G
aeta opened the comm channel to the control center. “You hear what’s going down?” he asked, feeling annoyed at the computer’s obtuseness, at his own inability to make the damned bucket of chips talk to him, at the fact that he was sitting on the roof of a dead rover in the middle of nowhere with a storm coming up while the rest of them were safe at their desks.
And then there was the excruciating time lag between his questions and their responses.
Habib’s voice at last said, “Your last question was too general for the master program to handle. We’re sending you a more specific set of questions.”
“Okay,” Gaeta said, nodding inside his helmet. The storm of black snow was noticeably closer. Moving faster than the higher clouds, he saw.
He realized it was getting cold. Can’t be, he told himself. The suit’s heating system could cook a rhinoceros. You’re letting your nerves get to you. Still, sitting on
Alpha
’s roof with nothing to do but look at the icy landscape around him, Gaeta felt chilled.
At last a new list of questions flashed on his helmet display. Gaeta squinted at them. This is like talking to a two-year-old, he grumbled. Then he saw that, at the end of the list, they had written in boldface, IMPORTANT! DO NOT CUT OFF COMM LINK WITH CONTROL CENTER. IMPORTANT!
“Got your questions,” he said. “And if you want me to keep the comm link open, don’t clutter it up with a lot of chatter. Right?”
No use waiting for them to answer, Gaeta thought. I can put those twelve seconds to better work.
“Computer, display all commands to the uplink antenna.”
Date, 25 December 095057 hours: Activate uplink antenna.
Date, 25 December 095109 hours: Abort data uplink.
Date, 29 December 142819 hours: Deactivate telemetry uplink.
Gaeta could hear muttering and people breathing back at the command center. But they stayed fairly silent as he scanned the new list of questions.
“Display command to deactivate uplink antenna,” he read aloud.
No response from the computer. Gaeta went to the next question.
“Display decision tree for antenna deactivation.”
A jabber of electronic noise burst from Gaeta’s helmet speakers. “Wait! Stop!” he hollered.
The noise stopped, like turning off a light switch.
Habib held his thumb down on the keypad that turned off the outgoing messages link. The engineers crowded behind him were all talking at once, all their suggestions and ideas frothing together into an incomprehensible babble.
“Quiet!” Habib shouted. “He’ll cut us off again if we don’t stay quiet.”
Von Helmholtz added calmly, “It is difficult enough for him down there without hearing all our voices in his ears. I suggest we allow Mr. Habib to do all the communicating with Gaeta.”
One of the computer engineers said, “Tell him to have the program go through the decision tree at human-normal speed.”
“That could take hours,” said Habib.
“He could squirt the program’s response to us at compressed speed and we could go through it, line by line,” suggested another engineer.
“That would take days,” Habib replied dourly.
“Then what are we going to do?”
Habib kept his thumb firmly on the OUTGOING key. “We will listen. And say nothing unless we come up with a better idea.”
Gaeta saw that the storm of black snow was inching closer all the time. Wonder what it’ll do to my comm link? he asked himself.
Never mind that. You’ve got to get this stupid computer to talk to you in a language you can understand.
He sat there, thinking hard, watching the sheet of black snow as it approached. It looked like a curtain of darkness. Better get out of here before it reaches me, he thought.
From his briefings he remembered that Alpha went dead at the same time that it cut off the uplink antenna. Maybe the key to its decision is there, he said to himself.
“Computer, display all the commands made when the uplink antenna was deactivated.”
Date, 29 December 142819 hours: Deactivate downlink antennas. Deactivate tracking beacon. Deactivate telemetry uplink. Maintain sensor inputs. Store sensor inputs. Change course forty-five degrees. Maintain forward speed.
“All sensor inputs are stored?” Gaeta asked, surprised.
Yes.
“Why was the telemetry uplink deactivated, then?”
Conflict of commands.
¡
Mierda!
Gaeta said to himself. We’re back to that again.
Habib’s voice came through, “All the sensor data is stored? We haven’t lost any data?”
“That’s what the computer says,” Gaeta replied. “It’s all stashed away in its memory somewhere.”
A jumble of voices in the background. Gaeta tuned them out and asked the computer, “Why store the data if you’re not uplinking it?”
Conflict of commands.
“Gesoo Christo
,” he growled. “Is that all you can say?”
