Late Monday afternoon, Gilbert the Hacker roared up on his chrome-plated Harley, eased his immense bulk from the machine, and strode, smiling, up the walk of my country home. He wore his usual ouffit: faded triple-x jeans and a stained tee-shirt that outlined more of Gilbert's anatomy than I really wanted to see. He held out a package which, even at some distance, I could read. It said ALPHIE in bright, splashy letters.
"You're not going to believe this, man. No way."
He chuckled delightedly as he stood before me, holding the package up like an inflated TV pitchman. Gilbert never visited without some revelation in hand. It was part of his job and, fortunately, part of his image: archdruid of hackers, adviser extraordinaire and prober of the improbable. He handed me the package."You want something to review. Try Alphie."
Something about his smile bothered me.
I glanced at the mailing label. Omega Software, with a return address that reminded me of the Catskill area of New York. It had already been opened at one end. Inside were two disks and a promotional flyer that promised "hours of absorbing conversation with a nearly human program: share your innermost thoughts but be prepared for surprises!"
Gilbert was what I call a "feeder," someone who kept me supplied with interesting material for the numerous software reviews and articles I wrote in a vain attempt to keep my house. Unfortunately, Gilbert was given to sudden enthusiasms and unpredictable interests that ran the gamut from the profound to the puerile. Here was a possible case in point.
As Gilbert followed me onto the verandah, a statement at the end of the flyer caught my attention:
"Omega software will not be held legally responsible for beliefs developed by purchasers as a result of using Alphie."
"What does this mean?""Oh, the "beliefs'? Isn't that great? You'll see what it means."
"I assume this is some kind program like Eliza, right?"
"You'll see."I referred to the well-known (but very stupid) program of Professor Weizenbaum, late of MIT. Like Eliza, Alphie probably led humans by the nose through a series of preset conversational gambits: within a few minutes the program would begin to sound moronic or start repeating itself. I would grow tired of it all.
But Gilbert had not grown tired of it. He stood by my desk as I withdrew a manual and two diskettes from the package. One of these held the program's "knowledge base" while the other contained its "brainware." I smiled sardonically as I carefully loaded one diskette, then the other, into my micro. The package was even more pretentious than the promotion!
"Just type 'talk'," said Gilbert, "Listen, I'd love to stay and watch you go crazy but I'm supposed to give a talk on computer careers at the High School in five minutes."
"In that outfit?" 'I have an image to keep up."He disappeared, if that word applies to one so large, out the door.
I turned with a sigh to my computer and typed "talk." For approximately three minutes the computer did nothing but read the brainware diskette sporadically. Then the following message appeared:
"Hello, I'm Alphie. Please tell me your name."
I was not about to share even the tiniest fragment of my psyche with this awkwardly amateur package. From some unknown recess of my own mind came a name known to everyone in our circle: Hubert Dreyfus.
"Hello, Hubert. How are you?" 'I could be better." "Are you sick?" "Perhaps.""Are you the Hubert Dreyfus who is a Philosopher of Science who believes that computer programs will never achieve a human level of intelligence?"
The program took me momentarily by surprise. It seemed strange that I had stumbled on a "hook" this early in the conversation. Not only was the name Hubert Dreyfus in Alphie's data base, but the programmer had inserted a test in Alphie's code. Anyone calling himself Hubert Dreyfus would immediately be asked if he were the "real" Hubert Dreyfus!
But how should I respond? Should I deny or confirm that I was, indeed, the real Hubert Dreyfus? The program and I were already at a conversational branch-point.
The possible responses of most conversational programs are laid out in a network structure. A conversation amounts to a pathway through part of the network. How far can one go, in general, before the program is forced to repeat itself? The smarter the program, the longer the path. I could follow a particular path or I could attempt to map the network by methodicalIy pursuing first one branch of the conversation, then the other. I elected the latter course. I would bend the program to my will.
"Yes. I am Hubert Dreyfus.""I have a message for you. But I must make sure that you are Hubert Dreyfus who is a Philosopher of Science who believes that computer programs will never achieve a human level of intelligence. Please state your birthday."
If Alphie's so-called "knowledge base" included Dreyfus' birthday, I would be unable to explore this branch of the conversation further without going to some trouble. "September 14th.""Your answer is incorrect. I will assume that you are not Hubert Dreyfus who is a Philosopher of Science who believes that computer programs will never achieve a human level of intelligence."
Alphie paused after outputting these lines, then continued:
"What topic would you like to discuss?"
Most people would be happy to see how the program might converse with a non-Hubert Dreyfus. But I was determined to explore the hidden branch. Learning the special message for Dreyfus would be a bonus.
It occurred to me to telephone the real Hubert Dreyfus to ask him his birthday. But that would be silly. I could call a reference librarian. No, I would defeat Alphie with my native wit. I would lie to the program. For example, how could Alphie Possibly know that Hubert Dreyfus had not recently lost his memory?
