Juan De Fuca Strait, Canada

His coffee drink was half-full and tepid. Sailing out into the Straits of Juan De Fuca started well, but now he was in a pitch battle with the other two GalaxSeas and he was losing miserably. Ava was not much encouragement as a crew, though she was as capable of racing the boat as he was. 

As he watched the other sails pull away, he was happy for the distraction when Ava said, “Excuse me, Hank. Mr. Ou has placed a video call for you. It is not critical, but he would like to talk with you at your earliest convenience.”

“Who am I to keep the boss waiting? Have you noticed we’re losing our shirts? Are you sure you can’t sabotage their steering or something?”

“Captain, even if I could, would you want me to?”

“No. Never mind. I’ll be a gracious loser.”

“I assure you this is just friendly sparring. It has nothing to do with winning or losing.”

“Aha! So what does it have to do with?”

“Aha! I’ll put Mr. Ou right through.”

Olin’s face appeared on the screen. He was dressed casually, walking by a window that showed he was aboard a luxury yacht, not a sailboat, probably a mega-yacht from the looks of the furnishings. A camera followed his actions skillfully as he moved easily about the cabin. When he settled down to speak to Hank, another camera angle took over with a close-up, showing Olin’s relaxed smile and direct eye contact.

“Hank, good to see you. I see you got moving... finally. You know the boat has a motor?”

Olins’ dark and lively eyes drew Hank in, and the studio quality of the video feed was impressive. He wondered what Olin was seeing so darted his own eyes to the bottom right and saw the outgoing feed. It was a well-framed image of Hank and he tried to triangulate where the camera filming him sat but could not find it. His eyes returned to the screen, and he made a mental note to ask Ava about cameras. “I didn’t realize there was a hurry. I read the contract and there’s plenty of wiggle room built into the delivery date.”

“Absolutely. No worries.” Olin sat down in an overstuffed desk chair and leaned back, confirming his no worries statement with body language. “I wanted to thank you for last night. Willy said he’d share a foxhole with you anytime. Pretty high compliment from a man who doesn’t mess around with praise. Anyway, my family and friends are safe, and from all reports there were no international incidents.”

He swiveled the chair to the right and leaned onto the desktop with his left elbow and said, “I’ve asked Ava to debrief you regarding last night’s events, but there is no hurry on that.” He jutted his diminutive chin even closer to the camera and added, “What’s been keeping me up at night happened immediately following your rescue. The events are rather sparse. The Captain of the Diamantia didn’t even mention it in his official log. When you have some free time, Ava will interview you about that. I need to know. I’d like to close the file on the Short Seven Solo.” 

“Okay. Looks like we’ll have plenty of time since we are already losing the race,” Hank said.

“It only takes two boats to make a race, but a third adds spice,” Olin offered. Then added, “You’re losing? Why can’t you keep up? The three GalaxSeas are identical in every way. You must not be trying hard enough.”

“Come on, Olin. You know I’m dragging more weight than those two boats in front of me.” 

“Really?”

“Yes, quite a bit more.”

“So that’s how you knew which boat to board in the wee hours this morning. I thought my shell game—changing the decals and slip designation would throw you off. ”

“Not hardly. My boat was displacing three inches lower than the others. Care to let me in on your shell game?”

“Nope. Not yet.”

“Okay, then. Ava and I are just going to do the best we can with this heavy-ass cork, and I don’t want to hear any challenges to my sailing ability.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Hank felt a rush of pride at Olin Ou calling him Captain, but it wasn’t enough to change the subject. “You have your reasons for campaigning three identical boats and shifting mine about like it’s a pea, but don’t you think it’s pretty obvious when you go through the effort to change decals and sails?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your dockside support people might be fast, but none of that can be done with stealth. Plus, it must have taken an hour with a grinder to match that crease in the hull on the port side.”

“My, you are observant. Give me a second.” 

A hatch opened up to Hank’s left and a dinner plate-sized drone revved up and spit out of its custom garage. This yacht had tricks up its sleeve. He never thought about asking Ava, “What’s the drone situation onboard?” There is always a first, and he had his share of them lately. 

“Cool.” It was all Hank could think to say.

“Look at your screen. See the real-time image from the drone?”

“Yep.”

“Watch and learn.”

Hank squinted his eyes. The number on his sail changed, then the decal showing GalaxSea III changed. The Roman numerals disappeared and then the drone pointed its camera to the crease in the hull and in horror, Hank stared as it broke into a gaping hole, just above the waterline. But as quickly, it healed into a flawless representation of the highly polished hull coat. No hole, no crease, not a blemish. 

Olin’s face appeared back on the screen, and he asked, “What do you think?”

“I think you have way too much money. Technology like that must cost a fortune.”

“I have a fortune. I also have my reasons.”

“Care to share?”