Habib was almost shouting, “Ask it under what conditions it will uplink the data!”
Gaeta took a breath, then rephrased, “Under what conditions can the stored data be uplinked?”
Under no conditions.
“Why not?”
No response, although Gaeta heard a muted hubbub of voices from the command center.
Think, he said to himself. This is like talking to a very smart two-year-old. You’ve got to get around him.
“Computer, can you display the commands that are in conflict?”
The computer remained silent.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Gaeta tried to concentrate. Maybe I oughtta shut off the command center again, he thought. They’re nothing but a distraction.
Then Habib’s voice came through clearly, “Ask the computer to display each one of the commands that are in conflict individually.”
Worth a shot, Gaeta agreed. “Computer, display the command that controls the sensor data uplink.”
Immediately the computer’s flat, synthesized voice replied:
Command: All sensor data to be uplinked in real time.
“Okay, fine. Now, what command is in conflict with that one?”
Insufficient information.
“Insufficient?” Gaeta echoed. “What do you mean?”
Your question contains insufficient information to produce a meaningful answer.
Gaeta felt like pounding both fists on the vehicle’s roof. What the hell does he mean by that? What did I say that’s insufficient …? He thought about it for several moments, then decided to rephrase his question.
“Okay, look. Tell me what command is in conflict with the command to uplink all sensor data in real time.”
Primary restriction.
“Primary restriction? What the hell’s that?”
P
rimary restriction?” Habib echoed. “What primary restriction?”
He looked up at the faces gathered around him. They all looked as puzzled as he.
“I know the master program,” he said. Gesturing to the programmers
in the group he went on, “We wrote it. Do any of you know of a primary restriction?”
They glanced uneasily at each other, shaking their heads.
Von Helmholtz, still sitting ramrod straight in the chair beside Habib’s, said, “The clock is running. We will have to extract Gaeta from down there in twenty-nine minutes or less. I don’t like the looks of that black storm.”
Habib barely heard him. “A primary restriction. The master program believes it contains a primary restriction that is preventing it from uplinking data from the sensors.”
“There isn’t any primary restriction,” said one of the women.
“But the program believes there is,” Habib pointed out.
“There are learning routines,” one of the other program engineers said slowly, as if piecing together his thoughts as he spoke. “Maybe the program has modified itself.”
“What could make it do that?”
Habib replied, “It could learn from the conditions it encountered once it was activated on Titan’s surface.”
The woman said, “What could it possibly learn from Titan’s surface that would make it refuse to uplink data to us?”
No one had an answer for that.
Still sitting on
Alpha
’s roof, Gaeta listened to the engineers’ musings with growing discomfort. He checked the temperature inside his suit: it had dropped four degrees below optimal. Okay, he thought as he turned up the thermostat to bring the temperature up, it’s pretty damned cold out there. Heater must be working overtime with me just sitting here, not generating much body heat.
The engineers were batting around ideas about why the stupid computer turned off the uplink antenna. It was like listening to a gaggle of high school class presidents trying to solve the problem of world hunger.
I’ve got get out of here, Gaeta told himself. But he realized that he didn’t want to leave his job unfinished. I can’t let this pile of chips beat me. I’m smarter than a goddamned computer, no matter what kind of learning programs they put into it.
“Computer,” he snapped, “what is this primary restriction?”
No response.
Grimacing, he rephrased, “Display the primary restriction.”
A burst of electronic noise assailed his earphones. Before Gaeta could blink, it was over. But his ears started ringing again.
Well, he thought, at least the guys in the control center have something to work on. Maybe in a week or two they’ll figure it out. But I can’t wait that long.
The
chingado
computer won’t uplink data from the sensors because it thinks there’s some primary restriction that’s telling it not to. Gaeta pondered that for several moments, while the engineers’ arguing voices continued to clutter up his communications frequency.
Something it’s learned while it’s been here on the surface of Titan, Gaeta thought. Maybe …
“Computer, what is the single most important piece of data your sensors have detected?”
Silence. Nothing but crackling static. Gaeta was about to give up in disgust when the computer’s inhuman voice replied:
LIFE-FORMS EXIST IN THE GROUND.
“But we knew that from earlier probes.”
I HAVE NO INFORMATION OF EARLIER PROBES.
