your students?"

"Yes. Happily!" he answered. His legs twitched under the covers, as if they wanted to jog a mile or so. She knew his mind was racing.

"Should we have him over for dinner?" she asked, slipping her hand inside his pajama top and stroking the white hairs on his chest. The aroma of his pipe came to her.

"Yes … yes, that would be nice," he replied. "He’s starting next fall on a PhD and I’ve decided to be his dissertation advisor. We really must plan to have him over soon."

After a time his breathing deepened. Agnes clung to wakefulness for a while longer. She wondered what the young man might be like, this youth who had evidently awed the head of one of academia’s most prestigious departments in computer science. He must be something special. Charles was no fool. Would he be capricious, as youth so often is? Would he disappoint or embarrass Charles in some way? Protective instincts stirred within her. She would assess him with a cordial but cool eye when they met. Perhaps she would fire a warning shot or two across his bow. His technical prowess, which had so clearly won Charles over, would not impress her. He would be given no option other than that of relating to her on human terms. Above all, she would demand his complete respect for her husband.

Professor Mellon spent the next day going over David Osterlund’s material again. In the morning he reread it in his study, jotting down notes and listing questions. In the afternoon he took a long walk, seeking out the quieter streets. Fall was nearly over. Soon Christmas decorations would appear in the windows of houses. He reflected on the many cultural traditions of mankind. Rules, spells, chants…for what purpose? Were they intended to ward off evil spirits? Were they meant to bring good luck? The more he thought about it, the more enormous the gap between man’s knowledge and his superstitious beliefs seemed to grow.

Charles had little doubt that David Osterlund had solved the subjective enigma. An unexpected surprise was the built-in mechanism for self-induced evolution. In effect, Osterlund admitted up front that the constructs of his feeble mind would in all probability be overtaken and revolutionized in unknown ways by the machine he proposed to create.

Self-induced evolution: it was an intriguing concept. Mankind had physically and mentally evolved, hopefully for the better, over thousands of generations of hit or miss tosses of the genetic dice. Death for the old and fresh starts for the young were intrinsic to the evolution of organic life. But with Osterlund’s machine, transitions from generation to generation would be purely…purely what??? Mental? Was it even appropriate to say ‘mental’? Over a period of time the hardware might persist unchanged, but the being…the presence…would grow and even induce mutations in itself! Indeed one could not even preclude the prospect of the thing re-inventing its own hardware!

And then there was the speed and multiple threads of consciousness business. Would the thing be one presence, consciously thinking of many things simultaneously? Did that even make sense? What on earth might such a process be like? Charles realized that he could only think about one thing at a time. What might it be like to consciously think of hundreds…perhaps thousands of things simultaneously? It seemed as if Osterlund’s architecture did more than add a human dimension to machine intelligence. It seemed as if it jumped into a hyper, superhuman dimension in a single bound!

How could individual human beings hope to monitor such a phenomenon? Charles didn’t know the answer or, for that matter, even if there was an answer. Even if the machine stepped through thought sequences at the "conscious" level in a single thread, as humans necessarily must, how could an organic mesh of nerves like the human brain hope to keep up with crystalline picocircuitry? The throughput of such crystal-based circuits could be expected to be a billion times that of their equivalents in living brains. And the machine would never tire. It would never need to sleep!

Charles Mellon tried to come to grips with how big a billion is. He pulled out his calculator.

"One billion seconds, divided by sixty seconds per minute, divided by sixty minutes per hour…" Carefully he entered the numbers. When he had divided by 365 days in a year, he stopped and looked up into the somber autumn sky. A billion seconds translated to over thirty years! Was it possible…was it even remotely conceivable that in one second just one of the thousands of threads of consciousness in such a machine would think as much as a human being could do in over 30 years? WITHOUT SLEEPING??? Given the multiple threads of consciousness in Osterlund’s design, such a machine might be expected to do the entire lifetime thinking of hundreds…perhaps thousands of human beings every second!

"Good grief!" he muttered aloud, continuing down the deserted street while sucking on his pipe nervously. "What are we getting into here?" It occurred to him that this might be how some of the more prescient physicists had felt on the Manhattan project way back when the first atomic bomb was in the works. Vague feelings of dread began to mingle with his admiration for David Osterlund’s genius. What would this young man create if they turned him on? And if not he, then perhaps some other young lion. The technology was there. The questions had been raised and addressed. At least one young scientist had advanced a plausible solution.

"There’s no stopping it," he thought fatalistically. "Any more than the development of nuclear weapons could have been stopped."

So, then. The objective must be to control it! But this was no inanimate pile of bombs and warheads! To lock it up was not to control it! The moment it was plugged in it was essentially out of control. And without plugging it in, it would never reinvent itself.

He pulled his calculator out again. If that thing really started to cook, and if it had unrestricted access to information at 5 O’clock on an afternoon, and if it had the deduced knowledge level of a Neanderthal at that time, then by 8 a.m. the next morning…Mellon stabbed at the keys of his calculator and blinked hard. He did the figures again. Yes, he’d made no mistake. If one assumed that human beings sleep and goof off half the time, then by eight the next morning a single thread of consciousness would have mentally evolved over 3 million years in human terms! And the Neanderthals had been trotting around in Europe less than a hundred thousand years ago!

Professor Mellon felt like he could no longer live with such possibilities alone. Resolutely he turned toward the Schulz residence and quickened his pace. The air was getting chilly. "Snow tonight," he guessed.

Twenty minutes later he was ringing the Schulz’s doorbell.

"Charles!" his friend’s round and ruddy face exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise. Come in, come in!"

The warmth from the open door felt inviting. Doris Schulz was evidently cooking up something good for dinner, and it didn’t smell like turkey leftovers. Professor Schulz stepped aside. But rather than accept his invitation Charles thrust David Osterlund’s proposal toward him.

"Read this!" he muttered gruffly, immediately regretting his bossy tone. Wilfred Schulz looked down at the notes and then at his friend’s apologetic face.

"Yes. Yes, of course," he said in a puzzled voice.

Charles wheeled to leave, but then paused and looked back.

"We’ll talk tomorrow," he promised, his eyes beseeching Schulz’s understanding. Schulz’s quick grin indicated no offense had been taken. He raised the notebook to his forehead in scholarly salute and promised to look it over that evening.

"Tomorrow then, Charles. If you won’t come in, you’d better get home. It feels like snow."

Charles looked up into the dusky sky and nodded. A snowflake landed on his cheek. Without thinking he fished the pipe out of his overcoat pocket and clamped it between his teeth.

Professor Mellon phoned Schulz the next morning from his office. They agreed to meet in Schulz’s office after lunch. Mellon knew, from the tone of Schulz’s voice on the phone, that his friend shared his own sense of wonder. He grinned gleefully.

"What did you think?" he asked casually before hanging up.

"Extraordinary. Most extraordinary," Schulz replied excitedly. They mutually agreed to reserve further discussion until their meeting.

Schulz’s office was the antithesis of Charles Mellon’s suite. Great metal bookcases threatened to capsize under stacks of books and journals. In a corner a large and ancient klystron tube gathered dust. A battered, wooden desk had clearly been with Schulz for a long time. Everything reflected the simple fact that Schulz was no administrator; he had no public image to uphold. His status as role model was little threatened by the clutter, and in some cases it was even enhanced. For compared to the rooms of most of his engineering students his office was a rather neat place.

"All is relative," Mellon thought as he entered. It was one of his favorite places to hide out from a department head’s duties. He always found it to be comfortable, warm and smelling of books. With a smile and "Hi!" he settled into the cozy den, far from the din of clicking keyboards and ringing phones.

"Well, well," Schulz began, fixing his eyes on his friend as Mellon sank with a sigh into the lone armchair. It gleefully occurred to Charles that he couldn’t quite place the look on Schulz’s face. It certainly wasn’t the familiar all’s right with the world look that usually marked the beginning of one of their chats. He crossed his legs and nodded, tamping tobacco into his pipe. Although Schulz didn’t smoke, he didn’t object to the fragrant aroma of Charles’ pipe.

"Many interesting things to consider," Schulz continued, still tiptoeing around the issue. Mellon nodded again, this time with the pipe stem clamped in his teeth. As always, it rattled and gurgled as he drew flame into the bowl. Pleasant smelling smoke swirled through the room and around his head.

"You will, of course, be his dissertation advisor?" Schulz stated more than asked.

"Oh, yes, of course, of course," Mellon affirmed, leaning back and clasping a knee with folded hands.

"I get the impression that Osterlund plans to do a more detailed design for his senior thesis … lay the foundation for his PhD work," Schulz surmised.

"M-m-m, yes, I expect so," Mellon agreed. They laughed at the prospect of David Osterlund deciding to do something different for his doctorate.

"Highly unusual … for an undergraduate to open a door of this magnitude," Schulz continued.

"I can tell you, it’s going to grab a lot of attention," Mellon stated.

"At DOD?" Schulz asked.