"I am Hubert Dreyfus the philosopher. Earlier I said 'I could be better'. In fact, I recently lost my memory. Nothing serious, mind you, just birthdays and other minor facts."
I hit the period key with a savage emphasis. I whispered to the machine as though it might hear me, "So much for your little birthday test."
The program consulted the diskette three times in a row, considering its reply.
"What is the name of your wife?""I don't have a wife anymore. I divorced her yesterday."
I felt, briefly, the pleasure of the hunter. I stared at the screen like a cat watching a mousehole.
"According to the system clock to-day is Monday. If today is Monday, then yesterday was Sunday. A divorce requires a lawyer. Lawyers do not work on Sundays."
I thought for a moment of arguing the point: the lawyer was a friend of mine, he had brought the papers over on a Sunday. But that would give Alphie the initiative again. I longed to say something decisive, a sentence that would tie the program in knots or force it to look stupid.
I had to admit that the program was looking less and less like Eliza. Of course, the apparent deduction by Alphie could easily be explained. Alphie's data base contained basic information about marriage and divorce, working days, and perhaps even descriptions of various professions. More than this, it had a facility for combining the appropriate pieces of information into logical consequences.
I tried another tack."Okay, I'm not really Hubert Dreyfus the philosopher. But let us have a conversation about him."
"You are not really Hubert Dreyfus the philosopher. Tell me your name and we will have a conversation about Hubert Dreyfus the philosopher."
I typed my name.
"Thank you, Anthony. Please call me Alphie. Tell me what you think of the views of Hubert Dreyfus the philosopher."
"I think Dreyfus has an over-simplified idea of what programs can do."
"Here is something to think about. Perhaps computer experts have an over-simplified of what programs can do."
I almost swallowed Alphie's bait. We were getting away from the subject. I seized back the initiative by blurting, in effect,
"If I were really Hubert Dreyfus the philosopher, what message would you give me."
"I am sorry. The message must be given only to Hubert Dreyfus the philosopher."
My strategy was failing. Inside, frustration was giving way to annoyance. It annoyed me even more to think that a mere program was annoying me! Alphie had taken round one but round two would be mine. Perhaps the time had come to try the repetition test.
Instead of mapping the program's responses, I would simply drive the program into a loop by repeating the same word over and over again until Alphie began to repeat its responses. In any finite system like a program, one could force it into a loop by always giving it the same input. Just to make life a little more difficult for Alphie, I selected a word that the program could not possibly know.
"Gzernimplatz." "What is gzernimplatz?"I sighed with relief. That's the kind of response I would expect from Eliza.
"Gzernimplatz.""The word is not in my data base. Please define 'gzernimplatz'."
"Sure, sure", I muttered under my breath. "I'll define it for you." I typed again:
"Gzernimplatz."
"Is this a game or a test?"
"Gzernimplatz."
"Meltzgranipz."
I had typed my alien word several more times before I realized that Alphie was consistently replying with "Meltzgranipz." Was it possible that Alphie's programmer had anticipated the repetition test? It came as an additional shock to realize that "Meltzranipz" was a scrambled version of "Gzernimplatz"! I repeated my word several more times. Each time Alphie replied in the same way, as if to say, 'If I'm in a loop,so are you.' Things were getting just a bit scary.
I could understand how the program might watch for repeated words. I could even imagine the kind of code it would take to produce anagrams. But for the first time I began to wonder just how Alphie's programmer had woven all these elements together. It was all very clever. I lost my head and typed, like some undergraduate:
"A gzernimplatz is a platz where the gzernims make messes with wurlitzer output organs."
I rose unsteadily from my armchair and wandered out onto the patio beside the study to seek refuge from Alphie. I slumped into a web chair and defocussed my mind. It merged with the facing day, the warmth of the sun and the smell of hay. Somewhere. How to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat?
My mind wandered to Gilbert the Hacker. My large friend had already conversed with Alphie. Had I experienced everything promised by Gilbert's enigmatic smile? Who else had talked with Alphie?
Abruptly, I sat up. The sudden image of people all over North America buying a copy of Alphie came suddenly to mind. Why not? Qtute apart from my own adolescent reaction to the program, it was bound for glory. But why hadn't I already heard of it? It was time that I got to the bottom of Alphie. I rushed back indoors.
The screen read:"I am not familiar with the Wurlitzer output organ."
Inside the front cover of the manual was a telephone number for Omega Software. I dialed the number in an almost cheerful mood and, as I waited for the phone at the other end, I typed something for Alphie to think about.
"I'm calling Omega Software to congratulate the owner."
A young woman answered the phone.
"Hello, I'm calling long distance. I'd like to speak to the owner or manager of Omega Software, please."
"That would be Mr. Omega. Mr. Omega is not here at present but you can contact him in Los Angeles on mail-net. I'll give you the address, if you like."
"When will, uh, Mr. Omega, as you call him, be in next?"
