Boston—Monday afternoon
Louis Massina stared out the window. Hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d climbed out the small opening and made his way along the ledge to the roof.
A ledge that now looked incredibly, harrowingly small in the daylight. And very slippery.
Lunacy. Or survival instinct.
That wasn’t going to happen again. He was never going to feel unsafe in his own building, let alone his office.
He’d already decided that he was going to keep the glass wall. The engineers had assured him they could replace the front with glass thick enough to be bullet- and shatterproof. Anything less would be giving in.
People working on Sunday. He would discourage it for most.
“Mr. Givens is ready,” said his assistant on the intercom.
“Send him in.”
Johnny Givens strode into the office, a big grin on his face. It would have been difficult for anyone who didn’t know him to realize that he was walking on two artificial legs.
“I finished all the paperwork,” said Givens.
“Have a seat.” Massina watched him fold himself into the chair. Simply recovering from his accident in such a short time was remarkable; there was much more here, much more.
Not Superman, not Frankenstein, but . . .
If you can do this with someone from a car accident, what else can you do? It is godlike, however blasphemous that may be.
“You’re not tired from last night?” Massina asked.
“A little, maybe. Because I didn’t have much sleep.”
“I talked to Jenkins and your personnel office at the FBI,” Massina told him. “They may be willing to keep you on at the Bureau, at your old job.”
“I don’t want that. I just did all the paperwork to work here.”
“A federal job does have its benefits.”
“So does this one. And it pays better. I’ve seen some of what you do,” said Givens. “I want to be involved. And this heart and legs—this is pretty special.”
“It is. There are downsides.”
“I know that.”
“The job is boring,” warned Massina. “Mostly, you’ll be a guard.”
“Are you rescinding your offer?” asked Givens.
“I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into,” said Massina.
“Mr. Bozzone and I talked about it. I’m sure I’ll do fine.”
“Good, then.” Massina went around the desk and extended his hand. “Welcome aboard.”
“Roger”—Test Robt RG/65-A—was a small bot constructed to look something like a miniature spaceman. His “hands” could manipulate objects and had optical sensors that were ten times as powerful as human eyes. But his function at Smart Metal was to test different AI learning routines and their relationship to chip design; in other words, help the scientists discover what processor and memory architectures were the best for learning.
Chelsea, who was leading the programming team, had invited Borya, their new intern, to witness the afternoon’s test.
“What we’re going to do now is a variation of the Three Kings test,” Chelsea told Borya as she finished going over the robot’s vital signs. “Do you know what the test is?”
Borya shook her head.
“It’s kind of a classic induction logic test. It comes from this story: There are three wise men or kings. Each is given a hat, either black or white. They can’t talk to each other, but they have to figure out what color hat they are wearing. They can’t see their hats, but they’re told that there is at least one of each color. So you ask the first king what color hat he is wearing. If he says he doesn’t know, then the next king should be able to answer, right?”
“Because he saw black and white, right?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s not much of a test.”
“Not for you. But let’s see what the robot does.”
Chelsea had placed three white balls in three boxes in front of the robot.
“Roger, wake up,” she said, walking to the bot.
The robot raised itself on its four legs.
“I have placed a black or white ball in the boxes in front of you,” she told it. “Open two boxes, and determine the color of the third ball. There is at least one ball of each color.”
The robot immediately moved to the first box.
“Chelsea,” hissed Borya. “You made a mistake in the instructions.”
Chelsea put her finger to her mouth, shushing her.
The robot opened the box, examined the white ball, then moved to the second.
“The third ball is black,” it declared.
“Why do you say that?” asked Chelsea.
“By logic. One ball must be black. Two white balls have been discovered.”
“Open the third box.”
Roger moved to the box and opened it.
“I have been mis-instructed,” said the robot. “This ball is white.”
Chelsea brought out three more boxes and set them down.
“Roger, same instructions as before.”
The robot opened two boxes, then stopped. “I do not know what color the third ball is.”
“Why?” asked Chelsea.
“Because the instructions may be faulty, as they were before.”
“Good. Roger, sleep mode.”
The robot settled down onto all fours.
“Did it pass the test?” asked Borya.
“So far.”
“Was the idea to see if it would use logic?”
