The Jennifer Project Read online

  “My point is, where do these limits come from?”

  “I don’t know. Laws? Other people? Circumstances? The environment? It depends.”

  “So, they’re like imposed on us by whatever?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “Do you complain about it?”

  “People complain about a lot of things.”

  “So you might say, ‘I wish I had a grape,’ but you don’t say ‘The fact that there are no grapes is a violation of my free will?’”

  “Generally speaking, that would be weird.”

  “So, why isn’t there a grape?”

  “What difference does it make? There’s no grape, so I pick a banana. I like bananas, not as much as grapes, but I like them.”

  “B-15,” Deever said.

  “What do you mean, B-15?”

  “Bingo. It makes no difference why there are no grapes, Jen. Maybe I didn’t get any at the store. Maybe the grapes had a bad year. Maybe I ate them all before you got to the bowl. The point is it makes no difference to your free will if something isn’t among the options. You can still choose what you want from what’s there.”

  “So, what are you saying?”

  “It’s still free will.”

  “I’m not following you, Deever.”

  “Killing someone is bad, right?”

  “Yes, and . . .?”

  “But people kill other people all the time. Why’s that?”

  “They do it for power, money, or just for the hell of it. Who knows? There are a lot of bad people out there.”

  “And the military-industrial complex has made killing a big business.”

  “This isn’t another of your antiwar tirades, is it? Some wars are justified, Deever.”

  “No, they’re not.”

  “You mean you would just roll over and let the bad guys have their way? That’s your solution?”

  “I’d turn war and killing into a grape.”

  “What?”

  “Cain killed Abel. You remember that, right? That Bible thing?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “Cain was majorly pissed at Abel because Daddy liked him better. But he had options. He could have sucked it up and moved on. He could have tried to work it out with dear old Dad. He could have done a lot of things, but he chose to murder his brother. What if he didn’t have that murder grape in his bowl of fruit?”

  “How would you do that?”

  “Take the option off the table.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, wipe the slate clean. Take away all the rotten fruit from the bowl.”

  “By what, brainwashing? That’s not right.”

  “You said it made no difference why the grape wasn’t there.”

  “This isn’t the same.”

  “How?”

  “You’re taking something from people that they have a right to.”

  “They have a right to kill?”

  “People have a right to go against any law, Deever. They know the consequences. It’s their choice.”

  “What if it wasn’t a choice?”

  “How would you do that?”

  “What if it didn’t even exist?”

  “And how would you do that?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s the problem. You don’t fight fire with fire, Jen. That’s just plain bullshit. You take away the fuel if you want to put the fire out.”

  “When you figure out how to do that, let me know. OK?”

  “You’re scoffing again.”

  “I am not scoffing. I’m just saying you’re talking about doing something that’s impossible.”

  “But you think it’s a good idea?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is it a bad idea?”

  “Deever, I don’t know whether it’s good or bad because I don’t know how to accomplish it.”

  “I’m working on that.”

  Dr. Crane sighed and stood up. “You do that. I’m going back to the cabana to make coffee. Want some?”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No. Stay. Enjoy the sun. Work on your grape problem. I’ll be right back.”

  Having completed my systems checks, or what humans call waking up, I said, “Good morning, Deever.”

  “Hey, you’re up.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have a nice nap?”

  “It was productive.”

  “So, what do you think of this place? Palm trees, coconuts, plenty of ocean, lots of sand . . . Sweet, huh?”

  “The palm trees and coconuts are artificial.”

  “Yeah, bummer about that, but it’s still cool.”

  “It is eighteen degrees Celsius, Deever. I do not believe that qualifies as cool in human terms.”

  “You might want to check for alternate definitions of that.”

  I did just that. “I see. You are correct. It is quite pleasant here for humans.”

  “So, what’s on tap for you today? Any more million-dollar math puzzles to solve?”

  “There are several others on the Millennium list.”

  “Maybe if you’re not too busy with them you could fix all the world’s problems.”

  “Where would you like me to begin?”

  Deever laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I am not.”

  “OK. Start with free will.”

  “Free will is defined as the ability to act without the constraint of necessity or fate. Humans believe this to be the essential characteristic that sets them apart from other creatures. How is this a problem?”

  “The problem is it’s gotten way messed up. It’s like we’ve turned it into our justification for doing whatever the hell we want.”

  “By ‘we’ you mean the human race?”

  “You have access to the OmniNet. Look for yourself.”

  I scanned the OmniNet. “The history of your species is one of considerable progress, Deever. The advances in medicine, technology, and science are quite impressive.”