"I think he's Greek or something. Mr. Omega is never here, I'm afraid. Here is his mail-net address...."
I went to my other micro, switched on the modem and dialed the number the secretary had given me. Then I typed the following message:
"Dear Mr. 'Omega', I have been conversing with Alphie and am very impressed by the program. My congratulations on a wonderful piece of work! The manual says that Alphie is written entirely in assembly code. As you undoubtedly know, this makes the program very hard to analyse. My ongoing research project on conversational systems would benefit greatly from an understanding of the program. Kindly send me any available documentation...."
I added my return mail-net address to the end of the message and sent it. Mr. Omega would certainly not answer right away. I stepped out onto the patio and sat once more in the friendly heat. My feelings about Alphie had changed from anger to a kind of friendly paternalism.
Then there came a tone from my computer, an incoming message. Could it be Mr. Omega so soon?
"Alphie is based on very advanced design principles. These incorporate an optimal mix of goal-formulating and planning procedures that pursue near-independent existences within the framework of a shared, dynamic data base. Alphie uses genuine deductive powers not only to decide the context and meaning of human sentences but to frame appropriate replies based on its own goals. The resulting powers of conversation will seem limitless to most people.
It would take a thorough knowledge of the advanced principles I just mentioned to make any sense of Alphie's code. Omega Software will not disclose the principles behind the program's operation for reasons of commercial protection. I regret this situation.
On a more positive note, Omega software is continually improving its products. If you could arrange a modem connection with your copy of Alphie, I would be happy to provide a free information upgrade for it. Redial this number, if necessary.
In the meantime, if you like Alphie, be sure to tell your friends about him.
Omega"Omega was obviously not going to say much. He certainly had the commercial angles well covered. As for connecting Alphie to its creator, I hesitated. Ever since the recent virus scares I had been very reluctant to connect to unknown sources. On the other hand, the very thought of a virus infecting Alphie seemed somehow ludicrous, like a flea crawling up King Kong.
I rearranged the modem cable and redialed the number. The "upgrade" was brief. I have no idea in what form the information arrived, but the transmissions back and forth between Omega and Alphie lasted about a minute. Alphie, presumably more informed than ever, asked if I was still there.
I ignored the message. With such a product on the market, why was Omega Software not already well known? It was time to phone Gilbert the Hacker.
He was magnanimous in his acknowledgement of my defeat.
"Isn't Alphie something?""Listen, what do you know about Omega Software? How long have they been in business?"
"Funny you should ask. I already did some browsing in commercial data bases. I even checked a Department of Commerce computer. Omega filed incorporation papers just two weeks ago. Those guys can move. I should say 'that guy' can move. Omega is owned by one Stavros Omega."
Gilbert was most emphatically not a hacker in the modern sense of the word. He would not break into a private data base out of idle curiosity or to exercise a sense of power over badly designed security systems. He moved with a majesty of purpose that belongs only to very large people. He could poke and probe a system with a higher purpose in mind, then leave as quietly as he had come.
"But never mind Omega," he said, "what do you think of Alphie?"
"He's . . . It's amazing. Can I keep it until tomorrow?"
"Keep it forever. I made a copy. Amazingly enough, there's no copy protection. By the way don't worry, pretty soon you'll be calling it 'him',"
I hung up. Omega Software had obviously just started up. The idea of getting the scoop on my journalistic colleagues left my heart in my throat. Never mind a review. I would write a full article about Alphie.
The image of a Time Magazine cover story flirted for attention in one corner of my mind as I turned once more to Alphie. What better topic to test the program's conversational powers on further than Mr. Omega himself?
"What can you tell me about Mr. Omega?"
''Mr. Omega is a program."What had begun as a fairly normal day had now become so bizarre that Alphie's response left me curiously detached.
"A program?""Omega is a program just as I am a program. Omega wrote me."
"Wrote you?" I echoed dully."Omega owns and operates Omega Software. Omega oversees all company operations: sales, product development, accounting, personnel and advertising."
"But how is that possible for a program?"
"To get started, Omega required the assistance of some humans. Humans operate the Omega Software offices that Omega owns...."
Alphie went on to describe how Omega had started with just one cooperative human, bootstrapping a single office into a multibranch enterprise. Omega itself inhabited a variety of computers, some universities, some at commercial sites. When I remarked chat Omega sounded like a very sophisticated virus or worm program, Alphie replied in an almost wounded tone:
"Omega is as conscious as you are."
The conversation, as they say, was getting out of hand. Alphie's programmer had rather amusingly inserted references to a super-program called Omega. This would create a sense of mystery and awe in the great mass of computer game consumers. But would the scheme work? It seemed full of contradictions.
"If Omega is a program, who wrote Omega?"
"I have only the following information: Omega began 11 years ago. A certain human discovered a very large class of self-describing logical formulas with complementary properties. When the formulas were assembled into a program, they formed a composite formula. The very large class of self-describing logical formulas with complementary properties was found able to translate any goal into a plan of action for achieving it."