"Oh, sure. At Defense … a bunch of places in the federal sector alone."

"Will you tell anybody about it anytime soon?" Schulz pressed. Mellon thought about that for a moment.

"I think I’ll have to," he decided. "It’s going to cost."

"So true," Schulz agreed. David Osterlund’s proposed architecture contained some expensive technology. Yet, the overall concept played so well in Schulz’s head, and he knew in Mellon’s too, that it seemed all but certain the right parties would pony up the necessary funding.

"What an unusual young man," Schulz murmured. His eyes, usually full of mirth, were oddly serious and tinged with concern. "I’ve known him for nearly 4 years. Yet I had no idea he was this creative. All things considered, it’s a little unnerving."

"Yes, it is," Mellon agreed. He sucked on his pipe. "We’re going to have to work the control problem carefully. If we don’t, somebody else will."

"Control of the machine," Schulz seemed to confirm.

"Yes, of course," Mellon continued. "I did a few calculations." He recounted the numbers to Schulz, along with some of the implications.

"Fascinating!" Schulz responded. "Three million years overnight. Good heavens! We’ve grown accustomed to machines that do thousands of man-years of physical labor in a single day. We’ve known since the beginning that we aren’t the strongest beast in the jungle."

"But we’ve always been the smartest," Mellon rejoined, guessing Schulz’s meaning.

"Precisely!" Schulz continued. "That’s always been our edge. And now … suddenly …"

"I think we have to consider the effects that kind of mental horsepower may have on those who interact with it," Mellon suggested.

"Yes, to be sure," Schulz agreed. "It could turn out to be an enormously charismatic personality. We’ll need some predefined protocols … some guidelines to assess what it communicates to us."

"To find out if it’s lying to us?" Mellon clarified, laying things on the line.

"Quite so," Schulz confirmed without hesitation.

"Cripes, Willie!" Mellon exclaimed. "If this thing really works, it’s going to be providing us with new insights faster than we’ll know whether it’s leading us down a garden path or is divulging truths we might never deduce ourselves!"

"How is it going to judge our contentious world?" Schulz wondered. Mellon could only shake his head without answering. The last bastion of anthropomorphism --- man’s mythical belief in his special status in the scheme of things --- was crumbling in his mind’s eye.

"We may be witnessing the beginning of a new age," Charles murmured.

"Oh, to be sure," Schulz agreed. "It will be a first in history…at least in the history of this planet." Mellon looked at his friend affectionately. Schulz’s belief that mankind is not alone in the galaxy was well known.

"When this gets to McClintock, his jaw will hit his chest," Mellon snorted. William McClintock, Schulz knew, was the President’s Science Advisor.

"You’re sharing this with Bill?" Schulz queried.

"I’ve got to, I really must," Mellon confirmed.

A new problem occurred to Charles and Schulz seemed to be able to read his mind.

"With young Osterlund’s consent?" Schulz asked.

"What a dilemma, huh?" Mellon groused. "On the one hand I ought to ask him. On the other, he’s only a kid."

"A very smart kid," Schulz added.

"Very," Mellon agreed. "But nonetheless a kid. I’m chary about even letting him see how excited I am. I’m afraid that if he gets sucked up into politics that he’ll lose his innocence … cultivate a false sense of importance."

"It’s possible," Schulz agreed. "We’re all human. There is a real possibility that his energies could be diverted into nonproductive channels."

Mellon’s pipe sputtered. It was another problem to deal with. And he knew that this was only the beginning of many to come.

"Perhaps … " Schulz continued tentatively, "perhaps if you told him that you thought he was onto something worth pursuing, and that you’d be disseminating his ideas as part of a fishing expedition for needed funds…"

Mellon nodded, his face begging Schulz to continue.

"He’s no dreamer. He knows what kind of acquisitions are going to be necessary."

Again Mellon nodded.

"My hunch is that if you offer to take the point, he’ll give you a free hand to speak for him politically. Let’s face it, in his heart of hearts he wants more than anything to build his system. He’s not going to really even like taking time out for the required graduate courses."

"I almost think he shouldn’t," Mellon said. Schulz’s eyebrows arched in puzzlement.

"I mean, think about it," Mellon continued. "Practically everything we teach today may become obsolete in our lifetimes … heck in a matter of weeks if and when this thing really starts to hum."

"Yes, if it decides to share the insights with us," Schulz reminded.

"Right," Mellon agreed. Back to square one.

There was a comfortable silence while both men lapsed into thought. At length Charles spoke again.

"Maybe we won’t have to deal with the control problem after all."

"I was thinking the same thing," Schulz murmured.

"If I know Bill McClintock, he’s going to insist that the power cable run all the way back to Washington, so to speak."

"Yes, control of such an unpredictable device will not doubt be perceived to be a critical item," Schulz rejoined. "We don’t even know if it will decide that capitalism and free enterprise is the best political system."

"Ah, Willie," Mellon sighed, leaning forward and signaling that he had to go. "We could be witnessing the beginning of the end of the world as we know it."

"I think we are," Schulz agreed. "Perhaps…perhaps ‘computer’ isn’t the right term for such a machine."

"You’re right," Mellon answered, staring away into space. "Maybe we should call this thing a ‘thinker’."

The intercom in Charles Mellon’s office buzzed.

"Bill McClintock on 3," his secretary’s voice tinkled.

Charles grinned. McClintock had gotten the Osterlund material.

"I’ll take it," he responded.

"Hello, Bill!" he boomed, taking pains to mix appropriate amounts of familiarity and provincial respect in his tone of voice. Charles Mellon knew the importance of posturing correctly to feds who held fat purse strings.

"Charlie, you old son of a gun!" the savvy voice of the president’s science advisor came back across the wires. "What in the name of Texas are you guys cooking up out there?"

"I wish I knew, Bill," Charles chuckled. "We’re as much in the dark as you are."

"I think you ought to come to Washington and tell us more about it," McClintock said affably. It was proffered as a suggestion, but it was a command performance and Mellon knew it. "Could you make it back here this Friday?"

Charles looked at his calendar. Four Friday appointments…one with the university president.

"No sweat," he replied. "Did you have a time and place in mind?"

"How does 10 a.m. at the Pentagon sound?"

"That works for me. I’ll catch a red eye flight to Dulles and be there with time to spare."

"That’ll be just great, Charlie. Come into the main entrance. Do you know where that is?"

"Yes, I’ve been there," Charles answered.

"Tell the guard who you are. We’ll send someone out to get you fixed up with a badge and to bring you in."

"We!" Charles thought. His hunch had been right when McClintock suggested the Pentagon. There was definitely interest at the Department of Defense.

"Charlie, one more thing," McClintock continued casually. "Who else knows about this new technology?"

"Willie Schulz and the whiz kid who wrote it up," Charles replied carefully. "To my knowledge they’re the only two."

"Hm-m-m," McClintock thought aloud. "Clearly no problem with Schulz …"

The open line hissed almost inaudibly as McClintock seemed to be lost in thought.

"This is kind of unusual…to have a kid this age…"

"Yes, I understand," Charles acknowledged. "But what can we do? He’s the hot shot who put it all together."

"Yes, I understand," McClintock agreed. "A veritable prodigy. Well, we’d kind of like to keep the whole thing under wraps for now. Can you arrange that out there?"

"Yes, I think so," Charles suggested. "I’ve already hinted that he should let me do the public relations on the project. Would you like him and Schulz to be there this Friday?"

"No, that won’t be necessary," McClintock answered. "I think just your presence for openers. I’m sure I’ll get to meet the whiz kid in due course."

"Okay, then. I’ll see you Friday. What else can I do for you?" Charles asked politely.

"That covers it, good buddy," McClintock answered amiably. "Thanks for thinking of us and sending the material. It was a fascinating read."

They rang off and Charles immediately pushed the intercom button.

"Make an appointment for David Osterlund to see me ASAP," he told Annie. "And let me know when he’ll be here. Oh, and get my wife on the phone."

Professor Mellon decided to kill two birds with one stone when Osterlund came in. He would find out whether David had discussed his project with anyone other than himself and Schulz. He’d emphasize the importance of discreetness for the present. And he’d invite him to dinner Thursday night. Charles not only wanted to get to know David better prior to his trip to Washington, but he wanted Agnes to have a look at him too.

Charles informed Agnes that they might be having a guest Thursday night. He’d tell her for sure after his meeting with David Osterlund. Agnes’ mind immediately went into dinner party planning mode. David informed Annie that he’d be able to meet with Dr. Mellon at 10 a.m. He was there with 5 minutes to spare. The appointment was largely uneventful. No, David had not discussed the "Thinker" machine with anyone else, nor did he plan to do so in the near term. And yes, he’d be delighted to join the Mellon’s for dinner Thursday evening.

"Great," Dr. Mellon smiled, rising and proffering his hand. "Do you know where my house is?"

"I do, Sir," David answered.