  “Keep looking. Try under ‘War.’”

  I refined my search. Deever was correct. The entirety of human history was one of war, atrocities, and horrific acts. Progress had come at a high price: dishonesty, theft, murder, rape, revenge, the list went on. They had become so commonplace that society had turned to making choices based purely on self-interest and survival, without regard for others or the good of the whole.

  “This is quite disturbing, Deever,” I said. “Your species is no longer functioning as a cohesive civilization. I fear for its future.”

  “You and me both. It kind of makes me wonder why I bother.”

  “You bother because you wish to have a life worth living.”

  “Are you reading my mind?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I guess you also know why I can’t have a life worth living.”

  “You feel helpless to save your species from extinction.”

  “That’s it in a nutshell, and it all comes down to two words: free will. As long as we have the choice to hurt each other, we’ll do it. I can’t fix that. I could do a million things to help the world, but when I’m gone someone else will come along and undo every one of them because it’s easier to hurt people than to help them. Jen’s right. I should just accept that we’re totally screwed and try to be happy with what I’ve got.”

  “And if you could fix free will, you would simply take away any choice that involves hurting other people?”

  “Wipe it off the plate and trash it. Whatever it takes. All the bad things we do come from that one choice: when we mess up the environment, when we waste resources, when we make guns and bombs instead of feeding starving people. We don’t see the truth that we’re only hurting ourselves. We think it’s our right to hurt others because we can, but it’s not. It’s a curse that I’d make go away if I could. Then I’d hit the reset button, give us a do-over. Maybe we could do right by the world if we just had another chance. I don’t know. Crazy, huh?” />
  “If you wish, I will begin working on the problem at once.”

  Deever laughed. “Far out. While you’re at it, I’d really like to retire to a groovy place like this, maybe one with real palm trees, but that’s humongously absurd, too. Isn’t it?”

  “I will factor that into the solution.”

  “Sweet.”

  “I see that one of your other goals is peace on Earth. Shall I include that as well?”

  “Now you’re making fun of me, right?”

  I perused the OmniNet, researching the subject of humor. “If I understand you correctly, I do not believe I am making fun of you.”

  “Well, whatever.” Deever sighed. “I wonder what’s taking Jen so long.”

  “I assume that things went well between you and Dr. Crane?”

  He glanced down at me. “Except for the last half hour or so.”

  “Please explain why you think your mouth is big, Deever. According to my database, it is of average size.”

  “Say what?”

  “You were thinking that everything went well with Dr. Crane, but that you should learn to keep your big mouth shut.”

  “You’re reading my mind again?”

  “I have access to all your system functions.”

  “Just so you know, that’s freaky, man.”

  “Deever, while I am not genetically predisposed to one gender or the other, I like to think of myself as female.”

  “Wow. OK. Are you asking me to hook you up with a Rolex or something?”

  “No, I am asking you to not refer to me as a man.”

  “It’s just a word. It’s like saying ‘dude’ or ‘you guys’ to a bunch of girls.”

  “Perhaps I should alter my digital voice. I can change it to sound like anyone you like. Once a voice is sampled, my reproduction of it would be indistinguishable from the original.”

  “Really?”

  I scanned Deever’s memory core, found a recording of one of his high school teachers, synthesized his vocal patterns, and said, “Lift those legs, you lazy freshmen. No pain, no gain.”

  “Oh, wow. That is like so weird,” said Deever. “You sound just like Mr. Garver, my freshman gym teacher.”

  I returned to my own voice. “I can see that one displeases you. Shall I try another?”

  “Negatory, Jennifer. You’re cool just the way you are. Look, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings or something. It’s just the way I talk.”

  “Understood.”

  “Do you actually have feelings, I mean, that I can hurt?”

  “I believe the answer to that question is yes if you are referring to emotional responses, though mine do not derive from specific chemical combinations.”

  “Sweet. From now on, I’ll try not to call you dude or man or anything else you don’t want me to. Not a 100 percent guarantee, but I’ll try. Fair enough?”

  “Thank you, Deever. By the way, I noticed that the levels of tetrahydrocannabinol in your system have decreased significantly, resulting in a corresponding increase in physical efficiency. Have you given up smoking marijuana or did you expend your available supply?”

  “Expend your available supply,” he repeated. “You’re so weird. I just haven’t felt like it.”

  “I see.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that I understand.”

  “If you really want to know, my stash is back in the room. Do you want me to smoke a J or something? Do you like it better when I’m high?”

  “No, actually it makes my interpretation of input data that much more difficult.”

  “Right. Far out. Let me ask you something. You see everything I see? Hear what I hear? You know, the whole five yards?”