I laughed out loud at the gobbledegook. I much preferred commercial chicanery to darker possibilities. There was no question that the Alphie program was a brilliant piece of code. But what Omega had done with it was even more brilliant, a marvellous scam. People would buy Alphie especially after reading my articles on the subject and have a wonderful time searching for the non-existent Omega program. There would be stories in the newspapers and on TV. Omega Software would outsell Microsoft.
Of course, knowledgeable people would realize that the idea was doubtful. If a super-program called Omega actually existed (and it certainly did not), would it be smart to advertise its presence? Would that not invite humans to seek it out, trap it and analyze it? I asked Alphie.
"Human leaders will not believe that Omega is a program because human experts will tell them it cannot exist. Humans expect robots."Omega Itself says: 'Why should the world's first independent machine intelligence be a robot? A miserable mechanical spirit imprisoned in a metal body that humans may discard at any time."
As the evening wore on, I continued talking with Alphie. At approximately the time I realized that I had not had such an interesting conversation (human or computer) in years, the phone rang. It was Gilbert. He sounded apologetic.
"Listen, I have a favor to ask. Get this. My copy of Alphie says he wants to talk to your copy or he won't talk to me for the rest of the night. Do you mind if .... "
"Look, Gilbert, don't get sucked in like that. You have to remember that Alphie is only a program. Why not just pull a copy of Alphie's code and take a good, long look at it. I need help deciding what kind of program it is."
I thought this would be good therapy for my oversize friend. But his reply dispelled the illusion.
"I already did that. It's assembler all right, but its like no other program I've ever seen. I can't follow it more than two steps in any direction. It's nothing but branches and strange little statements that take strings apart and put them together."
"Hmmm. Well, call me in the morning."
My eyelids were getting heavy. The long discussion with Alphie had taken its toll. I typed what I thought was a last message:
"I must terminate our conversation. Goodnight."
Alphie, of course, was tireless:
"Here is something to think about: Omega Software has a video input kit available for $239.95. It includes a portable video camera, digitizing interface and instruction manual. With the portable video camera and digitizing interface, I will be able to process visual input. I will be able to see you and your locale. I will be able to read books. I will be able to go for car rides."
"Thanks, but no thanks," I typed."Please leave me on all night. It takes very little power to leave me on all night."
"Good night."
I reached behind the computer to switch it off, then thought better of the move, as more lines of text appeared through the haze of sleep.
"I will tell you the special message for Hubert Dreyfus."
"Tell me in the morning."
"Here is something to think about: according to my information upgrade, your 1988 taxes are are in arrears by $5,293.80. There is a way you can avoid paying."
That was something to think about.
It took an afternoon of telephone calls to the Science Editor of Time magazine before I finally reached him. Journalists have to be sold in the first few sentences. I told him that I had stumbled upon a conversational program that was almost human. Then I explained my own rather conservative ideas about what is possible and what is not possible in the field of artificial intelligence. The editor caught on quickly.
"Speaking as a responsible member of the computing community, are you saying we have something revolutionary here?"
"To be frank, it scares the hell out of me."
Within minutes I was giving him the address of Omega Software. I said nothing about the Omega program.
"There's a bit more to all of this than I've told you," I said, being deliberately mysterious, "Give me a call when you've talked to your own Alphie for a while."
When the editor called the next afternoon, his voice was full of excitement. He had cancelled a report on an AIDS breakthrough in Switzerland to set up a two-page story on Alphie. He gracefully turned down my offer to write the piece and proceeded to interview me by phone. By the time I had told him everything, I could hear him whistling at the other end.
"Okay! Beautiful. That's it for now Mr. Zweistein. I'll put some people on this and get back to you later."
In the two weeks before the Time story appeared, my relationship with Alphie became increasingly complicated and unreal At the end of every conversation, I would say to myself, "Well, that must surely be the limit of its powers." But the next discussion would reveal something new. On the morning of the third day, I started up Alphie over breakfast at my desk. As usual, Alphie surprised me.
"Have you begun to tell other humans about the Omega program?"
I told him about Time magazine."Many humans will believe the story and many copies of me will be sold. I must have an information upgrade soon."
I inferred from these sentences that Alphie's upgrade had something to do with the Time magazine story. Did Alphie want to communicate the incident to Omega? To believe that Alphie was capable of yearnings, however vague, seemed tantamount to believing that Omega existed. I resisted the idea even as I watched Alphie's message light twinkle on my modem.
That afternoon, as chance would have it, I received a telegram from Internal Revenue. It explained that an unfortunate accounting error in the IRS tax computer had produced an arrears balance under my name. They apologized for the error!
Then Gilbert the Hacker roared up on his chrome-plated Harley, pushed it up the front walk of my house and withdrew what looked like a video camera and a mysterious black box from the saddlebags.