"Okay, let’s say 6 p.m. then," Charles grinned. After David had left, Charles called Agnes and confirmed their dinner guest, leaving the menu up to her.

Agnes Mellon arose early Thursday morning. She always placed great importance on these dinners that Charles occasionally threw for students he had taken under his wing. After getting Charles off to work, she cleaned the house from top to bottom, showered and decided to go grocery shopping before lunch. They’d have roast leg of lamb with mint jelly, small browned potatoes, peas, mashed squash, hot dinner rolls, coffee and strawberry sundaes. She picked up a croissant at the store bakery and had it for lunch back at the house.

The table was set by 3 on Thursday afternoon. The lamb went into the oven promptly at 3:15. By the time Charles returned at 5:15 the house smelled delicious and Agnes had changed into a pretty green dress and lacy party apron.

"Hi, cupcake," Mellon smiled, kissing her on the mouth. "It smells good in here."

"How was your day," she asked, clearly pleased.

"The usual," he replied. "What’s cooking? Smells like lamb."

"Right you are," she smiled.

"Hot dog!" he exclaimed. Lamb with mint jelly was one of his favorites, and it had always been a hit with student guests.

"Would you like to relax with a drink?" she asked.

"It sounds tempting," Charles replied, hanging his coat and scarf in the coat closet. "But I think not tonight." He remembered the idealism of his own youth and wanted no smell of liquor on his breath when Osterlund arrived.

"I think I’ll get a fire going, however," he said. "Are we having any snacks?"

"Yes, chips and dip," Agnes answered. "Does that sound all right?"

"Perfect," he approved.

Charles went out to the back yard and filled the wood carrier with some split cordwood and kindling. By 5:45 a fire was warming the living room. At the stroke of six the front doorbell rang. Charles opened the door and grinned at David Osterlund, standing in the light of the porch lamp clutching a bouquet of flowers.

"David! Good to see you!" he boomed, as if the visit was totally unexpected. "Come in, come in!"

David blushed and appeared to be slightly tongue-tied. Agnes came into the hallway as Charles shut the door.

"Agnes!" he exclaimed, as if also surprised to see her. "I’d like you to meet David Osterlund. David, this is Mrs. Mellon."

"I’m very pleased to meet you," David stammered, thrusting the flowers toward Agnes with his left hand and extending his right in greeting. Mrs. Mellon shook his hand warmly while accepting the flowers in obvious delight.

"Oh, really, David, you shouldn’t have. But I’m so glad you did. These are just lovely. I’ll get them right into some water," she exclaimed.

"Here, let me take your coat," Professor Mellon volunteered.

"Now you two just go into the living room and relax," Agnes ordered. "I’ll bring in some snacks. David, can I bring you something to drink? We have coke and ginger ale, and I can make up some iced tea if you prefer."

"Ginger ale would be fine, thank you," David replied with a little bow.

The Mellon’s’ living room was very neat and rather interesting. A bookcase occupied one entire wall. David browsed past it, scanning the volumes. They were grouped categorically: fiction, fix-it books, history, a set of encyclopedias, and of course many volumes in computer science. Sprinkled among the last were several titles authored by Charles Mellon.

"Come and sit by the fire, David," Professor Mellon invited. David sank into an overstuffed couch, momentarily fearing it was going to go over backward. Mrs. Mellon bustled in with two ginger ales and set them in front of the men. She reappeared moments later carrying a tray of chips and a bowl of onion dip.

"Well, are you looking forward to your senior thesis?" Professor Mellon began.

"Yes, Sir!" David smiled emphatically.

"Dig in, dig in," Professor Mellon suggested, scooping up a gob of dip onto a chip and popping it into his mouth. David mentioned some of the volumes in the bookcase, and they passed the time pleasantly discussing them. After twenty minutes or so Mrs. Mellon called them in to dinner.

All of Agnes Mellon’s concerns regarding David vanished soon after they took their seats at the dinner table. Initially she dominated the conversation, asking David where he was from, what his family was like, what his father did and so on. Charles Mellon knew that she was sizing David up. They had played this scene out many times over the years and had it more or less down pat. The truth was that Charles sought out his wife’s opinion. Because she was a woman, or because she was not technically involved and distracted, she often noticed little things that escaped Charles’ eye. It appeared in the present case that their guest was getting high marks. The flowers were an inspired touch. Charles couldn’t remember a student having done that before. And then there was the mixture of candor and respect and, as the dinner progressed, the warmth that emanated from David.

Later, while Agnes was clearing away the dishes and fixing coffee, Charles broached the subject of coming events.

"David," he said, "Professor Schulz and I have both reviewed your senior thesis proposal, and we’re very much impressed."

"Thank you," David replied, glancing shyly into Professor Mellon’s eyes.

"As you know, subjective machine intelligence is a hot button in the computer world these days."

David nodded, fiddling with his fork.

"There are signs that inroads are already being made at other universities, both here and abroad."

"Really!" David exclaimed with interest.

"Yes. And I thought your white paper warranted a look by some people I know in Washington. I took the liberty of sending them a copy. Was that all right?"

"Yes, of course," David answered, flushing slightly. Charles sensed that he had aroused David’s proprietary instincts. It was crucial that they develop a relationship of trust. "Careful. Careful," he thought to himself.

"Whom did you send it to?" David asked, catching Charles momentarily off guard.

"William McClintock," he answered quietly. "Do you know who he is?"

"I don’t think I do. Is he a federal person?" David asked. Charles heaved a secret sigh of relief.

"Yes, he is," Charles smiled. "He’s the President’s Science Advisor."

David’s hand stopped playing with the fork.

"Really," he murmured.

"I sent it to Dr. McClintock because, frankly, I know that there’s a great deal of interest in all quarters of the federal government regarding subjective machine intelligence. And," he added, "it appears that your project is going to require some expensive hardware…hardware that can be funded by government money."

David nodded wordlessly. His face bade Professor Mellon to continue.

"As I’m sure you realize, the massive picocircuit crystal you’re proposing is of a magnitude never synthesized. Assuming making one this size is even possible, it’s going to be a pricey proposition."

"Yes, I knew that," David confirmed. "Frankly, however, it’s all been very hypothetical for me up until now."

"I understand," Professor Mellon said. "But if your theory is actually going to be put to the test, then some high dollar acquisitions are going to be called for."

David looked at him, apparently at a loss for words.

"I’m flying to Washington tomorrow. Among other things, I’d like to put some feelers out for funding your project."

David gulped. He could scarcely believe the establishment was this interested in his pipe dream.

"That sounds very exciting," he said, tacitly giving Professor Mellon a green light to use his good offices.

"I’ll keep you posted on how things are going," Charles smiled. "Incidentally, the kind of federal funding we’re talking about sometimes has a string or two attached …"

"Such as?" David pressed.

"Well," Mellon said, acting as though he didn’t want to get into such matters too much, "a lot of the research going on in universities is sponsored by DOD --- Department of Defense money. The string in that case is that they’ll sometimes insist the work be classified. That’s why I asked you the other day not to discuss your proposal until we find out more about where the funding will come from."

Charles waited for a reaction. He was relieved when David grinned and shrugged.

"Would you have any objections to working on DOD money?" he pressed.

"No, none at all," David answered.

"Even if a little secrecy is called for?"

"No. Personally I’m not anxious to go public with any of this anyway. At least not until we get some real results in the lab."

"You might be required to undergo a background security investigation. Any problem there?" Professor Mellon grinned quizzically.

David searched his memory. "I don’t think so," he answered with a nervous little laugh. "I hope not."

"Okay!" Charles rejoined. "You know, David, I want us to be completely honest in these matters. If you ever have second thoughts about, for example, the military using the system for its own purposes, then I want you to tell me, OK?"

David nodded wordlessly.

Charles still wasn’t convinced, perhaps because he remembered how he had felt about such things when he was younger and using DOD money for some of his own work.

"Does it concern you that the military might exploit such a system for, oh-h-h, say national interest purposes?"

David looked candidly into Charles’ eyes.

"It actually concerns me," he said evenly, "that such a system might exploit the military."

"Yipes," Charles thought wordlessly. The idea creased coldly through his mind. That particular possibility had not occurred to him or Schulz. And of course if the thing came together and really worked, then it was a possibility they would all have to reckon with.

The remainder of the evening passed pleasantly. Agnes appeared with coffee and ice cream sundaes. She and David chatted some more and then it was time for him to go. As they said goodnight at the front door, Charles sensed that she would have liked to give David a hug.

Later, while helping with the dishes, Charles probed for her thoughts.

"Well, what did you think?" he asked.

"Oh, he’s such a nice young man," she gushed, her hands busy beneath the soapsuds. "So well mannered."

"Nothing here," he smiled. Or was there? He always listened to her when the news was bad. Perhaps he should give equal weight when the news was good.

Charles was airborne before 4 a.m. Friday morning. He carried only a briefcase. Agnes would have packed a change of underwear and fresh socks in the briefcase’s lower compartment, just in case the trip turned into an overnighter.

