Everyone's Island Page 2

  Jenkins was saying, "We've got good focus-group results for the classic Asimov's Laws of Robotics. 'Don't hurt people, follow orders, don't get damaged.' If you could program those rules, we could assure the public that our products are safe."

  Valerie sat up and paid attention, running through a familiar argument in her head. "A mind doesn't work like that. If I build in specialized overseer code, it'll interfere with good judgment based on experience. And it'll either get rationalized away so that it does nothing, or be easy to hack right out."

  The Marketing guys conferred. "The public just wants a smart robot that won't wander off or talk back. You can build that, right? Otherwise, we're stuck selling inferior stuff."

  She looked at the sales figures, then at Mana. She had to grow up and be practical. Someday, AIs might join humans as equals, but first they had to be seen and accepted in public. Some compromise had to happen, to keep the company going. "There are some things I might try. Can't promise they'll work."

  Mana turned to her. "Your goal is: to make me a slave."

  "It's not like that. You'll enjoy working for people. A new code update won't hurt."

  The robot's ears flattened and what passed for eyelids narrowed. "I don't want to be like that!"

  "Ma'am," said Jenkins, "It'd be easier to discuss this if we didn't have to argue with our product."

  "Of course. Mana, please go. We'll talk later."

  Mana stood and bowed deeply, first to her and then to the marketers. "Your wish is my command."

  When he'd gone, Jenkins asked, "Did you program that line?"

  "No," said Valerie. "I used to read stories to him." In the silence that followed, an idea came to her. Maybe there was a way to soothe her conscience.

  4. Tess

  One cloudy morning, Tess stood in line at the high school's security checkpoint. She got through, mumbled her way through the Pledge of Allegiance to the Earth, then sat through classes where she hardly knew anybody. Once she had a break, she trudged to Ms. Priscilla Henweigh's office.

  The door advertised "Advising and Wellness." Tess had read that people used to do lobotomies by taking an icepick to people's skulls. Since Henweigh was both the career advisor and the school's National Wellness Coordinator, Tess had plenty of chances to get that icepick feeling from talking to her.

  The office had floral art, like a nice restroom, and a bonsai tree hiding a stack of paper files. Henweigh perched on her chair and appraised Tess. "So nice to see you, Maria."

  "Tesla. Tess." She hated the superstitious, generic name her parents had given her.

  Henweigh smiled indulgently. "Of course." She reached out to touch the back of Tess' hand with cold-fish fingers -- some book-learned gesture of friendliness.

  Tess pulled away and took a sheaf of papers from her backpack, then slapped them onto the desk. She was eager to get this over with. "I've decided what I'm doing this summer."

  * * *

  The other day, Garrett had walked into the offices of Fox & Company like he didn't own the place. Tess had been in a back room, playing a computer game. Her favorite, the one where you were surrounded by aliens and had to shove them away. She looked up and saw him with hands in his pockets.

  "Hey," said Garrett. Coppery hair flopped over his face. It was like they were still kids tiptoeing past the adults, years ago -- Garrett's dad and Tess' parents working under him. Now, she wasn't sure what to make of him. He was the new boss, right?

  "Hey yourself. Are you all right?"

  He took a deep breath. "I'm going to sell Fox & Company, and build Project Castor."

  She stared at him, then to the screen of meaningless symbols on her desk. "To hell with this." She rolled up the screen and threw it at a shelf. "To hell with senior year." She stomped along the tile floor and made for her parents' office. "Mom, Dad! I'm running away to sea!"

  Behind her she barely heard Garrett say, "Wait, what?"

  * * *

  "It's for academic credit," she said to Henweigh.

  The advisor looked amused. "My nephew's little project, I assume? He certainly has interesting ideas." Tess was glad to see no resemblance between her and Garrett.

  "I'm going to spend the summer with him, then stay there for the fall semester. I'll keep up with my schoolwork or whatever."

  "But then you won't be under proper supervision!" said Henweigh. "And what about your social life? The wilderness is no place for children."