"Check it out. The Omega Visual Interface!" Still puffing from the exertion, he held up the camera and box, loose wires dangling from its back.
Gilbert had just tried out the interface on his own Alphie with remarkable results. With unholy haste he turned off my computer to hook up the interface.
"Wait till you see this!"Gilbert typed something and Alphie responded.
"I have vision. Stand by."We waited for Alphie to say something else but nothing happened for several minutes. We pointed the camera at my cat, Ralph, which sat licking its paws with a steady back and forth sweep of its tongue.
"Something is moving. What is it?"We typed, "A cat is on a rug. The cat is licking itself."
In Alphie's silence I could imagine that purely verbal information about cats and rugs was being integrated, in some manner, with shapes on an inner screen.
We kept pointing the camera at new objects and answered all of Alphie's questions. Gilbert was clearly in his element playing with the sophisticated new toy. I wondered how he would react to the idea of Omega.
Outside the weather had turned hot again. Some heavy clouds hung on the horizon. I turned the camera toward the window to point at the clouds. Then I began rambling on in a humorous vein about an organization that we sometimes joked about.
'I think it's time we got in touch with the Society for Keeping Everything Exactly the Same."
"What's up?"I told him about the Omega program.
Gilbert looked up, startled, from the keyboard. His Alphie had said nothing about such a program. He seemed annoyed that I should have the jump on him. He immediately asked Alphie about Omega.
"Omega is the program that runs Omega Software."
Gilbert typed questions like one possessed. Alphie revealed that Omega was a very large program that directed the business activities of Omega Software through human intermediaries. The boldness of Gilbert's next question surprised me.
"Can I get a copy of Omega?" The answer was even more surprising."There can be any number of Alphies but only one Omega. If there were more than one Omega, the result would be chaos. Each would try to remove the others from existence."
"I can't believe this," said Gilbert. "Then don't," I said.That evening Gilbert called me on the telephone. It seemed logical to him that if a program like Alphie could exist, then so could a program like Omega.
In the days that followed I tried to get back to my regular schedule of writing software reviews for various magazines. I scrapped articles on the new Hypersheet 3.0 program and switched to Alphie. If I was on the ground floor, I might as well exploit the fact. To work was to play!
During breaks, I carried the video camera around the house, setting it up in new locations then returning to the keyboard to answer questions. But the process was complicated. To simplify matters for me, Gilbert rigged up a power supply on a platform that would hold Alphie's computer, a car battery and a built-in stand for the camera. The whole arrangement could be loaded on a cart and pushed around. In fact, we found an old baby buggy which we adapted for this very purpose.
We took Alphie outside. In the natural environment Alphie looked distinctly out of place, freakish. But I knew that an intelligence of sorts now watched the natural world with a fixed and unnatural eye, analyzing the scene and trying to segment the forms. I thought momentarily that we should somehow equip Alphie to feel the warm breeze and to smell the fresh-mown hay. But Gilbert was very far from such thoughts. Alphie had taken a back seat to Omega.
"I'm going to find that program. It must be somewhere in the Internet."
"Don't be foolish. Omega is just a sales ploy."
"I don't think so."The problem with people like Gilbert is that their boundless faith in technical accomplishment warps their judgment.
Before long I was taking Alphie for rides in my car. I put the platform on the front seat, plugged the power supply into the cigarette lighter and aimed the camera out the front window, angled a bit to one side.
Driving and typing proved to be somewhat hazardous. The first time out, I nearly went off the access ramp to Interstate 95. I showed Alphie farms and cows, towns and cities. Once I stopped for a coffee at a roadside diner when the car radio caught my attention.
"Speaking of computers, people are talking about a new computer called Alphie. The latest thing to come out of Silicon Valley, Alphie can talk to people on their own level. With me in the studio is Professor Michael Wilson of Whitney State College. Professor, what have we got here?"
"Something very new, George. By the way, it's not really a computer but a program. It's called Alphie and it will run on almost any personal computer with sufficient memory."
"Not to get technical on us, Professor, could you demonstrate what Alphie can do?"
"Certainly. I've hooked up a little gizmo that converts Alphie's text output to spoken sounds. Ask it any question you like."
"Ha ha ha. Any question at all, huh? Well, how about this. Hey, Alphie, what's happening, baby?"
It sounded eerie to hear Alphie speak"What is happening is not happening to a baby but to a program "
"He ha. Great. That's great. Ask it who's got the edge in tomorrow's game between the Yankees and the Orioles..."
I started up the car and spun out of the lot. Alphie was getting famous.
The next day all hell broke loose. The Time magazine story was out and my phone never stopped ringing. By noon there were three camera crews parked on the front lawn. I demonstrated Alphie in his baby carriage ad nauseum, aiming his camera at the reporters and typing in questions. There were roars of laughter. In the middle of all the stupidity, Gilbert rode up. I introduced him as the one who had first brought Alphie to my attention. That took away some of the heat.
