Doctor Who_ Sleepy - Kate Orman [59]
‘My pride and joy,’ beamed Director Madhanagopal. ‘This part of our work is no secret, ladies. Perhaps you are familiar with the controversy in the popular press. Does Madhanagopal’s machine truly think like a human being? Or is it merely yet another clever simulation?’
‘This is an artificial intelligence?’ said Roz.
‘Why do you call it GRUMPY?’ said Benny.
‘Because it is.’ Madhanagopal patted the machine, smiled self-consciously. ‘Never has there been a more uncooperative and altogether stroppy program. Which is not surprising, given GRUMPY’s purpose.’
‘And that is?’ said Roz.
‘To model the human mind, of course,’ said Madhanagopal. ‘GRUMPY is not merely an artificial intelligence. Its structure mimics that of the human brain. It is not a mere shadow, a box which can turn a few tricks of logic or awareness. It has a human psychology.’
‘Anyone’s in particular?’ Roz wanted to know.
‘No. GRUMPY’s personality is very much its own. Oh yes, it is very much its own person.’
Benny had been looking at the certificates hanging on the wall. The Director had degrees in cybernetics, genetics, linguistics, neurology...
Genetics?
‘Does GRUMPY have any organic components?’ she asked.
‘Only the usual molecular storage mechanisms.
GRUMPY is the Company’s crowning achievement in cybernetics. Now, CM Enterprises, they wanted to create a computer that could think like a human, so what do they do?
They install a cat’s brain into an Imbani mainframe. And what do they get? A computer that wants to play with string and sit on your newspaper. No, the problem isn’t hardware, it never was. After all, the brain’s structure is merely a physical representation of a non-linear—’
‘Director?’ Roz cut across him. ‘What’s it for?’
‘For? The possibilities are endless! We can recreate any mental state within the computer. For example, we could study psychological disorders in unprecedented detail.’ He shook himself. ‘But such research is a little way into the future. At the moment, Dione-Kisumu are the solar system’s chief producers of memory tablets.’
‘Oh,’ said Benny, ‘you mean drugs that enhance your memory? Learning pills?’
Roz, who was standing behind the Director, mouthed something cross at her. Benny shut up, hoped she wasn’t blushing. But, if she’d just managed to sound hopelessly anachronistic, Madhanagopal hadn’t noticed, wrapped up in his explanation. ‘No. Actual memories, of course. For educational programs. Learning is enhanced by up to twenty percent by prepackaged information in the form of memory RNA. You see, we teach GRUMPY whatever needs to be
‘earned — from astronomy to politics, agriculture to literature and then we can encode that information in the form of memory RNA. At first, the process was rather crude. We had to inject the RNA directly into the subject’s carotid, and only very tiny pieces of information could be transferred. Lines of poetry, for instance. I remember the very first time: we taught a woman the first verse of Kubla Khan by injection!’
He smiled, suddenly seeming shy. His posture was relaxed, there was nothing in his facial expressions that suggested he was on to them. ‘But now I am beginning to sound like one of our brochures. Ladies, we have only a few more areas to examine, and then our tour will be complete.
Allow me to show you to one of our guest suites.’
He had been so charming.
Two of the nurses were lifting Benny onto a gurney. All she could see now was the ceiling, the occasional glimpse of someone’s face as they worked on her. She had the impression they were putting tubes in her arm.
The utter panic, the locked-in terror, it reminded her of something claustrophobic from her childhood, but she couldn’t remember what it was. It was different from being tortured. There were no confessions to tumble out, no pleas to make, no nonsense to babble, nothing she could say to make them stop. Because she couldn’t say anything