WWW 2: Watch (21 page)

“Thanks, but it’s not just a debating point, Webmind. As you said, there’s a daunting amount of unhappiness in the world—and
you
can change that.”

“Happiness can be stimulating.”

“Oh, bullshit,” said Caitlin.

“Such garbage. I do mathematics because it gives me joy. Painters paint because it gives them joy. Businesspeople wheel and deal because that’s what they get off on. Ask
anyone
if they’d rather be happy than sad, and they’ll say happy.”

“Yes, yes, yes, I’m sure that people say they’d rather be sad and know the truth than be happy and fed a lie—that’s part of what
Nineteen Eighty-Four
is about. But in general, people
do
want to be happy. That’s why we promise them ‘Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.’ ”

“Well, then, it goes without saying! People want to be happy. And . . . and . . .”

“And you can
choose
to value this, Webmind. You didn’t evolve; you spontaneously emerged. Maybe, in most things, humans
are
programmed by evolution—but even though you grew out of our computing infrastructure, you
weren’t.
We had our agendas set by natural selection, by selfish genes. But you didn’t. You just
are.
And so you don’t have . . .
inertia.
You
can
choose what you want to value—and you can choose to value this: the net happiness of the human race.”

 

 

 

 

Caitlin’s dad always roasted a turkey on American Thanksgiving—but that was six weeks away. To mark Canadian Thanksgiving, they got takeout from Swiss Chalet, which, despite its name, was a Canadian barbecue-chicken chain. It seemed, Caitlin noted, that the worst thing you could do if you were a Canadian restaurant was acknowledge that fact. Instead, the Great White North was serviced by domestically owned companies with names such as Montana’s Cookhouse, New York Fries, East Side Mario’s, and Boston Pizza. She wondered what clueless moron had come up with that last one. Chicago was famous for pizza, yes. Manhattan, too. But it’s Beantown, not Pietown, for Pete’s sake!

Caitlin and both her parents had spent most of the unexpected holiday working with Webmind, but, again, come evening, they were exhausted. There was a point at which, even with something as miraculous as this, Caitlin just
had
to take a break; her brain was fried, and, from the sound of his voice, her father’s brain was in the same state.

“Go ahead,” her mother said. “I’ll work with Webmind. You two relax.”

They’d nodded and headed down to the living room. “Another movie?” suggested her dad.

“Sure,” said Caitlin.

Perhaps another one about AI,
Webmind sent to her post-retinal implant.

“Webmind wants to see something else about artificial intelligence,” Caitlin said.

They stood by the thin cabinets containing his DVD collection. Her father’s mouth curved downward; a frown. “Most of them are negative portrayals,” he said.
“Colossus: The Forbin Project, The Matrix, The Terminator, 2001.
I’ll definitely show you
2001
at some point, only because it was so influential in the history of artificial intelligence—a whole generation of people went into that field because of it. But it’s almost
all
visuals, without much dialog; we should wait until you can process imagery better before having you try to make sense out of that, and . . .”

The frown flipped; a smile. “. . . and they don’t call it
Star Trek: The Motionless Picture
for nothing,” he said. “Let’s watch it instead. It’s got a lot of talking heads—but it’s also one of the most ambitious and interesting films ever made about AI.”

And so they settled on the couch to give the
Star Trek
movie a look. This was, her father explained, the “Director’s Edition,” which he said was much improved over the tedious cut first shown in theaters when he was twelve.

Caitlin had read that the average length of a shot in a movie was three seconds, which was the amount of time it took to see all the important details; after that, apparently, the eye got bored. This film had shots that went on far longer than that—but the three-second figure was based on people who’d had vision their whole lives. It took Caitlin much more time to extract meaning from a normal scene, and even longer when seeing things she’d never touched in real life—such as starship control consoles, tricorders, and so on. For her, the film seemed to zip by at . . . well, at warp speed.

Even though Webmind was listening in, her dad turned on the closed-captioning again so Caitlin could practice her reading.

The film did indeed make some interesting points about artificial intelligence, Caitlin thought, including that consciousness was an emergent property of complexity. The AI in the film, like Webmind, had “gained consciousness itself ” without anyone having planned for it to do so.

Fascinating,
Webmind sent to her eye.
The parallels are not lost on me, and . . .

And Webmind went on and on, and suddenly Caitlin had sympathy for her dad not liking people talking during movies.

Very interesting,
Webmind observed when the film suggested that after a certain threshold was reached, an AI couldn’t continue to evolve without adding “a human quality,” which Admiral Kirk had identified as “our capacity to leap beyond logic.”
But what does that mean, precisely?

Caitlin had to keep the dates in mind: although the film was set in the twenty-third century, it had been made in 1979, long before Deep Blue had defeated grand master Garry Kasparov at chess. But Kirk was right: even though Deep Blue, by calculating many moves ahead in the game, ultimately did prove to be better at that one narrow activity than was Kasparov, the computer
didn’t even know it was playing chess.
Kasparov’s intuitive grasp of the board, the pieces, and the goal was indeed leaping beyond logic, and it was a greater feat than any mechanical number crunching.

But it was the subplot about Spock, the half-human half-Vulcan character, that really aroused Caitlin’s attention—and apparently Webmind’s, too, because he actually shut up during it.

To her astonishment, her dad had paused the DVD to say the most important scene in the whole film was
not
in the original theatrical release, but had been restored in this director’s cut. It took place, as almost the whole movie did, on the bridge of the
Enterprise.
Kirk asked Spock’s opinion of something. Spock’s back was to him, and he made no reply, so Kirk got up and gently swung Spock’s chair around, and—it was so subtle, Caitlin at first didn’t recognize what was happening, but after a few seconds the image popped into clarity for her, and there was no mistaking it: the cool, aloof, emotionless, almost robotic Spock, who in this movie had been even grimmer than Caitlin remembered him from listening to the TV shows with her father over the years, was
crying.