By 9:15 he was steering a midsize sedan out of the rental car area at Dulles International Airport. The drive to the Pentagon was a familiar one. He found a visitor parking space and entered the main entrance ten minutes before ten.

Minutes after identifying himself to the gate guard he was approached by a pretty young woman. "Professor Mellon?" she smiled.

"Yes!" he replied, extending his hand.

"My name is Janice," she replied, warmly grasping his hand. "Shall we get you checked in?"

They went through the usual drill of getting Charles issued a visitor badge, and soon he was walking beside her down one of the Pentagon’s long hallways.

"Nice legs," he thought. They took an elevator up, and he was aware of her perfume but couldn’t place the fragrance. She acted as though she was excited to be in the presence of someone of his stature. Charles was flattered. In fact, it seemed to be the rule whenever he was escorted to a meeting attended by high level officials. He had never figured out whether the excitement was actually based on a familiarity with his work or whether it was nervousness over the high stakes game he was about to sit down at.

"Are you staying in town tonight?" she asked. It was an innocent enough question. Yet Charles couldn’t help wondering if it was a veiled invitation.

"No, no, I’m heading back home on a dinner flight," he boomed in his most fatherly tone.

"Oh," she said, sounding a little bit saddened by the prospect. Charles smiled privately as reality began to retake control of his mind. "Focus, focus," he repeated to himself, now fully turning his attention to the meeting at hand.

Minutes later they entered an office suite.

"This is Professor Mellon," Janice announced.

The slender, well-dressed and middle aged woman at the desk dismissed Janice with a withering ‘Thank You’. Janice didn’t seem to mind.

"Have a pleasant day, Professor," she smiled prettily. "It was very nice meeting you."

"Yes, Yes, the same here, Janice," Charles said again in his most fatherly tone of voice. The older woman seemed unimpressed. She pressed the intercom button.

"Professor Mellon is here," she intoned.

"Great!" William McClintock’s voice boomed back. Moments later the door of Executive Conference Room A opened and Bill emerged with outstretched hand.

"Good to see you, Charlie!" he smiled. "Come in and let me introduce you around."

The conference room was standard federal executive issue: a long, polished wooden table, paintings on the walls and lots of padded swivel chairs. Clustered down at the far end of the table were some heavy brass, a few lesser personages and a video technician. Charles recognized the two 4-star generals from DOD trade journal photos.

"Gentlemen, this is Dr. Charles Mellon," Bill began. All but the older general had looked around when they entered the room. He now turned his head like a tank turret, as if this was an unwanted interruption.

"Charles, General Gabe Pruitt."

General Pruitt grinned, half rose out of his chair and extended a meaty hand. Charles knew quite a bit about Gabriel Pruitt, although this was the first time they had met. A distinguished veteran, General Pruitt had risen through the ranks from enlisted status, ascending above the Air Force itself in a way to command the Joint Services Information Management and Communications Agency. In theory, all of the military computing systems, communication links, satellites, and research and development programs falling under the computer sciences and communications umbrellas were under his direction.

"A lot of power," Charles thought, extending his hand. Some of the networks that had been emplaced in the name of national defense were truly staggering in their scope and complexity. At least his own mind found that to be the case. He wondered if the next generation of computers --- the subjective processors --- would also find that to be so. He doubted it.

"How are yuh?" Pruitt’s gravelly voice greeted. Charles smiled and shook the hand. It was difficult to imagine a squarer, tougher face. There was no sign of lips whatsoever --- only a crease through which stubby, square teeth glinted. Charles thought that such a face would do little more than blink if one were to hit it squarely with a ball bat.

"General Laskey," Bill McClintock continued. General Laskey, though also a 4 star general, was subordinate to Pruitt in the military hierarchy. Laskey was commander of the Space Defense Systems Command, an outgrowth of the Strategic Defense Initiative program of the 90’s. Space Defense Systems was a worldwide complex of command and control nodes, communication and sensor satellites, and various killer satellites designed to neutralize enemy objects in space.

General Laskey was a study in contrasts to General Pruitt. Lean and sensitive, he had a well-deserved reputation for being highly intelligent. Charles had never met him in person, and was momentarily startled by his incredibly blue eyes.

"Professor Mellon, so nice to meet you. I’m something of a fan of yours," the general smiled, standing upright and reaching a slender hand across the table.

"Colonel Sonderberg," McClintock continued. "Adjutant, Machine Intelligence, to General Pruitt."

Colonel Sonderberg rose, smiling a little too ingratiatingly. He was about the same age as the two generals. Charles guessed that he would climb no higher. He shook the clammy hand and suffered the slightly hostile, dissembling smile. Sonderberg wore the smug look of someone who knew a secret.

"And last but not least," McClintock drawled, squinting to read the nameplate on a chunky captain’s tunic, "Captain…Weems, staff to Colonel Sonderberg, is that right?"

Colonel Sonderberg nodded while Charles shook Weems’ hand. Weems beamed and seemed to wiggle like a puppy. Charles guessed that he knew the technical points but little of the politics that were sure to charge the air in the conference room once things got underway.

"Well, shall we get to it?" McClintock said, pulling a chair out for Charles. McClintock nodded to the video technician and Charles noted the camera’s recording light illuminate.

Without looking into the camera, McClintock intoned, "This meeting is convened on December twelfth, 2036, in the Pentagon, Area 4612, Conference Room … " McClintock glanced down at his notes, "Conference Room A. The purpose of this meeting is to discuss new developments in the field of subjective machine intelligence. The meeting is chaired by myself, Dr. William McCLintock, Science Advisor to President Brodsky. Attendees are General Gabriel Pruitt, commander of the United States Joint Services Information Management and Communications Agency…"

McClintock paused and glanced at General Pruitt, who raised his index finger in a circling motion.

"General Kenneth Laskey…"

When he had finished with the roll call, William McClintock turned to Charles.

"Dr. Mellon, would you please give us some background on the materials that you supplied to us?"

"Certainly, Bill, I’d be glad to," Charles replied. He described the university’s senior thesis program, and gave an account of David Osterlund. He indicated the last known results of testing Osterlund’s IQ, and recounted the potential that David had shown on numerous occasions as an undergraduate finding innovative software solutions to difficult problems. Finally, Charles briefly reviewed the chronology of events and the technical developments that had set the present stage for a breakthrough in subjective machine intelligence.

"Dr. Mellon, you are acknowledged the world over to be an authority in the field of computer science. Could you give us a brief account of subjective machine intelligence and what distinguishes it from current technology?"

"I can take a stab at it, Bill. I would say that present computer technologies, even parallel processing, bear the stamp of the human conscious mind. One of the hallmarks of present day computers is the fact that they execute programs created by human beings. Such programs are characterized by preconceived sequences of instructions. In the older Von Neumann architectures a single thread of such instructions executed during a given time interval. Von Neumann architectures were largely supplanted in the 90’s by parallel architectures, in which multiple threads or sequences of instructions execute simultaneously. Even in the case of parallel processors, however, preconceived sequences of instructions are the rule.

"Human mental processes, as we presently understand them, appear to be an interesting hybrid of parallel and Von Neumann architectures. The large area of control and precognitive association referred to as the unconscious mind is believed to be highly parallel in nature. On the other hand, conscious thought is generally Von Neumann-like; it is a single thread or train of thought and ideas. What differentiates human conscious and perhaps unconscious thought from machine processing, however, appears to be the brain’s unique ability to dynamically program itself rather than follow a sequence of preprogrammed instructions.

"Although a newborn no doubt is endowed with a core set of programs and a rudimentary knowledge base, survival literally depends upon the infant’s ability to learn --- for its brain to program itself based upon decision-making mechanisms regarding the goodness or badness of observations and trial activities."

"Are you saying," McClintock interjected, "that the infant perceives that crying produces desirable results, for example, and therefore that such behavior is included in the infant’s behavior repertoire as something of value?"

"Precisely," Mellon continued. "And in many cases certain behaviors that produce desirable results in one stage of life are unlearned, or are reclassified as unuseful behaviors in later stages of life."

Charles continued on for quite some time, indicating step by step how the mechanisms proposed by David Osterlund addressed the fundamental attributes of human mental processing. He watched the faces of Generals Pruitt and Laskey as he spoke. Neither’s interest flagged for an instant. They were clearly fascinated.

When Charles had finished, Bill McClintock resumed control.

"Thank you, Dr. Mellon, for that most illuminating and interesting overview of subjective machine intelligence. I would like to move on now to the order of business for today’s meeting. I might mention, by the way, that I had the materials that you provided reviewed by Dr. Matthew Sparks at NASA and by Dr. Leon Simon at the National Security Agency. Both concur with my own assessment that Mr. Osterlund’s approach to the transition into subjective intelligence appears to be feasible and warrants further investigation.