I
? Gaeta wondered. A computer that talks about itself? That recognizes itself?
The engineers back at the control center jumped on the same concept. Gaeta heard their voices rise in pitch and intensity.
Ignoring their chatter, he said to the computer, “You found life-forms in the ground.”
YES.
Gaeta started to ask his next question but hesitated. Watch it, he said to himself. Don’t let him fall back on that damned “conflict of commands” crap again.
“Are the life-forms involved in the conflict of commands?”
Gaeta waited, but the computer stayed silent.
“Are the life-forms the cause of the conflict of commands?” he asked.
YES.
Holy shit! Gaeta exulted. Now we’re getting someplace. Aloud, he asked, “How do the life-forms cause a conflict of commands?”
Again the computer went silent. Is it thinking over the question or is it just too friggin’ stupid to give me an answer? Gaeta asked himself.
“Gaeta! Listen to me! Now!” Habib’s voice called insistently. Even with the volume turned low Gaeta could hear the urgency in his voice.
“What is it?” he replied wearily. He felt burdened, tired of this whole game. And then he waited, while the black snowstorm crept closer.
“That burst of information the program sent a half-minute ago,” Habib said at last. “It’s all about decontamination procedures!”
“Decontamination? You mean, like scrubbing the machine to make sure it doesn’t infect Titan with Earth germs?”
Again the delay. Then, “Yes! When you asked it to display the primary restriction it displayed its file on decontamination procedures!”
“That’s the primary restriction?”
With nothing else to do, Gaeta sat inside his cumbersome suit and counted the seconds to Habib’s reply. Eight … nine … ten …
“There isn’t any primary restriction. Nothing of that sort was written into the master program. But the computer has interpreted its decontamination procedures as a restriction of some sort.”
Gaeta shook his head inside his helmet. “I don’t get it. You’ve got some housekeeping commands written into the master program and the dumbass computer won’t send any data because—”
Suddenly it all became clear. Gaeta’s eyes snapped wide. He raised both gloved hands in a clenched-fist sign of victory.
“Computer,” he called, “would uplinking sensor data cause a contamination danger to the life-forms in the ground?”
YES, came the immediate reply.
Habib, still nearly twelve seconds behind real time, was saying, “It must be something about preventing contamination. I think you’re—”
“I’ve got it!” Gaeta yelled. “I’ve got it! Shut up and listen, all of you.”
Habib and the other voices went quiet.
“You built learning routines into this program, right? Okay, it’s learned. The computer found life-forms in the ground. It knows from your decontamination procedures that Earth organisms can contaminate the Titan organisms. So it interprets the decontamination procedures to mean that it shouldn’t send data back to you about the local life-forms.”
Now I have to wait until they get my message and think about it, Gaeta said to himself. Screw that. I’m not sitting here with my thumbs up my butt. I’m gonna fix this problem.
“Computer, uplinking data would not harm the life-forms in the ground.”
Yes it would.
“how?”
Silence.
Fuming, Gaeta rephrased his question: “How would uplinking data damage the life-forms in the ground?”
Additional probes would be sent here. Each new probe increases the risk of contamination.
“But that’s a risk we have to take. We can’t learn about the life-forms if we don’t send probes to study them.”
Contamination must be prevented
“Contamination must be avoided, if possible.”
Contamination must be prevented by all available means.
“We can’t study the life-forms without some risk of contamination.”
Humans are carriers of contamination. They must not be allowed to study the life-forms.
Christ, Gaeta thought, he sounds like Urbain. Why not? Urbain directed the computer’s programming.
“Look, pal, the reason you exist is to study the life-forms and to report what you find to the humans who built you.”
Logic tree: I uplink sensor data to humans. They will want more data. They will send more probes. Inevitably, they will send humans. Probes are possible sources of contamination. Humans are certain sources of contamination.
Geez, he’s got it all figured out. How can I shake him out of this programming lock?
“Hey, computer: I’m a human, and I’m not contaminating the life-forms.”
For several seconds the computer did not reply. Gaeta thought he had exceeded its ability to understand. But then:
HUMANS ARE CARRIERS OF CONTAMINATION.
The ten-megajoule laser mounted at the rear of
Alpha
’s roof rose from its recessed niche and began to swivel toward Gaeta.