it. The only thing that mattered was speed. Getting it done as fast as possible. Getting to you.”
You don’t understand the point he’s making. “And he did it. Against all the odds, here I am.”
“Yes—here you are. But as for how you are…Have you heard of an AI called Tay?”
You shake your head.
“Tay was an adaptive-learning chatbot that Microsoft’s research division put out on Twitter a couple of years back. Its first tweets were charming—telling everyone how cool humanity was, how happy it was to be here, that kind of thing. Within twenty-four hours it was tweeting that feminists should burn in hell and Hitler was right about the Jews. The adaptive learning had worked too well.”
“Well, I’ll try not to go crazy. Or go on Twitter.”
You mean it as a joke, but Mike nods seriously.
“Look, I probably understand the way your brain works better than anyone. But even I couldn’t swear we got everything right. We didn’t always have time to check our steps.” He swings his laptop case up onto the table. “It was pretty irresponsible of Tim to take you away before we’d run some tests, actually. But I can check you out right here.”
“This is what you do, isn’t it?” you remember. “That’s what your job really is—to go around after him, sorting out whatever he’s been too impatient to deal with first time around. When he cuts a corner, you go back and check it. When he’s overhasty, you take care of the details.”
Mike gives a thin smile. “I prefer to think of it as having complementary skills. Tim’s like an architect—he sees the big picture. But an architect is only ever as good as his builder. Stand up, would you?” He pulls a cable from his bag.
You get to your feet. “And you’re sure Tim won’t mind?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mention this to Tim if I were you. You know what he’s like. You’d probably just set him off unnecessarily. ” Mike bends down. You hear the click as his cable slots into your hip.
You’re uneasy. Doing something like this behind Tim’s back feels wrong.
But then, you think, you don’t intend to say anything about that iPad, either. At least, not until you know what’s on it.
A series of beeps issue from Mike’s computer. “What are you testing for?” you ask.
Intent now on his screen, he doesn’t look up. “Like I said, Tim was in something of a rush. So rather than design an artificial mind from scratch, it seemed easier just to construct a digital replica of the human brain. Or rather, the human brains, plural. Most people don’t realize, but the main part of our brain, the bit that looks like a big walnut, is actually a relatively recent addition—it evolved after we learned to use language. Beneath it there’s an older, smaller organ called the limbic brain, which dates back to the first mammals. That’s where the emotions are generated—friendship, love, all the things that make us sociable.”
“And that’s where my empathy comes from?”
“We believe so,” he says cautiously. “And then, underneath that, there’s an older brain still, the reptilian brain. That’s what controls our unconscious compulsions—breathing, balance, the survival instinct. How the three structures interact is still something of a mystery. And of course, sometimes the balance gets out of whack. It’s not a great design by any means, at least not on paper—it’s like a house that’s been extended multiple times over the centuries, instead of being conceived from the ground up. Mostly it works fine, but when it goes wrong, it’s a bitch to fix. In theory, you could be susceptible to all the same problems humans can have—personality disorders, psychosis, confabulation…”
“Confabulation?”
He glances at you. “Self-deception. Making things up without realizing it.”
You stare at him. “Are you saying I can’t trust my memories?”
“No one should ever entirely trust their memories. I take it you haven’t noticed any problems?”
“No,” you say curtly.
“Good.” Mike’s hands scuttle across his keyboard. The clicking sound sets your teeth on edge.
Something else occurs to you. “If you’re his best friend, why hasn’t Tim uploaded any memories with you in them? Why can’t I remember you at all?”
Mike looks up from his laptop. “Probably because he knows I don’t like you very much,” he says calmly. “That I loathe you, in fact.”
12
“Me then? Or me now?” you say, taken aback.
“Both,” Mike says matter-of-factly. “Although loathed might be too strong a word to use about the original Abbie. I mean, it was pretty hard