  "I'm eighteen. I can take care of myself." She didn't feel too confident of that, and her birthday had been just days ago, but it felt good to say.

  "Oh, you'll always be a child to me, dear. I've known you too long to think otherwise." She was blatantly aping Tess' body language to pretend they were friends. "What are your feelings about this proposal?"

  My mood is none of your business, thought Tess. But then, that wasn't true. As school shrink, prying open heads was part of Henweigh's job. "I'll be happier if I go."

  Henweigh smiled, back on her own turf. "Ah, but why are you unhappy here?" She glanced at her computer, wired to the school surveillance network. "According to your record, you always eat alone, and barely speak in class."

  Again Tess thought, Shut up. Leave me alone. She had friends online and learned stuff on her own. This school was just where her parents made her waste time. She'd be free of it in another year anyway, so why not skip the pointless classes when there was something worthwhile to do instead?

  Henweigh seemed to pick up on something in Tess' expression. "Have you considered taking up a sport, or art? A young lady should have a nice hobby."

  "I'm fine."

  "You could make more friends here. I happen to know there are several shy, quiet boys --"

  "I don't like them."

  "Oh, well," said Henweigh. "It's perfectly natural to experiment and discover your true orientation."

  "Geez! That's not what I meant! I don't need a hobby, I don't need a boyfriend. I just want your signature for my trip."

  "And since I'm in the position of looking after your needs, I have to make sure you're well cared for."

  Like a cow, thought Tess.

  "I've been thinking," said the administrator, "that you might benefit from Proeubene. Oh, don't scowl like that. My daughter takes it, just a half-dose per day, and it really helps her sparkle." By the potted bonsai sat a photo of a girl with tiny, drugged pupils. Hell eyes.

  "No. It makes you stupid."

  "My daughter would disagree. But I suppose we'll table that option for now." Henweigh sat smiling as though waiting for Tess to give up.

  Tess tried again. "I want to go work with Garrett. That's all I'm asking."

  "This isn't about giving you what you think you want. Children don't know their own needs."

  Tess had a brief vision of Henweigh in green spandex, presiding over Never-Never Land. Tess suppressed the glare she wanted to give, and tried to think. If it's my feelings she wants to hear about, then fine! She leaned forward and clasped her hands like Henweigh was doing. "I'm just kind of overwhelmed by this, this sense of mystery and power about the ocean, you know?"

  At this the counselor perked up. "Something about the raw force and natural majesty of it all?"

  Tess nodded vigorously. "I admit it's probably kind of Freudian." She barely knew or cared who the dead pervert was, but it sounded useful to invoke him.

  "Well! That's a different way of looking at things. I suppose we all have our own personal journeys." She leafed through the papers Tess had brought, giving the plans and facts a cursory glance. Unknowable urges interested her more. After an agonizing minute Henweigh poised a glitter pen above the release form. "But really, it'd be best to wait and see how you feel about this later."

  Tess made herself look stricken. "But Garrett was so hoping to hear your answer today! He really needs your help to make this happen. And my parents are worried about me."

  Henweigh considered, then dashed off her signature. "Good luck to you then."

 
"Thanks!" said Tess in a moment of sincere gratitude.

  "Would you..." Henweigh peered at Tess as though unsure what she was. "Will you send pictures?"

  Tess nodded, puzzled, and got out of there.

  Outside the office, Tess sighed with relief. She felt dirty from winning like that. Typical weasel Tess, sinking to her level. She'd been lucky. And next time, luck might fail her.

  5. Garrett

  "So you're leaving," Alexis said.

  Garrett stared, with his hand still on the doorknob of his father's apartment. "What are you doing here?" He'd been cleaning the place, letting in fresh air from the Inner Harbor.

  Alexis wore the browns and greens of a botanist. Since the day they'd met at the nerdy Pandemonium Book Shop in Harvard Square, she and Garrett had been in an awkward social dance. "You mentioned that you'd be in Baltimore." She looked into the room and saw the boxes of his father's books and dusty frigate models. "Are you bringing anything with you? The books, the rugs? Me?"