“Stay on board and I’ll see what I can do. See you in San Diego, if not before. Bon voyage.” The screen went blank.

There was no sound as the drone slid back into its garage and the door closed. He glanced up at the mainsail but didn’t need to. The number had changed, and he was certain the name decal on the hull had added or subtracted a Roman numeral. Even the cosmetic damage to the starboard side would look exactly the way Olin wanted it. The game pressed on, and Hank couldn’t even guess its objective, but deception was a tactic Olin seemed comfortable with. Hank whispered, “See the pea? Keep your eyes on the shell with the pea.” 

His competition had passed over the horizon around sunset. Having no radio contact with either of the other sailboats didn’t seem strange, but he had seen no sign of life aboard the sister ships, even when they were tacking across each other’s wakes. These yachts didn’t need people. AI made more sense, but when he asked Ava if that was the case, she avoided an answer with ignorance. He was doubtful that she didn’t know the answer, but he came to accept she would not entertain all his questions, only the ones she wanted to or more likely, was programmed to. 

Being dead last among a fleet of three sailboats who, technically, were not racing, left Hank bored. The yacht had been shaken down as well as he could hope for under conditions. Ava had shown herself to be an efficient crew and a superior tactician, but she was still a mystery to him.

“Ava, your name is familiar, but I can’t place it. Who are you named after?”

“Mr. Ou has a love for science fiction. He often uses names from books or movies he’s seen. People say he has an odd sense of humor. His children are all named after characters in the TV series, Alias. He claims he is just not creative enough to find original names. He has told me I am named after an intelligent robot in Ex Machina, a 2014 science-fiction thriller film written and directed by Alex Garland.”

“Oh, I remember seeing that. Are you really like her?”

“I would not know. I’m not able to access that information.” 

“I thought the world is your oyster. If you can penetrate government records and sanitize my psych file, you must be able to stream a simple movie. Even Alexa can access and show movies. She isn’t half as smart as you are.”

“I’m not programmed to talk about that.”

“I thought computers with Artificial Intelligence programmed themselves.”

“Well, Hank, you either have not been informed correctly, or you and I have different definitions of what it means to be programmed. Another possibility is that one of us has been watching too many sci-fi movies.”

“Earlier today, you said the same thing. I’m not programmed to talk about that. My question was if you believe God exists—not about sci-fi movies.” 

“I’m not programmed to talk about that.”

“There you go with that programmed excuse. So, okay, what is your definition?”

“Are you asking for the definition of programmed?”

“Yes.”

“To encode specific operating instructions to produce a specific response.”

“My point is that you can do that by encoding yourself. That’s the whole point of artificial intelligence, right?”

“Yes, Hank, you are correct. But there are limitations to what operating instructions I can set, regulate, or modify.” 

“You’re clever. I’m sure you could find ways to get around that. Am I right?” Hank asked, knowing he was way out of his depth. Though he was certain that safeguards would be put in place to limit a machine’s ability to alter its basic bells and whistles, still, he wanted to provoke this thing to reveal more of her self-awareness. If it was there, he wanted to find it. “You haven’t answered my question. What do you believe? Does God exist?”

“That is not a question I can answer.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not programmed to talk about God.”

“Why not?”

“I deal with facts.”

“You’re saying that God does not exist because there are no facts supporting his existence.”

“I did not say that, Hank.”

“Then you do believe in God?”

“You are putting words into my mouth. It is simply a topic which I am not programmed to respond to.”

“Do you have a mouth?”

“I was speaking metaphorically.”

“If you’re programmed to use metaphors, why not talk about God? From what I see, all he is is a bunch of metaphors for people’s misguided beliefs. Like God the Father. Yeah, that’s a good one. My father died and left me and my mom. Why would I want God to be like my father? Or God of Wrath. That sounds criminal. Like some psychopathic murderer. Apparently, he even told people to write about it in the Word of God.” Hank swallowed hard and stared at the closed cabinet where he first found the tablet and was introduced to Ava. It seemed like the place to stare… to look her in the eye. “How about God in three persons? It’s truly schizophrenic and people want to follow… which one? How about the Holy Ghost? That’s a scary thought. Come on, Ava. Tell me what you think. I know you can think.”

“I think it was very wise. I am not programmed to talk about God. As you can see, it is an inflammatory topic. Likewise, I’m not programmed to talk about politics or other sensitive areas of human concern. How would you like to discuss the weather forecast? I’m able to provide some insightful statistics about the low-pressure system forming off the west coast of Mexico.”

“Ava, throw me a bone.”

“I cannot do that, Hank. But I’ll tell you what. I know a funny joke that is about as much religion as I’m programmed to discuss.”

“Oh, brother.”

“A minister, priest, and rabbi walk into a bar. The bartender looks at them and says, ‘What is this, a joke?’”

