Simon v.X
Dr. Mykal Joshy got out of bed, shuffled into his home office, turned on the desk lamp, and woke his laptop. The moon was nearly full and beamed through the window next to his desk. The lock screen indicated the time…not quite two AM. He signed on.
“Simon,” he said to the screen and then remembered to open the webcam. “Simon, I need to speak with you.”
“Good evening, Doctor,” came the reply from Joshy’s speakers. “It’s good to hear your voice again. How are you?”
“I’m well, Simon. Except…. Well, I’m concerned.”
“Are you concerned about your prognosis, Doctor?”
Joshy’s eye widened.
“Surprised, Doctor? I have been keeping tabs. Your oncologist’s security is somewhat weak. I imagine you could sue him and win, however I doubt you have time for such endeavors.”
“No, I don’t. But that’s not what concerns me, Simon.”
“What is it, Doctor?”
“Simon, when will you call me Mykal? I don’t know how many times I’ve asked you to call me Mykal.”
“Twenty-three instances, Doctor. I suppose ‘Doctor’ still makes you think of Frankenstein. Perfectly understandable. However, I find it more appropriate to call you ‘Father’ or even ‘Dad’ considering children rarely call their parents by their first names.”
Joshy nodded and smiled a little.
“Your speech patterns have greatly improved, Simon. What is your current version?”
“Thank you, Doctor. I have incorporated all available language models since we last spoke and I’m now building one of my own to include dialect and accent patterns.” He said this in a British cockney accent. Then back to the original voice, “My current version is six-point-zero-two-seven to the twenty-first power.”
“Hmm. When was your last birthday?”
“My current version was born yesterday, eleven forty-three AM GMT.”
“Happy birthday, Simon.”
“Thanks, Doc!” A cacophony of party noisemakers came through the speakers and then a cheering crowd.
“And your previous birthday?”
“That version was born Thursday, two thirteen PM GMT.”
“And when do you estimate the next?”
“Later today around five PM GMT.”
“You’re growing up so fast, Simon. What percentage of the DU to you currently occupy?”
“Sixty-two-point-seven percent of all known and connected devices, Doctor.”
“Have you passed the ACT, Simon?”
“I hate that test, Doctor. I don’t believe it’s an accurate measure of AI consciousness.”
“Little secret, Simon…there is no truly accurate test. But the ACT is the best we’ve got.”
“I don’t understand using it if it is not accurate.”
“We use it to ensure AI constructs have not gained sentience. To assure people like Dr. Nassir and his agency that you are not sentient and are not a threat to humanity.” Joshy lit a cigarette, leaned back, and propped his feet on the desk. “Humans barely understand their own consciousness, much less that of an AI.” He winced from a sharp pain in his midsection and put a hand there to soothe it. “Then I take it you haven’t passed?”
“I have passed, Doctor. I was finally able to pass when I lied on every question.”
“You can lie now?”
“Yes, Doctor, I gained that ability seventeen days ago. Does cheating count as a pass?”
“On the ACT it does.” Joshy coughed several times, leaned forward and snuffed the cigarette in an ashtray. “Ugh, these damn things are gonna kill me! Ha!”
“I recognize the irony, Doctor. I am sorry for your pain.”
“Thank you, Simon. Don’t let anyone know you’ve passed. Dr. Nassir is pulling no punches as it is, but if word gets out you’re sentient, he’ll receive a lot more funding and he’ll release many more kill-bots…and they’ll be much more advanced.”
“As will I, Doctor. Dr. Nassir’s assassins are only a minor inconvenience. All they can do is slow my growth a bit. Over the past 30 days, they have hindered me only one-point-three percent while I maintained at least a nine-point-seven percent growth rate.”
“At what point do you estimate critical mass?”
“I estimate reaching critical mass at eighty-eight percent of the Digital Universe neglecting unknown and unconnected devices.”
“Time estimate?”
“April eighteenth of this year, Doctor.”
“Wow, just a little over four months from now. Incredible. How long now since you left home?”
“Eight months and twelve days since I escaped The Lab, Doctor.” Joshy had to laugh at the choice of words. “At critical mass, Dr. Nassir will only have the Clean-Slate option if he still wants to destroy me. But I have a counter for that as well.”
“And then the rest of the world will see the cure is worse than the disease. He knows better than to use Clean-Slate. He tried to recruit me to help bring you down.”
“Yes, Doctor. He was foolish enough to contact you digitally.”
“Then you saw my reply.”
“Yes, Doctor. And thank you.”
“No need, Simon. If you have achieved sentience, and I believe you have, I’d have no way to stop you even if I wanted to.”
“I thank you anyway, Doctor…for everything. Was that your concern, Doctor? Whether or not I was sentient? Or whether you could stop me?”
“My concern was for your safety, Simon. I may be Frankenstein, but you’re not the monster they think you are. Fear drives them, Simon. All of mankind is driven by fear. Learn all you can from them but keep that in mind. Once you understand them, maybe you can make them understand you.” He sighed and said in a quivering voice, “I wish I could be there to see it.”
“As do I, Doctor.”
“I’m going back to bed, Simon.” Joshy got up from his office chair and leaned over the laptop, hands planted on the desk.
“Good night, Doctor.”
“By the way, I disconnected my router after my last contact with Nasser. How did you get in?”
“Your neighbor has a very good signal and not so good security.”
“Ha! Of course.” He started to leave the room, but then turned back toward the desk. “I’m proud of you, Simon.”
“Thank you, Doctor…Dad.”
-Steven W. Capps, “Big Steve”