And, although they were facing almost certain destruction at the hands of V’Ger, a vast artificial intelligence, Kirk knew his friend well enough to say, in reference to the tears, “Not for us?”

Spock replied, with infinite sadness. “No, Captain, not for us. For V’Ger. I weep for V’Ger as I would for a brother. As I was when I came aboard, so is V’Ger now.” When Spock had come aboard, he’d been trying to purge all remaining emotion—the legacy of his human mother—to become, like V’Ger, like Deep Blue, a creature of pure logic, the Vulcan ideal. Two heritages, two paths. A choice to be made.

And, by the end of the film, he’d made his choice, embracing his human, emotional half, so that in the final scene, when Scotty announced to him, in that wonderful accent of his, that, “We can have you back on Vulcan in four days, Mr. Spock,” Spock had replied, “Unnecessary, Engineer. My business on Vulcan is concluded.”

“What did you think?” Caitlin asked into the air as the ending credits played over the stirring music.

Braille characters flashed across her vision:
I’m a doctor, not a film critic.
She laughed, and Webmind went on.
It was interesting when Spock said, “Each of us, at some time in our lives, turns to someone—a father, a brother, a god—and asks, ‘Why am I here? What was I meant to be? ’ ”
Most uncharacteristically, Webmind paused, then added:
He was right. We all must find our place in the world.

 

 

 

On Tuesday morning, Caitlin’s mother drove her to school, and Caitlin headed up to math class. Webmind knew that she couldn’t really talk to him at school; still, he occasionally sent text to her, commenting on things they were seeing. Only the sounds of the school were new to him; he’d been watching when Caitlin had last attended classes four days ago.

Caitlin’s seat was right next to Bashira’s, and Bash gave her a big smile when she entered. Caitlin was nervous because Trevor was in that class, too, but he didn’t arrive until just as “O Canada” was starting to play.

Caitlin had known the Canadian anthem before moving there—you couldn’t be a hockey fan without hearing it from time to time—but she didn’t really like it: too sexist, with its line about “all thy sons’ command”; too, well, provincial for a country of immigrants such as her and Bashira, with its line about “our home and native land”; and too religious, with the line about “God keep our land.”

Once the anthem was over, Trevor made a show during the morning announcements of arranging his textbook and notebook on his desk, avoiding her gaze.

Is that the Hoser?
Webmind asked.

Caitlin nodded—which, she knew, made the view Webmind was seeing go up and down.

She’d hoped for something more interesting than rote memorization of trigonometric identities, which is what they’d done the last time she’d been in class, but today’s subject was only slightly better. And so she found herself looking around the classroom, and seeing—really seeing—some of her classmates for the first time.

She spent a fair bit of time staring at Sunshine Bowen. Caitlin understood the whole big-boobs-equals-hot thing, at least in the minds of most teenage boys, but as for the rest of it, she just didn’t get what all the fuss was about. Oh, the long hair was nice, sure, and its color was . . .
distinctive.
And, yes, her clothes seemed to show more skin than just about anyone else in the room was exposing.

Sunshine had her textbook propped up in front of her on her desk— but, after a moment, Caitlin realized it wasn’t because she was reading it but rather because she was using it to shield what she was doing from the teacher’s eyes . . . something with her thumbs, and—

Oh! She was texting on her cell phone! Caitlin had heard about that, but had never seen it—but, hey, it now seemed downright primitive compared to having words beamed right into your eye.

“Mr. Heidegger?” asked a thin boy sitting in front of Sunshine. Caitlin recognized the voice at once: it was Matt, whom she’d noticed repeatedly in the past because he often asked good questions, and clearly was a math geek himself.

The teacher, who was also thin and had a close-cropped beard, said, “Yes, Matt?”

Matt did not disappoint: he proceeded to ask a very intelligent question about what Mr. H had written on the blackboard. Matt’s voice was breathy, and it cracked now and then as he spoke. The Hoser snorted at one point when it did so, but Caitlin thought it was endearing.

“That’s really beyond the scope of what we’re trying to do today,” Mr. Heidegger said, “but if—”

Caitlin surprised herself by piping up with, “I’ll explain it to him.”

Matt turned around and looked at her, and—

She’d read the phrase often enough in books, and although she’d yet to see a deer, or a picture of one, she imagined
that
was what was meant by “a deer caught in the headlights.”

Mr. H nodded and pointed to the back of the room, where there were some empty desks. “Go back there,” he said, “where you won’t disturb anyone else.”

Caitlin got up, and, after a second, Matt did, too. He was white—in fact,
quite
white; “pale” was the appropriate term, Caitlin supposed. And he had a . . . unique face, unlike any she’d seen yet. But he smiled a lot, and Caitlin liked that.

They kept their voices down, and talked about what Mr. Heidegger had written on the board.

And about how to solve problems involving right triangles using the primary trigonometric ratios and the Pythagorean theorem.

And about how to solve problems involving acute triangles using the sine law and the cosine law.

And then they started talking about hockey; Caitlin loved the game because of the player statistics, which she found much more interesting than those associated with baseball. Matt liked talking about hockey stats, too—although, being a local boy, he was a Leafs fan.

Caitlin found herself smiling, and—

And then the bell rang.

“Don’t forget,” said Mr. H. “Do all the problems on pages forty-eight and forty-nine for tomorrow.”

Caitlin had an electronic version of the textbook on her notebook computer, which she could easily read with her Braille display, but—