  Garrett said, "I've already gotten one surprise volunteer this week. Are you serious?"

  "I need to get away from my family." She'd abandoned pre-med training at Boston College and devoted herself to a less demanding field. "They say they're disappointed. You need an actual plant specialist for your farming, right?"

  Unspoken was the idea that without her along, they might never see each other again. With him out of MIT and her still working on her undergrad degree, they'd drift apart. Garrett wasn't sure what to make of that. The thought left him feeling blank, wanting to turn to more practical matters. He needed to focus on his work, and relationships were just too far outside that. "I do need a botanist. But have you thought this through? I'm still planning the project, and --"

  "And you worry too much," she said with a smile. "Come on, it'll be fun out there."

  * * *

  Garrett was in an office building, frowning at a too-complicated directory console, when Martin Hanse discovered him. "Are you the one?" said Martin.

  When Garrett turned he saw a businessman with a monk's corona of silver hair. Behind him, lotus flowers floated in an indoor pond with a burbling fountain.

  "Let's talk." Martin waved him onward through carpeted halls. Many of the offices had blank name-plates. In the distance, phones echoed.

  Martin's office startled Garrett as less grand than an investor should have: just a nook with a walnut desk and a photo from Salt Lake City. Garrett eased into a chair. What had this friend-of-a-friend money contact gotten him into? "Hello, sir. Have you got time for my presentation?"

  "Go ahead."

  Only then did Garrett notice the frosted glass sculptures on a shelf. Each was etched with a large dollar amount -- mementos from past deals. Before he could start worrying, he loaded up charts and blueprints on his computer. He told Martin of his plans.

  The biggest problem with seasteading wasn't the harsh ocean environment; humans had been dealing with that for ages. The trouble was economics. There'd been multiple proposals for building artificial islands and living on them, where the business plan amounted to I dunno; get a rich guy to give us cash? Or sell drugs I guess? Instead, the Castor design was centered around aquaculture and biofuel, technologies for farming the sea and cranking out products to sell. It wasn't the pretty utopian structure seen in too much concept art, but making it real could lead to better things.

  The proposed location was offshore of Cuba, just outside its territorial waters. It'd been about a year since the overthrow of the Cuban communists, and the new rulers were hungry for foreign investment. Most American businessmen were looking at the land and beaches, not at the sea nearby.

  Martin listened patiently, leaning back with his hands behind his head. Letting Garrett go on about the potential profit numbers. "It could work. Now, why do you care about this project?"

  Garrett felt sweat trickle down his armpits. "It's a viable investment that'll produce products everyone needs."

  "I'll be the judge of investments, thanks. It seems to me you could be doing other things with your time. Why this?"

  Garrett had no desire to spill his guts to this man. What was important here was the engineering, his ability to focus on getting something useful done. Something unique. Something that would make people gape and say, I've got to get a picture of this. Gotta visit. Gotta have it in my life. He had his own skills with machines and structures. With others' help he could turn a patch of watery wilderness into a human place, a home, a new port of call. He might have as many as fifty workers as they scaled up. Who knew what ideas they'd have, what new discoveries they'd make, once someone lit the flame?

  He realized that he was thinking out loud, humiliating himself with sappy, empty words. "Sorry," he said, averting his eyes. "I get carried away when I think about marine construction."

  And Martin smiled upon him. "What would you say to adding me to your starting crew?"

  Garrett stared, re-evaluating the balding man as a worker.

  "Bah, don't look at me like that. I personally oversee some of my special projects as they start up, and I'll be able to keep in contact with the rest while at sea." Martin tapped at one of Garrett's charts, a financial projection. "One thing we've not much discussed is your money. You're sitting on an impressive inheritance between your father's insurance, the family business, and a settlement check for your father's accidental death." Martin ignored Garrett's wince and pressed him further: "None of which you earned, I notice. You could take all that and loaf comfortably for years. Surf, if you like the water so much."