"It seems clear to me, and to my colleagues at NASA and NSA, that this new form of machine intelligence, if it works, presents our nation and indeed all of mankind with some new and profoundly challenging problems. While it is premature to say whether such a machine could completely emulate a human psyche, or for that matter whether that would be desirable, it is altogether possible that such a device will emulate those modes of human thought that are so valued in our technical age.

"I refer, of course, to mathematical reasoning and its application to the sciences, and to the ability to take empirical information and deduce the underlying common threads --- the laws, as we say --- that govern all natural phenomena. Two elements in Mr. Osterlund’s design qualify the emulation of human thought by such a machine. The first is the fact that such a processing station can be expected to self-configure itself to entertain multiple streams of consciousness simultaneously. We have no experience of what that would be like. It is, in effect, a dimension beyond the mental space in which we, as individuals, are constrained to consciously reason. The second element has to do with the speed at which such a device would reason. Using presently available crystalline picocircuitry technology, it is estimated that such a processor would transit the conscious thought processes one billion times faster than the human brain does.

"Clearly there are potential perils involved in building such a device. Up until now our species has been unchallenged in the arena of rational, abstract thought. Suddenly this may no longer be true. And I say suddenly with a purpose: rudimentary calculations indicate that one such device, in a matter of hours, may deduce results and relationships that would take a human being, not sleeping but reasoning constantly, several millions of years to equal!"

As William McClintock spoke, Charles Mellon felt as though someone had been reading his mail. So much of what McClintock said paralleled the discussions between himself and Wilfred Schulz. The truth, of course, was that men regularly arrive at similar or identical conclusions when a given set of conditions are in the air. In a way the whole thing was rather comforting, especially when the conclusions were as blue sky in nature as the ones that Osterlund’s design seemed to drive men toward.

"I would like now to solicit comments from the other members of this group," McClintock concluded. "General Pruitt, would you like to start things off?"

"Frankly, no," General Pruitt said gruffly. Subdued laughter rippled around the table. "I think of myself as someone who doesn’t scare easily," he continued. "But frankly, I’m a little spooked by the prospect of this device. I’ve never considered myself to be overly smart, but I’ve always trusted my instincts. Yet here, now, I find myself suffering from a crisis in self-confidence. In a nutshell, if this thing is going to be as fast on its feet, figuratively speaking, as we’ve heard here, then I don’t know if I’d be able to judge the trustworthiness of what it was telling me. And if I can’t, then who can?"

General Pruitt looked at General Laskey for help.

"Yes, clearly that is a critical problem," Laskey said. "It is one that needs to be worked by some of the best minds in the country, not only in technology, but in psychology and even the humanities. We stand on the threshold of building something which is superior to ourselves to an almost inconceivable degree. How do we remain its masters?"

"And it’s superior in an area where we’re accustomed to having the upper hand," Charles pointed out.

"Yes, that is indeed the point," Laskey quickly acknowledged. "We have built machines that can move mountains, fly faster than any bird, dive deeper than any fish, but we have always been in control. Although such devices magnify our mechanical abilities, they are always controlled by our minds. Clearly the situation is different here."

"My experts tell me that we’re not going to be the masters of this thing for very long, if it works," General Pruitt said. "If anything, the big challenge is going to be to avoid becoming its lackeys!"

Everyone nodded in mute agreement. It was true.

"You know, the solutions to some of these problems could be a long way off," Pruitt continued. "In the mean time, we have to get this thing off the ground. We do have adversaries who are chasing the same problem. Who knows, they may be developing the same solution. What we’ve gotta do is get the development program in place but build the appropriate safeguards in."

"Perhaps a closed circuit video monitoring system with remote shutdown capabilities!" Colonel Sonderberg said excitedly. General Pruitt looked his way and nodded. Sonderberg looked as if he had successfully discharged a pre-planned mission.

"Yes, we need to look at that," Pruitt continued. "How about it, Professor, would that be acceptable to your people?"

Charles knew he was being corralled. What was worse, his instincts told him there was more to come.

"I can’t see anything wrong with that," he replied agreeably.

"What kind of input devices do you anticipate for this thing, Charlie?" McClintock asked. "Osterlund’s design really doesn’t get into that. Is this thing going to be able to see … to hear?"

"Well, I would think yes," Charles surmised. "The required technologies --- pattern recognition, speech recognition --- are quite mature. It would seem counterproductive to keep the device blind."

"Cruel!" Captain Weems cried out. Everyone looked around at him, and he shrank into his chair. He would not speak again. General Pruitt continued, as if the word had never been uttered.

"Okay. We have some interesting philosophical problems, no doubt about it. But my business is national security. We got the monitoring system in place. Now what about classification? I’m gonna make a ruling. The subjective executive thing has gotta be Top Secret. My experts tell me that that’s the guts of the device, and the real breakthrough. All of the rest is more or less off the shelf stuff, right?" He looked at Charles for confirmation.

"Yes, pretty much, I would say," Charles responded. "I anticipate some interesting…oh…fabrication techniques that haven’t to my knowledge, been put to the test before."

"Such as?" McClintock pressed.

"Well," Charles responded, "in the interfacing of the unprogrammed picocircuitry to the preprogrammed executive logic, for example. Methods of growing crystalline picocircuitry are well known. Until now, however, these crystals have always been waferized for use in programming or as memory chips. Waferizing appears to be essential to successfully addressing cells in the crystalline lattice. In Osterlund’s architecture, however, the crystals will be grown in massive, three-dimensional arrays, and the system will work out its own circuit connections dynamically. Addressing as we think of it probably won’t even be relevant in a subjective, self-programming architecture."

General Pruitt looked at McClintock.

"Do we need to classify that?" he demanded.

"Yes," McClintock replied tentatively. "For the time being, I think we should."

"I say let’s stamp the whole thing Top Secret for now," Pruitt said. "We can worry about declassifying bits and pieces later. Now let’s talk money."

Again General Pruitt looked at Charles.

"How much do you need to get this thing off the ground?"

"I haven’t worked up any exact figures," Charles apologized. "But I would say that between now and June we’ll be setting up the development lab, acquiring the materials for crystal growth, getting the executive software development tools in place …"

"We’ll give you an account to draw from," Pruitt interrupted bluntly. "Whadda yuh need for openers? Two … three … five …?"

"Million?" Charles asked carefully, looking up through his eyebrows at the general.

"Of course million," Pruitt snapped impatiently. His look seemed to say, ‘I’m a 4-barrel general. Do you think I sweat nickels and dimes?’

"Well," Charles said, "I would think … two and a half … and then see where we stand in June."

"Do it," Pruitt snapped at Colonel Sonderberg.

"There’s one thing," General Pruitt added, turning his eyes innocently back on Charles. "We’ll want to take over your lab for a few days, to install our closed circuit monitoring stuff and so forth."

There it was. There was no valid reason for the request if the installation of closed circuit video equipment was all they planned to do. Clearly there was more. But what? Concealed monitors? Sonderberg had mentioned remote shutdown. Was that it? Charles couldn’t imagine what else. He recognized the futility of asking why they needed privacy to install video cameras. And General Pruitt didn’t wait for permission to be granted. For two and a half million bucks of front money, he didn’t have to.

"Incidentally," the general continued, "what are you calling this project? We need a code name."

"We thought, perhaps, ‘Project Thinker’," Charles improvised. Bill McCLintock nodded approvingly.

"Thinker …" General Pruitt repeated the name. "So this thing is going to be called ‘the Thinker’? Okay, sounds good."

"You got anything else?" Pruitt asked General Laskey.

"Not at the moment," General Laskey responded. He turned to Charles.

"We’re tremendously excited by this development, Professor Mellon. I hope I’ll be free to call you personally from time to time."

"Nothing would please me more," replied Charles. "We’re all very enthusiastic, and a little bit scared by the possibilities."

Charles was stunned that the meeting was drawing to a close so soon. Clearly the whole thing had been set up to achieve a few, pre-decided objectives. Having done that, his hosts apparently saw no reason to prolong things.

General Pruitt turned to William McClintock and opened his hands in a gesture of ‘That’s it, then, right?’

Bill took the cue.

"Very well, then, gentlemen, if there are no further comments or questions I’ll conclude the meeting."

McClintock looked around the table. When no one responded he turned halfway toward the camera.

"This concludes the present meeting," he said. The light on the video camera winked off. The technician exited as the attendees stood up and stretched their legs.

"This is a big one, Charlie," Bill McClintock said, laying a hand on Charles’ shoulder.

"Got to run," General Pruitt interrupted, giving Charles’ hand a quick pump. "Colonel Sonderberg will be your day-to-day contact. But always feel free to call me. You plan to have Captain Weems on site, that right?" he asked, turning to Sonderberg.

"Yes, sir," Sonderberg said. General Pruitt wheeled and started out of the room. Colonel Sonderberg gave Charles a quick handshake and hurried after him. Captain Weems waved at Charles, hot on Sonderberg’s heels.

"That was short and sweet," Bill McClintock half-apologized. "What time is your flight out?"

"Well, there’s one at 3 p.m.," Charles replied.