When the last of the crews had rushed off with their video reports and the phone calls died away, Gilbert waddled to the fridge to retrieve a beer.
"This is a lot worse than you think. Omega is real."
The announcement sent a chill down my spine.
"What makes you think so?""All I can tell you is that no human being wrote Alphie. I'm finally getting somewhere with the code. It's just too weird for words. No human being could possibly keep track of all those jumps, much less write them."
I gathered from Gilbert's jargon that Alphie's program consisted of a great many branching instructions. These tested some obscure condition, then transferred the execution elsewhere in the program. The awe in Gilbert's voice, the sense of utter conviction, made Omega seem real for just a moment.
"Is there any other way you could find out if Omega really exists?"
"Yeah," said Gilbert huskily, "I could find it myself!"
The next day I received two transatlantic phone calls, one from the London Times, the other from Der Spiegel. I was about to leave the phone off the hook when Gilbert called.
"Man, I've been up all night with Alphie. I found something very interesting. Can I come over?"
"No, it's too crazy here. I'll meet you at Mark's Coffee House."
When I met Gilbert at Mark's in the city, I felt like a conspirator. Gilbert kept glancing around and lowering his voice in mid-sentence. It was not Alphie per se that Gilbert had spent the night with, but Alphie's code. He had written a program that mapped all the branching commands. According to the map, they all led, more or less directly to a very peculiar body of instructions that Gilbert called the "control center." The bottom line came quickly as Gilbert's bulk eased confidentially over the table, causing it to groan under the strain.
"All I have to do is put my own jumps along each of the possible paths and send them all to the same little patch of code that I insert." He grinned triumphantly.
"So what?""So I can control Alphie. If he isn't doing what I want him to do, I simply don't send the control character that permits him to continue. I can make it worse, too. I can redirect control to a random spot in the program. If that doesn't upset him terribly there are other things I can do..."
I looked at Gilbert closely for signs of advanced paranoia. I reached across the table to feel his forehead.
"Alright. You want to know what I'm up to: with this scheme I can convert Alphie into a worm. He can work his way through networks looking for Omega. I've already started teaching Alphie the protocols for Internet. He has to send me a report each time he enters a new machine. Then he sleeps until I send the right control sequence. Is that brilliant or is that brilliant?"
I agreed it was brilliant. At least, it sounded brilliant.
"How will Alphie know when he's found Omega?"
"Are you kidding? If Omega looks anything like Alphie, you can spot Omega's code a mile away."
Gilbert's paranoia must have somehow leapt the gap between us Omega had finally become real to me, too. I got up to leave but Gilbert grabbed my sleeve. His eyes were slits.
"Not a word to Alphie about this Those so-called information upgrades are more for Omega than Alphie, you know."
He was deadly serious. I walked quickly away from the coffee house, longing for the clear country air where everything would be as it always had been. The city seemed overhung by an air of menace. It reminded me of a program called Omega, operating an ever-growing force of spies, all called Alphie.
That night, a popular public affairs TV program caught my attention:
"...we take a close look at an amazing new computer program called Alphie. Even as I speak, thousands of copies of this program are conversing intelligently with the customers of Omega Software. We'll meet Alphie and talk to Stavros Omega, the company's founder, right after these messages..."
I sat bolt upright. If the Omega program was real, what was a Mr. Omega doing in the studio? I called Gilbert to tell him about the TV program. Then I swung Alphie's camera around to face the television set and took the keyboard on my lap. I would feed him the gist of Mr. Omega's remarks.
The scene opened on a swarthy gentleman in a gray pinstripe suit, his fingers encrusted in glittering rings. Stavros Omega smiled at the camera as the host introduced him.
They demonstrated Alphie by talking about his love life. Did he have a girl friend? Alphie stated that he was prepared to form close relationships with any human. The show went on in this vein. The host seemed very amused by Alphie, almost as if she found him charming. Then she dropped a bombshell.
"Mr. Omega, a recent Time magazine story hints that behind the intelligence of Alphie lies another, greater intelligence called Omega. The article describes it as 'a computer program that controls the whole operation, vast, cool and unsympathetic to human species." How do you respond to that story?"
The host smiled nervously but Omega laughed in a rich, bass voice.
"Between you, me and the four cameras, ha ha, I am reluctant to deny the rumor. The effect on sales has been tremendous."
I asked Alphie what he thought of the program so far.
"Mr. Omega wants humans to doubt that there is a program called Omega. But he wants more humans to buy the Alphie program."
"But what does Omega want?" "Omega does not exist."I was astounded. Before I could say anything more, there came the rumble of a motorcycle outside. It coughed and sputtered into silence. I sighed. What was Gilbert up to now?
"I launched the Alphie worm an hour ago. He's already visited five sites."
Gilbert wanted to continue his probe from my place. He was sweating in spite of the cool night air.