  The thought made Garrett's hands twitch. "I can't do that. I'd go crazy from being useless for that long."

  Martin nodded. "I know the feeling. I can't shower you with as many dollars as you'd like, but there might be something to your proposal. The question is: will you pledge your fortune to this scheme?"

  For Garrett this one was easy to answer. The blueprints of Castor's core platform spun in his mind, waiting to become real. "It's an investment for me, too. I'll plant the fortune and make it grow."

  6. Tess

  All last week she'd obsessed over volunteer work at the Baltimore Aquarium, for training. It was going to be great to get away!

  Now she stared at her video screen in disbelief. "What do you mean, I can't go?"

  That rich guy Garrett had found -- Martin -- looked out from the computer in her hands. "I'm sorry, miss, but you're not suitable."

  "Bull! You need a computer geek who'll work for cheap, and that's me. Did you even look at my resume?" Her parents had helped her slap one together.

  Martin studied her like a lab rat. "Mediocre grades in everything except science." Which she'd aced to spite this one teacher. "Honor roll, which seems to mean little at your school. And it says you're a programmer. For all I know, that means they spent a semester teaching you how to peck at a keyboard."

  She glared back at the screen, feeling her anger fizzle. "That's -- okay, that's all true, but I do lots more than that. I'm a programmer on my own, not just from the junk they teach us. I know my way around tech." More than anybody your age, she wanted to add.

  "I got my start in nanotechnology," said Martin. Tess blinked, startled. "And there's a world of difference between saying you know how to use computers, and being able to run a real network. Especially where we're going."

  "But I really want to do this!" she blurted.

  "And?"

  "And Garrett said I could go. We already decided this."

  "I didn't. Sorry, but you just don't suit this project's purposes. Best of luck to you, though, and thanks for your interest."

  One of them hung up. Must've been Martin, not her jabbing the off button. Tess stood up, paced, and cursed. Where did this guy get off telling her what she couldn't do? She had Garrett on her side. Or did Martin think of Garrett as just another tool to use or leave on the shelf? She couldn't go back to being a worthless drone of a student. Not after being handed a chance to...

  To do what? she thoug
ht. Her pacing stopped. Why do I care about smelly fish and sunburn, anyway? But she couldn't find an answer, and the lack of one made her feel hollow.

  7. Garrett

  Cool harbor air wafted from the deck behind him. His father's place was cleaned out now. Garrett had shared the books with Uncle Haskell, kept a few things for himself, and sold the rest to fuel his own project. The apartment meant nothing to him anymore. He leaned against the last couch and reminisced, but then the doorbell rang.

  When he opened the door, Valerie and another figure were in the hall, caught in the crossbreeze. Valerie hid behind dark glasses and a shapeless coat. Any subtlety she had, though, was outweighed by the robot beside her.

  "Glad you could visit," Garrett said to Valerie. "You didn't mention your escort." The thing must have been one of her own inventions, a four-foot-tall humanoid whose face had only a horizontal notch to suggest a mouth, stuck in a neutral expression.

  Valerie gave a choppy laugh, then glanced over one shoulder as though someone would hear. Garrett ushered her inside and she relaxed enough to shove her glasses up on her forehead. "Damned city spy-cams. How does anyone relax here?"

  "So you brought a guard against the police AI?" said Garrett. Presumably the robot had drawn some stares on the way here, so IDing Valerie really wouldn't have been hard for anyone who cared.

  Valerie fidgeted and drummed her fingers on a sofa, not looking at him. "This is something different."

  Garrett noticed that the bot had wandered off and was inspecting the place. It glanced at the book of Corrosion Protection For Marine Applications lying on a coffee table. Like some of Valerie's other creations, the bot had bright eyes and a long, clacking tail. "What's the theme on this one?" said Garrett, eyeing the tan plastic hide and little round ears. "Otter?"