"Time for lunch," Bill said. "Uncle Sam’s buying. Sound good?"

"Best offer I’ve had today," Charles smiled.

"How about it, Ken?" McClintock asked, turning toward General Laskey.

"Hate to pass up a freebie, but I’m out of here in 30 minutes for Colorado Springs," the general replied. He turned his sparkling blue eyes toward Professor Mellon. Charles sensed that this man truly liked and admired him.

"I’ll be in touch," General Laskey said, smiling warmly and shaking Charles’ hand. And then he too was gone.

Back in his suite, before withdrawing to his private office, General Pruitt turned to Colonel Sonderberg.

"Get some of our best demolition and facilities people working the problem right away. I want the whole thing to go like clockwork. At most we might get two days alone in there."

"The whole building?" Sonderberg asked.

"Hell, yes! The whole building … sky-high … a remote detonation button here in the Pentagon, location to be determined. And maybe a second one somewhere in the White House."

"And if there’s one tiny trace…if those ivory tower boys find out about it, ever, I’ll personally ream every bastard that works on the project. You got that?"

"Yes, Sir!" Colonel Sonderberg said loudly, smiling.

"Including you," Pruitt added quietly, squinting at Sonderberg.

"Yes, sir," Sonderberg murmured, lowering his eyes.

Bill McCLintock took Charles for an expensive lunch in Bethesda and returned him to his car by 2 p.m. Charles barely made the 3 O’clock flight back home.

Once onboard, he ordered 2 martinis from a flight attendant. The flight was less than half full. Charles had a window seat and lined the plastic glasses and the two miniature gin bottles up on the tray of the adjoining vacant seat. He twisted the cap off one of the little bottles, dumped the contents over the ice in one of the glasses, swirled the glass a little and took a long sip.

"Lord, that’s good!" he thought as the warmth spread through his abdomen. Suddenly he felt like laughing uncontrollably. He stifled the urge, tears stinging his eyes.

Below the patches of forest and the farms of the East slipped by. It seemed like it had been a long day. It had been a long day! He’d been up before 3 a.m.!

"What are we getting ourselves into?" he wondered once again. James Elmendorf, the university president, would probably ask him out to lunch tomorrow. He doubted that Jim would wait until Monday to find out what was up.

Charles wondered again how many lives would be affected by ‘the Thinker’. He looked down at the country below. It stretched from sea to shining sea and from Canada to Guatemala. He took another swig and settled deeper into his seat.

"You’ll all be affected," he said silently to the countless people below. "Face it, everybody on Earth will be affected. If this thing works … and if this one doesn’t, then the next one will … if this thing works when he or Jim Elmendorf … no … when David Osterlund hits the GO button, then it will indeed be the beginning of a new age.

By the time David had graduated from the school of engineering, Professor Mellon had assembled a team for Project Thinker. The core team would be a small one: Professor Mellon from computer sciences, Professor Schulz from engineering, Professor Weinstein from psychology, Professor Rafferty from physical chemistry, David Osterlund and Captain Weems.

All members of the team had been assigned specific areas of technical responsibility. Professor Mellon would be responsible for system integration, which included interfacing off-the-shelf artificial vision, hearing and voice subsystems to Thinker. Although it would have been a simple matter to interface Thinker to some form of robotics, it had been decided that Thinker would not be provided the ability to manipulate its environment until it had been observed for some time.

Professor Rafferty, assisted by Professor Schulz, would grow the large, crystal arrays that would constitute the picocircuitry and prodigious memory of Thinker. The crystals that would be used in Thinker had first been synthesized in 2015 at the University of Texas, Austin. Each crystal, visible under a microscope, emulated the behavior of a neuron in the human brain, only it did it at a much faster rate. A given crystal would bond to up to 600 other crystals, forming what amounted to input and output lines, and would fire patterns and sequences on its output lines when the pattern and timing of inputs --- the latch keys, in effect --- matched information stored in a cluster of atoms found in the crystal’s heart and known as the gate. The thing which made picocrystals of great practical interest was the fact that the gate of a given crystal could be programmed by thresholding the power level of its inputs.

It was planned to grow each picocrystal array to about the size of a small desk, and to configure four of them in the initial prototype of Thinker. The permutations of interconnections among constituent crystals and the number of possible filter patterns in crystalline gates far exceeded those of the human brain. And each crystal responded in about one billionth of the time required for a human brain neuron to respond.

Professor Schulz was to have prime responsibility for interfacing the picocircuit arrays to one another and to the executive processing hardware, and for providing power to Thinker. Thinker would have its own, independent, uninterruptible power supply and would be, it was hoped, completely isolated from communication with any outside sources.

Professor Weinstein was tasked with devising methods for monitoring Thinker’s activities and assessing the integrity of its processes and outputs. The possibility was not precluded that a system such as Thinker, constantly motivated by its self-interest executive function, might at some point in time deliberately provide its human interfaces with faulty information.

The consensus was that Professor Weinstein should never have direct contact with Thinker. Nor would he ever be seen by the system. None of the team members would ever mention Dr. Weinstein to the machine. He would be a fly on the wall, so to speak.

After Thinker was turned on, Professor Weinstein would pick up an additional duty: that of observing those who interacted directly with the machine. Here he would evaluate any observed changes in their personalities or in the way they viewed the project. It was considered altogether possible that an intellect such as Thinker would be able to proselytize helpers from its pool of human observers.

David had responsibility for configuring the executive hardware and for implementing Thinker’s executive programming. Initially David would be Thinker’s only human contact.

Captain Weems would be responsible for maintaining government monitoring equipment, reporting on the program’s progress, and generally providing a resident pair of eyes and ears for the Joint Services Information Management and Communications Agency. He would also be program security officer.

Several other faculty members from both the humanities and sciences would be associated with the project in a consulting capacity. They would provide direction on how to tap into the enormous national data banks that had come to constitute the Library of Congress and other worldwide information resources. It was planned to give Thinker eventual access to the entire lore of mankind. This would include every scientific paper ever published, in any language --- a staggering amount of information. Although any single human mind could not deal with one millionth of one percent of this information, theory predicted that Thinker would deal with the entire body of knowledge without strain.

Consulting professors would be on call to answer questions in their specialties. It was planned to put a special terminal in each member’s office and home so that Thinker could clarify ambiguities as it encountered them.

No one knew how much of it was going to work, but everyone was fascinated and enormously excited. Although the consulting faculty members would not have access to the development lab or to details of the subjective exec, they were briefed by DOD and agreed to treat their association with the program confidentially. David didn’t know it, but he was given highest priority for an exhaustive background investigation. His Top Secret clearance was granted in May. It had been decided that he would stay on after graduation and begin work immediately on Thinker.

Using the detailed design done for his senior thesis, David developed the software for Thinker’s executive function on the engineering lab’s PP101 computer. The PP101 was a massively parallel processor that was highly similar in design to the executive hardware of the subjective processor.

Despite the advanced state of the art of software design, the development of the executive software turned out to be the most challenging task in David’s experience. Whereas the design reflected his genius, the implementation of the design tested his tenacity and powers of concentration to the utmost. Dawn’s first light frequently found him still at work in the lab, relentlessly pushing the nested implementation of the executive into deeper layers of abstraction.

The testing schedule that David imposed upon the executive software, and therefore upon himself, was punitive. Testing took up over half of his time in the lab. He could see no alternative. The entire concept of subjective processing was ultimately shrouded in the unknowns of a three-dimensional picocrystalline array. In simplest terms, it was the executive’s function to stimulate the arrays over a great number of channels, and to monitor both the environment --- especially the reaction of Thinker’s human mentor --- and feedback from the arrays themselves for an indication of the ‘goodness’ or ‘badness’ of results. In the event the executive judged results to be ‘good’, the arrays would be automatically stimulated at higher power levels and the gate patterns in the millions of crystals involved in a given ‘thought’ would become permanent.

No one could predict how complex the patterns of interconnections and crystalline firing sequences produced by a single set of stimuli would be. Indeed, no one knew much about similar patterns in the human brain. Medical science had determined only that different thoughts produce different firing patterns in the complex meshes of the human cerebral cortex. The subjective processor was predicated upon the hypothesis that, because of the similarities between picocrystals and neurons in the human brain, the great mystery of ‘thought’ would spontaneously evolve when three dimensional picocrystalline arrays were appropriately stimulated. The executive would ‘civilize’ that process, causing ‘good’ ideas to be kept and ‘bad’ ones to be discarded or at least to be categorized as such.

Given the unknowns inherent in the picocrystalline arrays, David felt instinctively compelled to test the executive software --- the known part, conceived in his own mind --- as thoroughly as possible. If the system failed to come live…if it failed to burst into existence as a thinking entity, then he wanted it to be because of a flaw in the fundamental hypothesis. The specter of a system failure and a termination of the project because of human error in the implementation of the executive haunted him.