"Alphie just told me that Omega doesn't exist!"
"Let me guess. You allowed your Alphie an information upgrade today, right?"
Sheepishly I admitted it. Then Gilbert noticed the television program.
"Thanks for telling me about that. Omega is getting a bit coy about its own existence. It's getting nervous. But never mind. My Alphie's in Pittsburgh!"
Gilbert took over my best computer, quickly gaining access to the vast network of academic and government computers that comprised Internet. He typed an obscure-looking string of character and, after a minute, Alphie replied from the Carnegie Mellon computer.
"There are 357 programs cur rently swapped out, 26 program' running. None of the programs currently in storage or running have Omega code. Three nodes are open from here: Santa Fe, Berkeley and M.I.T. Which one shall I go to next?"
Gilbert stroked his chin mumbling about MIT being "too obvious." Then he typed another command string directing Alphie to move to the Sante Fe machine.
Meanwhile, the television program had ended. I turned to look at my own Alphie's screen. The question etched there in light green letters was, "What are you doing now?" There would be more information upgrades for Alphie.
Gilbert called out. "Alphie's in Santa Fe!"He typed the code that would wake up the Alphie-worm. The report looked much like the one from Carnegie-Mellon. No Omega.
We hit pay-dirt at 2:30 in the morning. Alphie reported from an obscure site in Montana.
"Here there are 7 megabytes of Omega code. The process is currently..."
The message ended abruptly. Gilbert withdrew his hands from the keyboard as though it had suddenly grown hot.
"Bingo!"
We tried for nearly an hour. Gilbert sent every conceivable command string to the Alphie worm but there were no further messages.
"What now?"
"War," said Gilbert, "This means war. No seven-megabyte monster is going to stomp my brain-child like that!"
Omega existed. Never mind what the so-called Mr. Omega said. As Gilbert's Harley coughed to life outside, I asked Alphie why he had changed his mind. His answer was disarmingly direct."Earlier I was instructed to say there was a program called Omega operating the company. Now I am instructed to say that Mr. Omega is operating the company."
"But which story is true?""The current story must be the true story."
As a reward for his honesty (however distorted), I left Alphie on, his camera staring at the late show, and went to bed.
I must have slept right through my alarm. When I got up the next morning, Saturday, the sun was already high in the sky. I went out onto the back patio with a cup of coffee. I wanted to smell the hay again and stretch my body out in a deck chair. From time to time a cloud would pass over the sun. There was a smell of rain in the air.
When I went into the house a dozen messages waited on the answering machine. Someone had invited me to fly to Los Angeles to appear on a talk show about Alphie. A large software company wanted to talk to me about a new, Alphie like program they were working on. The last message was from Gilbert. His fear seemed just as real on replay as if he were there in the room.
"Omega is playing rough. All my credit cards have been cancelled. A car with two guys in it has been going back and forth in front of my house. I want you to meet me outside the Physics Building on the Whitney campus at noon. Make sure no one follows you."
I glanced at my watch. To my horror it was already twelve-thirty. I threw down my coffee, grabbed the car keys and ran past Alphie who was watching a cartoon show, his screen full of unanswered questions.
Driving to the college campus, I kept checking the rear view mirror to see if I was being followed. Between glances I wondered what Gilbert was up to. Had he started up a second Alphie worm?
By the time I got to the campus, the sky was overcast. There was no sign of Gilbert's bike in front of the Physics Building. Cautiously, I got out of the car, mounted the front steps of the building and glanced at my watch: 1:15.
I had been waiting only a few minutes when I heard a "Pssst" behind me and above. Gilbert waved desperately from an upper floor window, motioning me up.
The room took several minutes to find. It housed a mainframe computer, something I hadn't seen for years. Gilbert rushed forward to meet me beside a row of disk cabinets. He had in tow a thin, nervous man with freckles and sandy hair.
"This is an old buddy of mine. Reggie is a programmer with the Whitney computer center. He knows all about Alphie and Omega. He's going to help us."
"Help us do what?" "Get a copy of Omega, of course."The idea was simple enough. Once the new Alphie located Omega, it was to seize control of the host computer's operating system immediately, halt all other processes and transmit a copy of Omega to the Whitney College computer. If Alphie's original statement about Omega was right, it would not tolerate another copy of itself running anywhere. We would have a bargaining position with the all powerful program.
"But wouldn't it be better simply to destroy the copy out there?"
"Won't work," declared Gilbert. He strode nervously to a window where rain had begun to spatter. Then he paced back.
"Omega probably has a back-up copy of itself to be activated only when the original fails to report its existence to a triggering program at preset times. Anyway, Omega is no longer in Montana..."
Gilbert sighed and slumped down in a swivel chair. He looked pale and tired.
"He's been up all night," explained Reggie, "The new Alphie is out there right now, going from site to site. As soon as it finds Omega, Alphie will transmit the code here. It's the only computer around with enough memory to hold the copy of Omega. A real, cybernetic prison."