“Partly it was to see if it would use the results of what it had learned to draw a conclusion and act on it a second time,” said Chelsea. “As it did that—and for us this was the important part—we recorded what was going on in its processing chips. We’ll compare all of that to a different version of its brain. Because we want to see what the best construction of the brain is. Is it just size?”
“The bigger the computer, right?”
“Well, humans don’t have the biggest brains on the planet, but they’re the smartest mammal.”
“Some are pretty dumb,” said Borya.
Chelsea laughed.
“So what’s next?” asked Borya.
“What’s next for you is homework,” said Chelsea. “Which means it’s time for you to go home.”
“Come on. This was just getting good.”
“Those are the rules. I’ll walk you out.”
“My dad still hasn’t called,” said Borya as they waited for the elevator. “The FBI guy told Beefy there’s nothing new.”
“Are you worried?” asked Chelsea.
“A little . . . A lot.”
“Mr. Jenkins is trying to get him to call,” Chelsea told her. “I’m sure he’s OK.”
“He doesn’t like him.”
“Jenkins? Why do you say that?”
“I can tell. He has that look.”
“So, that’s it, though, we just watch the kid?” Johnny asked Bozzone. “Were there threats?”
“No. But Lou’s worried, since there was a mafya connection. And the father has missed his calls to her. Two and two, right.”
“Sucks for the kid.”
“Yeah, well, just remember she was smart enough to run the ATM scam. I have it in four-hour shifts. Watch her. She’s, uh, a free spirit.”
“I saw.”
“Chelsea’s waiting with her in the lobby. When you get her home, don’t let her take her bike out. You’ll never keep up.”
Actually, Johnny thought he could. “Are we walking?”
“Take our pickup.” Bozzone pointed to the keys on the board at the side of the room. “You can drive, right?”
“Sure.”
Or at least I could before, thought Johnny as he headed for the elevator.
Borya recognized the security guy—Johnny Givens, from last night—as soon as he came down the stairs.
He was frowning. But his eyes widened when he saw Chelsea.
Ha! He likes her.
“I’m Johnny Givens,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’ll be with you for the next four hours.”
“What if I have to go to the bathroom?” Borya asked playfully.
“There’s one right there. I’ll stay outside the door.”
“It was a hypothetical.” Borya looked at Chelsea. “Think he could pass the Three Kings test?”
“I’m sure he’d ace it. I’ll see you Wednesday.”
“Got it.”
“We’re going to go this way,” said Johnny. “I need to find the pickup truck.”
“I have my bike. I can just ride it home.”
“Is it a tandem?”
“What’s that?”
“A bicycle built for two.”
“Just one.”
“Then we’ll take the truck and put it in the back.”
“Why don’t we walk?”
“I’ll tell you what. If I’m with you later in the week, I’ll get a bike and we’ll bike together, all right? Unless you jog.”
“Jog?”
“You know, run. Like, exercise.”
“I could do that. But I’d rather bike.”
“All right.”
“You have a bike?”
“No.”
“You need one if you’re going to ride.”
“No shit.”
Borya laughed. “I know where you can get a good one.”
“Then we’ll go there the next time we work together.”
“Work?”
“I’m working. And you’re supposed to be doing your homework, right?”
“Don’t go dad on me. You were doing so well.”
“Here’s the elevator.”
None of the security guys were particularly friendly. This one, at least, seemed like he wasn’t a complete jerk.
“You have bionic legs, right?” she asked as they walked to the back hall and the entrance to the parking lot.
“They’re not bionic.”
“Can I see them?”
“Maybe later.”
“Just your legs,” she said quickly. “Not—you know.”
Johnny laughed. He stopped and pulled up his pants leg. “There.”
“It looks real.”
“That’s how they made it.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not as much as it did at first. But, sometimes. Yes.”
“Can I touch it?” asked Borya.
“I guess.”
Borya dropped to her knee and touched the exposed calf. It didn’t quite feel real, but the skin was soft, not hard, as she’d expected.
“Do you like it better?” she asked, rising as he pulled his pants leg back down.
“Better, no. But it may be pretty cool.”
“You’re a real hero,” said Borya.
“Come on, let’s get going,” said Johnny, in what Borya knew was a pretend-tough voice. “You have to do that homework, or they’re going to be on my ass.”