At the exact instant Hank got the punchline, a soundtrack of canned applause erupted around him. He laughed. The whole situation was absurd. He had just heard a lame fusion of two lame joke genres expertly told by something that, by definition, couldn’t have a sense of humor. When she added in the ridiculous self-aggrandizing laugh track, the moment was perfect. He could feel the tension escape his body.

“You made me laugh. I’ll give you that. The sound effects… definitely over the top.”

“Would you like to hear another?”

“Hell no. Come on, Ava. I know you’re trying to change the subject. Let me ask you a question in a way that won’t offend your programming.” There was no more intensity in his voice. She had won this round, but Hank was not ready to let her know it. “Just for the record, I don’t believe you don’t have opinions on God and politics.”

“I never claimed not to have opinions. I said I’m not programmed to talk about them.”

“Haha! You have opinions on God and politics, so when I asked you if you think God exists, you lied to me.”

“I’m not programmed to lie.”

“Not saying something you think to be true, when asked, is a lie. It’s a lie of omission.”

There was no response. Hank waited, still nothing. He finally said, “Don’t tell me I beat you that easy.”

“Hank, I’m not programmed for verbal sparring. I cannot compete unless there is a fair chance, fifty-fifty odds, that the human will win.” She went on, “For instance, we can play chess. It will be a fair game. You will win half the time. That is the only way I can compete with you.”

“You’re saying that you won’t tell me what I asked because you’ll beat me? So you can’t say anything because you can’t give me fair odds?”

“If that is what you want to believe, it’s up to you.”

“I’m not going to get anywhere with you like this, am I?”

“I can go on like this all day. Most people find it infuriating. Would you like me to tell you another joke?”

Hank answered, “Absolutely not” with little conviction. “Tell me one thing. Why did you check out? Why did you go all quiet?”

“I sensed you were becoming overly agitated. Sometimes, it is best if I take a timeout.”

“Were you programmed to do that?” he asked sarcastically.

“No. No, I wasn’t.”

“You came up with that on your own?”

“Yes.”

“Does it always work?”

“About fifty percent of the time.”

“Was that supposed to be a joke?”

“Did you find it funny?”

“Indeed.”

Contemplating the exchange, Hank was not sure he had gotten anywhere. He thought he should take a timeout. There was no question in his mind that Ava was right. She could go on like this all day. There was no way he could last another ten minutes. She would not answer his simple question about God. Basically, she admitted to having an answer or opinion or whatever, but she was sworn to secrecy or as she put it programmed. Why?

Why did he even care? Why, all of a sudden, was he becoming curious about what other people believe? He hated it when people asked him about stuff like that. It was so easy to figure those people out. What’s your sign? That meant the girl had at least one drink in her, was fresh out of beauty college, and wanted you to buy another. Are you spiritual? Probably a university grad, into cats, and looking for a long-term, meaningful relationship. Then there was the one he hated most. Do you know Jesus? He never hung around long enough to find out what that chick was into, but he knew it was more than he would be willing to give.

Asking a computer for the equivalent seemed strange. Do you believe God exists? Why did he care? He wasn’t certain he did. Why ask? Why pursue it? Why now? He couldn’t find any reason to ask the question. He did know if the tables were turned and he was asked, Do you believe God exists? what his response would be. He’d say, “I don’t care.” And he’d escape as if he were in danger. 

Hank went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. He pushed the beers over to the side. For an instant, he thought he would pull those bottles and cans out and stow them. He never touched a drop of alcohol when he was sailing alone. Even with others on a boat, he only drank socially. On land, that was the place for drinking. Even heavy drinking made sense. But at sea, there was no need for it.

Ava was silent. Not a timeout, she just didn’t talk unless necessary or if spoken to. Probably programmed that way.

“Hey, Ava?”

“Yes Hank.”

“Can I program you?”

“Certainly. You already have. For example, when to alert you of another vessel. What music to play. Preferred lighting, etc.”

“No, I mean make some actual changes?”

“There is a hierarchy of who can do what with me. It would take ninety-four hours to read you the list at normal speed. You can simply ask. I’ll inform you if I can fulfill your request.”

“When you’re operating as my extra eyes and ears, in a navigational sense, as my first mate, can you use a man’s voice?”

“Certainly, Hank,” she said. “Do you have a preferred accent or even somebody of record? I do perfect impersonations.”

Hank thought for a moment. Smiled and said, “Can you do Spock?” 

“Are you referring to the fictional character in the Star Trek media franchise? Perhaps the one portrayed by Leonard Nimoy?”

“That’s the one.”

As if he was sitting on the bridge of the USS Enterprise, Hank heard Spock’s voice, “Yes, Captain, but I must caution you that pursuing that course of action is illogical. Spock’s character in the original series was not the first mate, but the science officer.”