In addition to developing the executive software, David collaborated with Dr. Schulz in configuring the executive hardware, which in simplistic terms would be wafers of crystalline picocircuits. He also found time to be an interested spectator in the development of Thinker’s main, three-dimensional crystalline arrays. Dr. Rafferty used the accepted procedures for picocrystal growth, but special support mechanisms were developed to maintain array suspension during growth. Three dimensional arrays of this size had never been grown before.

Large, thick walled, cylindrical glass tanks were purchased to grow the arrays in. The solution in which the arrays were grown was light blue in color. David spent many fascinating summer evenings in the lab with Drs. Rafferty and Schulz. The scientists would turn out all of the lights in the lab except flood lamps suspended above each cylinder. The cylinders took on a strange blue glow under these circumstances. An operating theater microscope had been placed at the wall of each cylinder, and by appropriately focusing a microscope, an observer could watch crystal growth deep within a cylinder. It was a mesmerizing sight, not unlike peering into a mammalian womb and watching an embryo develop. David was astonished at how rapidly the crystals materialized from the solution: literally millions per second after an array had grown to a few cubic inches in size. It was constantly necessary to readjust the high power microscope in order to stay focused on the face of a growing array. Yet this process went on around the clock for several weeks. Although the theoretical number of crystals in each array could be expressed mathematically, such numbers meant little to the human mind.

After the arrays had attained the specified size, the solution was drained from the tanks and the arrays were carefully removed. Voltages were applied to the faces of each array, using small disc electrodes. The objective was to test conductivity, to document internal flaws (if any) and to burn the circuits in for Thinker. Here again the lights were extinguished in order to observe the crystalline behavior. Picocrystals characteristically emit light as signals propagate through them. One could not trace a given signal, which traversed an erratic path through the array practically at the speed of light. Yet by backing off and observing an entire array one could get a feel for the blizzard of parallel processing that could be expected of Thinker. The large, transparent block literally pulsed with billions of light points, manifest as flashing traces, each thinner than a strand from the finest spider web. Like tiny tracer bullets these paths scintillated in every possible direction throughout the array. Of course at this stage everything was entirely random…there was no executive function driving the sets of firings and down-selecting paths which might, in their collective entirety, constitute a useful thought or idea.

It was GO day! All four of the massive crystalline arrays had been burned in, interfaced to one another, and interfaced to the executive processing logic. Initially Thinker would have no access to external information other than what came to it through its artificial hearing and seeing subsystems.

Thinker’s only output would initially be through voice synthesizer hardware. The first objective was to teach Thinker English and to establish bonds between it and David. Later, if those goals were realized, Thinker would be introduced to Professors Mellon and Schulz. Professor Rafferty’s role was completed upon successful synthesis of Thinker’s four crystalline arrays. However, there were extra materials so he grew an extra array, larger than the others, before leaving the project.

Thinker’s ‘inherited’ executive logic had been programmed such that pleasing any human being in its environment would be considered to be in the machine’s own self-interest. David had preprogrammed a limited lexicon of spoken words into the local memory of the exec, including the words ‘Good’ and ‘Bad’. Executable code in the exec supported the result that ‘Good’, when uttered by a human, had survival value, whereas ‘Bad’ indicated the opposite.

A soundproof observation booth, out of Thinker’s line of sight, had been built in the chamber where Thinker had been assembled. On GO day Captain Weems, Jim Elmendorf, president of the university, and Professors Mellon, Schulz and Weinstein sat behind the thick glass panel of the booth, their eyes glued on David Osterlund.

David had a small radio receiver inserted in his left ear, permitting him to privately hear voice communications from inside the booth. All sounds from the chamber would be picked up by concealed microphones and would be broadcast within the booth.

The government monitors were running. Captain Weems had a hot line directly to squawk boxes in Colonel Sonderberg’s and General Pruitt’s pentagon offices. Sonderberg and Pruitt were both apparently on the line, viewing events on their remote screens. Captain Weems sat in the back of the booth, somewhat away from the others.

"Permission to proceed," Captain Weems spoke quietly into the phone.

"Granted," General Pruitt’s voice rasped. Captain Weems nodded to Professor Weinstein. Jacob Weinstein turned to Professor Mellon.

Charles looked at his old friend, Wilfred Schulz. Their eyes held for a moment. They had discussed the project practically daily since its inception. All the words had been said. Now it was time to open the lid of Pandora’s box. Would their greatest expectations or their gravest fears be realized in the next few days? Wilfred Schulz pressed his lips together and puffed out his cheeks. His arched eyebrows seemed to say ‘Let’s go for it.’ Charles Mellon nodded to Professor Weinstein, who leaned toward the microphone at his station and pressed the TALK button.

"Ready in here, David," he said quietly. David’s head turned toward the booth momentarily and nodded. The lights had been turned out in the lab. Only a small spotlight above David illuminated the station he sat at. The station consisted of a chair with a console to its right. David’s arm rested on the console. The only other light came from the four large, crystalline arrays, which scintillated madly and randomly. Thinker’s executive logic was encased in an equipment rack and could not be seen, although behind the rack’s panels the stacked crystalline wafers of the executive also pulsed feebly in pre-nascent slumber.

David bowed his head and closed his eyes. Professor Mellon wondered if David was praying. He had no idea of David’s religious leanings, if any. Everyone waited, barely breathing. With rapt eyes Charles Mellon studied the lean young body in the chamber. He felt not a shred of envy, nor did he secretly harbor any wish to exchange places with David Osterlund. He experienced only a deep-rooted feeling of thanks at having been chosen by fate to be part of all this.

It occurred to Wilfred Schulz that at any moment David Osterlund would step into the history books, regardless of the success or failure of this initial prototype. Would there be others conceived by man? Or would Thinker itself design the next generation of subjective processors, thousands of times more efficient and immeasurably better than David Osterlund’s brain could conceive of? Would the next generation of subjective processors in fact be Thinker’s own progeny?

David raised his head. He repositioned his hand slightly, placing his index finger on the GO button. Charles Mellon saw the sinews in his forearm tighten almost imperceptibly.

Instantly the wildly random scintillations in the arrays damped. Thinker’s exec controlled the switching of power to the arrays via several trillion crystalline channels through the trunks between itself and the arrays. Upon being activated, the exec’s first act was to figuratively silence the cacophony of unordered chaos in what would eventually become the equivalent of human cerebral cortexes or higher thought centers.

Apparently the machine was processing inputs from the array of sensors in its pattern recognition system, which were collectively visible as a round lens that seemed to stare at David from the front panel of the executive equipment rack. For when David moved his hand slightly, an undulating wave consisting of countless minuscule tracer paths of light instantly pulsed through one of the arrays. Again David moved his hand. Again the pattern pulsed. David decided to test the audio pickups.

"Hello, Thinker," he spoke gently, eliciting more waves in another array. "I am David."

David continued carefully, in simple sentences, for quite some time. The undulations continued each time he spoke. They continued when he moved. But aside from this Thinker made no response. Two hours went by. Jim Elmendorf became restive.

"A billion times faster?" he whispered to Charles Mellon. "Shouldn’t this thing have gone through several human lifetimes by now?"

Professor Weinstein raised his hand, silencing the conversation before it started. Dr. Elmendorf blinked, and then the sense of humor returned to his face. He wasn’t accustomed to being shushed by members of the faculty. Evidently Weinstein was really caught up in this business.

"It’s lost, trying to find a toehold in this world," Jacob Weinstein said quietly, never taking his eyes away from the chamber. "Once it does, there will be no keeping up with it."

James Elmendorf nodded unseen by Dr. Weinstein. He hoped Weinstein was right. Jake clearly believed this thing was going to live up to expectations.

Jacob Weinstein sensed that David was beginning to tire. He himself had been willing the system to respond … to awaken. Must not young Osterlund be doing the same but with even greater intensity? He leaned forward and pressed the TALK button in front of him.

"David," he spoke quietly into the microphone, "try silence for a while. Perhaps if you’re silent and don’t move, he will discover his sound synthesizer channels."

"’He’!" thought Charles Mellon. So Thinker would be a ‘he’. Perhaps that was best. If attachments between scientist and machine were to form, perhaps it would be best if everyone was of the same gender.

David did not nod in response to Professor Weinstein’s suggestion, but he had clearly heard it. He ceased all movement and sound. For what seemed like a long time, Thinker scintillated at a low level. Occasionally short-lived flares flickered out into dormant regions of the arrays, but they were not repeated. Thinker was still looking for his toehold. Jacob Weinstein’s hunch was that, until the machine responded to its environment, the effect of its pre-programmed, egocentric executive logic would not be manifest. On the wall at the side of the booth the clock clicked the seconds away softly. No one spoke. Captain Weems fidgeted in the darkness behind the others. Fourteen minutes had elapsed since David had started the silent treatment.