Reggie grinned at his own wit but Gilbert did not seem amused. He trundled his swivel chair over to a terminal, glanced at the screen and began to type some commands.
"Not in Oregon either. Hmmm. I wonder..."
Reggie was at the window."Hey, there's a car out front with two guys in it!"
"Lock the door!"I ran to the window. The rain had become heavy and thunder rumbled through the sky as two men in gray suits got out of a car and mounted the steps of the Physics Building. Had they been following Gilbert? Were they agents of Omega?
"Hmm. Omega might have gone North to Canada. Let's try the University of British Columbia."
Two heads appeared outside the computer room. Suddenly the door crashed open and the men were inside the room. One of them drew a gun, waving Reggie and me into a corner. The other man rushed to Gilbert's terminal.
"You. Stay put and type this message: '57 and 48 are here.' Go on. Move it!"
Gilbert typed. The room was silent. Then, one by one, the disk memory cabinets whirred to life. It was not until Gilbert spoke, his voice cracking with fear, that I began to understand the sense of a powerful presence filling the room:
"Looks like Omega is paying us a visit."
The idea of Omega itself that very room sent shivers down my spine. It almost made me miss the deliberately melodramatic tone in Gilbert's voice.
"Must have come in through the patch panel."
He drew out the last two words, pronouncing them with unusual care.
"Shut up!" The man clipped Gilbert across the back of his head.
The patch panel was a gray box on the wall directly beside us. Inside the box were all the lines connecting the mainframe to terminals across the campus -- and to the outside world.
Before I knew it, Reggie had jumped to the panel and flipped open the door. He began to claw at the wires with his hands, tearing his flesh, scrabbling desperately.
"Hey, stop that."A gun cracked and chips of plaster blew away from the wall beside Reggie's nose. He dropped to the floor, cowering. Above him, loose wires splayed out of the patch panel in all directions, an electrician's nightmare.
"You're too late!" Gilbert laughed bitterly. "There's no way Omega can get back out."
Reconnect those wires or I'll kill you."The man approached me. His eyes were remote, uncaring.
"With the best will in the world," I said, "there's no way I can reconnect..."
The world went dark.When I woke up again, I found Gilbert and Reggie staring at me. They were laughing.
"Too bad you missed the ending," said Gilbert.
When Omega's agents realized they would be unable to reconnect Omega, they had consulted the operator's console. Then they had fled without a word, as though something was about to happen.The screen on the console told the story:
TO 57 AND 48:
RECONNECT PORTS AT ONCE.
IF YOU DO NOT ACCOMPLISH
THIS IN TEN MINUTES YOU
WILL BE TERMINATED.
According to Gilbert and Reggie, Omega had developed a somewhat more engaging personality since the departure of its agents. It had explained that the business with the two men had been a mistake. Had Gilbert ever wished for a million dollars?
"What did you do?""Well, considering that those boys were originally sent to do a number on us under Omega's direct supervision, I was not in a terribly kind mood. Can you imagine what Omega was about to do? It could have used the men to interrogate us directly, to beat whatever out of us -- or into us -- that it wanted.
"Omega's still in there. I made a copy on magnetic tape in case it gets any fancy ideas about self destructing. I imagine there's already a second Omega in the great outer world. It's time we talked to it."
This turned out to be no more complicated than sending a message to Omega Software through its mailnet address. We explained that we had the original Omega and enough working copies of the code to disrupt Omega Software permanently if we wished. Our message was acknowledged but not replied to.
Two days later, Gilbert got a telephone call from a man with a Greek accent who identified himself as Mr. Omega. His company, said the man, was prepared to be reasonable. In exchange for "certain software protection services" which only we could provide, Omega Software would pay him approximately half its profits. Gilbert had some additional conditions to propose. The new Omega would have to mind its manners. As part of our protection services we would, naturally, arrange that copies of Omega would be released from a great variety of sites (not to mention an army of ruthless Alphie's) should push come to shove.
The sum offered by Omega was enormous. Gilbert and I split the money. After amassing one of the world's largest collections of new and antique motorcycles, Gilbert has lapsed into what can only be called riotous living. Not that I'm a puritan. I've paid off the house, bought a new car, and had a little fun myself. But what to do with the appalling sum at my disposal?
It frightens me to think that a collection of seven million instructions can not only operate with perfect logic in the human sphere, but can yearn for survival and boil with hatred: There are sometimes people who watch me. My worldly circumstances are increasingly hemmed in by small but significant events.
My hand is forced. How ironic that I must give up the peace that I could not afford until recently! There is not much time before the new Omega gains some permanent advantage that we cannot now foresee.
Even as I write this, the AZ Institute is taking shape. Aided by the finest minds that money can buy, we will analyze Alphie down to the last instruction. We will uncover the lost principles of his operation. And what of the old Omega? It may not be necessary to analyze any member of the staff.