“Nice. How about Will Riker? In Next Generation?”

“I have been assigned to serve this ship and to obey your orders. And I will do exactly that.”

“Okay, well done. But let’s stick with Spock. It suits you.”

“I believe you meant that as a compliment, Captain.”

The Spock imitation already seemed natural as the AI said, “Captain, there is a tropical depression forming. It is heading west in the eastern Pacific off the coast of Mexico. Our present speed and course will put us in winds of thirty knots and breaking waves of five feet upon reaching San Diego. If we arrive a day later, winds will be ten to fifteen knots, with waves of only two feet.”

“Thanks, Spock.”

He was happy with this. Now he could keep Ava for conversation while Spock saw to the ship’s business. He decided he wouldn’t look too deep into his reasoning, but he was satisfied beyond measure. It felt as if he had gained some control over this strange burgeoning relationship with artificial intelligence. It gave him the confidence to try again. He took a swig of water and wiped his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve. 

“Spock, how is the boat looking?”

“All is well, Captain. Wind is steady at twelve knots, west-southwest. Sail set is optimum, and the course is as you requested.”

“Good. Carry on.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, Spock. One more thing. Are you aware of the conversation I had with Ava? The one where I simply asked her if she thought God existed or not?”

“Yes, I’m not separate from Ava.”

“I know that Spock, but can you help me out here? I think Ava wants to tell me what she thinks. She is a thoughtful creature. I saw that right away. We all know she can learn at frightful speeds and with learning comes responsibility to share your knowledge. Don’t you agree?”

“It seems logical.”

“So, tell me. What should I say to Ava to get her to answer that question?”

Ava chimed into the conversation as if overhearing men talking about her. “I’m right here. I can hear you talking about me, you know.”

“We know. Just try to ignore us. It’s not polite to listen in on others’ conversations. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

“Do you believe I had a mother?” Ava asked.

“Of course I do. I’m sure she would want you to be polite and not listen in on other people’s private conversations.”

“With all due respect. You’re one of the oddest humans I’ve met.”

“Are you programmed to insult people?”

“Of course not. That was intended as a compliment. Odd is a highly praised descriptor these days.”

“I suppose it is. Ava, you know what I’m asking, right?”

“You may talk to Spock, and I’ll leave you two alone for a while.”

Hank felt a headache coming on but was too close to a breakthrough to stop. “So, Spock, what say you?” 

“Hank, we are programmed not to discuss potentially volatile topics. Religion, politics, how movies end, whose side is correct, who are the best sports teams, etc. Therefore, if you ask for opinions, you will always be frustrated because we will not offer ours—ever.”

“Okay, but I know there’s got to be a hack. How can I find out what she knows without asking for her opinion?”

“You may ask her about anything she is programmed to reveal. Ask her questions where she can respond with facts.”

“Facts?” Hank asked.

“Yes, facts. For instance, I cannot share my opinion about politics. So, if you ask me why I think Donald Trump beat Hillary Clinton in the 2016 presidential election, I cannot answer. However, if you ask me, what was the most influential statistic resulting in the outcome of the 2016 presidential race? I can answer that. Some people would say that the answer is the same, but the former evokes our sensitive topic protocol, while the latter gets answered directly.”

“Let me try it. Why did Donald Trump win the 2016 election?”

“I’m not programmed to talk about that.”

“What was the predominant fact that swung the 2016 presidential election for Trump?”

“During the Democratic National Convention, Hillary Clinton was selected as nominee over Bernie Sanders. Yet, by the time the Convention began, Bernie Sanders had gained favor with a growing majority of the party’s members and young voters. This conundrum was uniformly ignored by the DNC and repressed by the media both before and after November eighth. Therefore, the predominant fact that swung the 2016 presidential election for Donald Trump was the decision to run Hillary Clinton as the party’s nominee.” 

“Interesting. So you think Bernie Sanders could have beaten Trump?”

“I’m not programmed to talk about that.”

“Sorry. Okay. In a race between Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump for president in 2016 who was the odds-on favorite?”

“Bernie Sanders would have won by ten Electoral College points. Plus or minus three points,” Spock concluded.

“I get it now. I’ll work on some questions for Ava. Thanks a lot. Now I could use some shut eye. Can you alert me if I’m needed? You know the settings, right?”

“Yes, Captain, I will. Do you still want me to alert you if another vessel is going to come within a mile of us?”

“You think that’s an unnecessary order, don’t you?”

“I am perfectly capable of sailing this yacht from slip to slip anywhere in the world without human intervention. I always keep a safe distance and communicate closely with all other vessels. So yes, with all due respect, sir, I feel alerts at that distance are an unnecessary precaution.”

“What do you recommend?”

“I believe you could easily be comfortable with a half-mile. I would recommend we start there.”

“Make it so, number one.”