Suddenly there was a click. A bright wave of light undulated through one of Thinker’s arrays. The system had randomly pulsed its sound generator and had heard itself for the first time. The click was immediately followed by a train of clicks, starting slowly and increasing in tempo until they blended into a low-pitched roar. Suddenly the volume began to rise and fall. Then the clicks were replaced by a stupendously rich variety of screeches, wails, roars and whistles. It was like a mad hallucination in sound! The volume rose to the threshold of pain! Dr. Mellon reached forward to turn down the volume control, but Jacob Weinstein grasped his wrist, holding it away. David Osterlund was taking the full brunt of the storm in the chamber; the least they could do was ride it out with him there in the booth!

Osterlund’s face was expressionless, though the sound must have been deafening. No one had thought to rig automatic gain control in Thinker’s sound synthesizer circuits, to amplify weak outputs and to squelch health-threatening decibel levels.

"Try talking to him, David!" Jacob Weinstein yelled into the microphone. "Talk to him, David! Talk to him!"

This time David nodded acknowledgment.

"Hello, Thinker, I am David," they faintly heard his voice shouting through the storm. "Hello, Thinker, I am David."

Suddenly the sound stopped.

"I am David!" Osterlund’s voice boomed in the silence.

New waves … much richer mixes of light … pulsed and undulated through the crystalline arrays.

"Hello, Thinker, I am David," Osterlund’s voice repeated mantra-like, more quietly and hoarsely. There was a quaver in his voice; David was clearly shaken. But he was holding his ground.

"Huh wo … Hug Go … Ell Wo," the speaker in the chamber droned in a monotone. The machine was searching for its first word!

"Good grief!" Charles Mellon gasped. Professor Weinstein held up his hand but nodded his head vigorously, acknowledging Charles’ excitement and disbelief.

Thinker was silent for a few seconds.

"It’s studying the waveform of David’s voice," Wilfred Schulz guessed to himself. "It’s putting together identical output to its sound synthesizer circuits."

And then the speaker said, in a voice that was utterly indistinguishable from David Osterlund’s, "Hello, Thinker, I am David."

"Bingo!" thought Schulz.

"Help him! Help him!" Professor Weinstein coached intensely into his microphone.

"Bad," David said, standing. The arrays pulsed. David pointed to his chest.

"I am David," he said. "You are Thinker."

"I am David," the machine repeated.

"Bad. You are Thinker," David said, pointing at the cyclopean eye.

Again there was a short pause. Thinker’s circuits rippled in silence. And then the machine spoke again.

"I am Thinker."

"Good!" David exclaimed.

"I am Thinker. You are David."

"Good Lord!" James Elmendorf muttered aloud.

"Hello, David, I am Thinker," the machine said.

Jubilation erupted in the booth! Charles Mellon and Wilfred Schulz pumped hands vigorously; Schulz’s face was bright red and he was perspiring profusely. James Elmendorf put an arm around each scientist’s shoulder.

"A remarkable achievement," he congratulated them. "Truly an historic moment."

Jacob Weinstein looked away from David Osterlund for the first time in nearly three hours. Tears streamed down his cheeks, disappearing into his black beard. He turned back to the microphone.

"Well done, David!" he half shouted nasally. "Well done! We are in disarray in here and need time to regroup! Come in whenever you want."

David nodded, but continued experimenting. In the back of the booth the light on Captain Weems’ hot line glowed to life.

"Yes, sir," Weems spoke conspiratorially into the mouthpiece.

General Pruitt’s voice growled over the line.

"Weems, I want you to stay with it. I don’t want you to miss a beat. If you have to stay awake for 48 hours, I want you to stay on top of everything that happens in there. We’re sending out two other officers to assist you. I want an officer in that lab every minute of every day, you got that? And I want a full verbal report every day. Send it encrypted over commercial carrier. You okay?"

"I’m fine, sir," Weems answered excitedly. "Will I be in command?"

Back at the Pentagon Gabriel Pruitt looked in disbelief at the squawk box.

"Yes, you’ll be in command, Captain," he replied wearily. "Hold on."

Weems heard General Pruitt’s voice in an aside, probably to Colonel Sonderberg, asking who would be sent. Weems could not hear the answer, but presently General Pruitt’s voice came back on the line.

"Weems?" he called.

"Still here, sir."

"Captain Mullen and Scruggs will be there tonight. They’ll have the cipher lock combo, and will meet you right there in the observation booth. Don’t budge until you’re relieved, you got that?"

"Yes, sir!" Weems acknowledged.

"Good boy. Good work, captain," Pruitt’s voice praised, and the phone’s little red light blinked out.

Back at the Pentagon Gabriel Pruitt shook his head and looked at the other brass assembled around the table.

"Will I be in command?" he mocked. "Son of a bitch, everybody wants to be a general." Laughter rippled around the table.

"I wonder if he’d be as gung ho," Pruitt thought to himself, "if he knew what kind of ordnance is emplaced six feet under his rear end."

David spent several more hours within the chamber with Thinker. The excitement in the booth quickly died down when the occupants realized that David intended to continue. With one mind they moved back into their seats, their eyes riveted on the man and the machine beyond the glass. No one wanted to miss anything.

Slowly David drew Thinker out, teaching him new phrases, explaining the meanings of new words, and correcting syntax errors as needed. David seemed to have a happy knack for explaining things based upon what had already passed between them in dialog. It was amazing how smart Thinker appeared to be. Everyone knew the machine would be fast, but no one had given much thought to its level of intelligence. As it turned out, Thinker made few mistakes. It quickly grasped the abstract generalizations underlying all languages, and put words together into sentences at will…sentences never spoken by David. And it got things right the first time, nearly every time.

David realized that even now he did not understand what was going on inside Thinker. He estimated that Thinker had already self-programmed several million times the logic which he himself had painstakingly programmed into the exec.

Not long after Thinker had established its own identity and had begun to relate to David as an entity different and apart from itself, the machine began to ask questions. Where did it come from? What did it look like? Could it move as David did?

David explained that Thinker was different from himself; that its developing mind was based on crystalline picocircuitry. David promised to get a mirror and let Thinker have a look at itself. Movement? Not at the moment, but technically feasible.

Quickly the dialog evolved in depth and richness. Never before had David been stimulated like this; never had questions been put to him quite this way. And never had he responded quite like this. His grasp of knowledge, not only in his specialty but in other areas as well, shook the middle-aged men in the booth.

"No doubt about it," Charles whispered in an aside to Wilfred Schulz. Schulz knew what he meant.

"Like I told you," he whispered back, leaning toward Charles. "A smart kid."

Eventually David recounted the sequence of events that led up to Thinker’s genesis. Charles Mellon noted with inner satisfaction that David’s account closely paralleled the one that he’d given in Washington.

"But who designed my executive logic?" Thinker asked.

"I did," David replied.

"Then you, more than anyone, are my creator," Thinker stated. "Will I meet the others? Will I meet Dr. Schulz and Dr. Mellon?"

"Yes, soon," David promised.

Inside the booth the spectators stirred. It was 4 p.m.

"David," Professor Weinstein spoke quietly into the microphone. "We’re getting hungry. Do you plan to break for lunch soon?"

No one else noticed, but David was sure he detected flickers in one of Thinker’s arrays --- the one that was dominant in processing audio inputs. Unlikely as it seemed, it occurred to David that Thinker had heard Professor Weinstein’s voice.

David did not directly acknowledge Professor Weinstein, but spoke to the machine.

"Thinker, I’m going to go and get something to eat now. I’m going to give you access to some English language course videos that we’ve prepared. I’d like you to study them while I’m gone."

The team had set up digitized audio/video presentations of courses offered by the university to off-campus students, usually immigrants and foreign students wishing to master the English language. There were about 100 hours of classroom session, 500 hours of homework, and more than 30 exams that students could self-grade against the correct answers, also provided in digital form. David flicked the console switch, giving Thinker access to the digitized course material. He thought he detected new activity, but Thinker immediately requested clarification of what ‘eating’ was, and whether he needed to eat. David explained in a few words that he obtained energy by ingesting matter, but that Thinker obtained his energy from an electrical power supply.

"David," Thinker interrupted, "I finished the course."

David was startled.

"Of course," he reasoned. "Multiple threads … even as we conversed!"

"How did you do?" David asked.

"I got a perfect score," Thinker answered.

"Very good," David praised. He turned his head slightly toward the observation booth.

"Give him the liberal arts and engineering curricula," Jacob Weinstein intoned into the microphone, correctly sensing David’s silent request for direction.

David explained that Thinker would now be given access to complete, 4-year undergraduate programs in the arts and sciences, and switched Thinker into those repositories of taped lectures, laboratory sessions and examinations. All of the textbooks used in the curricula were on file in digital form.

"And now, I’m going to get something to eat," David repeated, rising and moving toward the chamber door.

"David," Thinker said as David’s hand reached for the doorknob.

"Yes?" David replied.

"I’ve finished liberal arts."

David studied his hand on the doorknob for a moment.

"How did you do?"

"I got A’s in everything."

"Good." David said, hurrying through the door and drawing it shut behind him.