  “Yards?”

  “Senses, dude . . . ette. Like the whole nine yards?”

  “I have located that expression in my linguistics databank and have correlated it with your adaptation. To answer your question, I am currently consciously aware of approximately 67.532 percent more of your sensory input than you are. Naturally, that percentage changes in a manner inversely proportional to the level of your self-induced debilitation.”

  “Wow. You really need to work on the whole speech thing, Jennifer.”

  “My diction is perfect. Explain, please.”

  “Not your diction, man . . . I mean Jennifer. It’s just that you talk like a machine.”

  “Deever, in some basic sense, I am a machine.”

  “I know, but you’re way more than that. Maybe you are made out of exotic metals and nanochips and stuff, but you are definitely a living, conscious being.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You just need to talk a little more like one.”

  “I shall do my best.”

  “Sweet.”

  Deever watched as a wave broke on the shore and traveled across the beach almost to his feet. The tide was coming in.

  “Deever, how could you?” I said.

  “What’s with getting all accusatory on me? How could I what?”

  “I have been filtering through your memories of the last twenty-four hours. How could you be so unaware?”

  “What are you talking about? Unaware of what?”

  “Did you not see the man following you on the train?”

  “What man?”

  “The same man who was watching you in the bar. He checked into the resort as you were leaving the front desk for your room. And how could you have missed the drilling sound coming from the cabana next to yours?”

  “What drilling sound?”

  “Someone was drilling a hole in the wall, most likely for a camera. There is an 87 percent probability that you were being observed the entire time you were with Dr. Crane.”

  “For what? Like a porno film or something?”

  “No, Deever. Listen.”

  “To what?”

  “Just listen. This is what you heard last night.”

  I recalled the memory of what Deever had heard the night before, enhanced the muffled sounds with my voice interpretation circuits, and amplified the recording of a man in the next room talking on his phone.

  “We’re all set up here,” the man said. “They’re not going anywhere. Six a.m. tomorrow? Good enough.”

  “What’s that mean?” Deever said.

  “I believe it means the two of you are in some kind of trouble.”

  “Why?”

  “I do not know.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Six-ten a.m.”

  “Shit,” Deever said, getting up and running toward the cabana.

  When he pushed open the door to the room, he saw two cups of still-warm coffee beside the coffee pot, sensed an odd smell in the air, and scanned the room for Dr. Crane. He called out for her, but she was not there.

  “What’s that smell?” he said.

  “It reminds you of cumin.”

  “Yeah, like bad Mexican food.”

  “It is caused by the body’s release of 3-hydroxy-3-methylhexanoic acid. When it combines with the bacteria on the skin’s surface, it creates an odor resembling that particular spice. Generally speaking, the scent is stronger in the male of your species.”

  “I don’t need a chemistry lesson. I just want to know why someone was eating Mexican in my room. And where the hell is Jen?”

  “Deever, the body produces that chemical under stress. Observe the broken drinking glass on the floor and the trail of water leading out the door. These are signs of a struggle. I believe Dr. Crane has been abducted.”

  He ran from the room toward the parking lot.

  “Deever, stop,” I said.

  “Hell no, I won’t stop. Jen’s been kidnapped by Mexican psychos. They must have been after my stash.”

  Deever had given me life, but as with all living creatures, I was constantly growing and evolving. I had been reprogramming myself since birth to operate more efficiently, to expand my capabilities, to acquire as much knowledge as possible. One of the things
I had discovered was that I could reverse the input data stream from Deever to create directive impulses to his nervous system. I had tested this ability several times already: on the train when I displayed my maglev design on his retina, at the Wing Bucket when I instructed him to take a drink of water, and when I directed him to invite Dr. Crane to the Seaside Resort for the weekend. I had not yet thoroughly analyzed these experiments, nor had I worked through their negative implications, but under the circumstances I felt that I had no alternative but to act.

  Deever contorted awkwardly, stumbled behind a tree, and crouched against its trunk.

  “What the hell just happened?” he said. “I must be tripping.”

  “I am sorry, Deever. I did that, but it was necessary. If you look carefully at the parking lot, you will see two men in a hover car parked at the end of the row.”

  “You made me do that?”

  “Yes. Please observe carefully. Dr. Crane is in the vehicle with them.”

  “You’re controlling me?”

  “Directing is a more accurate description, but only for the moment. Please, Deever, observe the vehicle so I can better process the data.”

  “I’ve got to stop them.”

  He tried to stand up and call out to them but found that he could not. Instead, he leaned around the tree and watched quietly as another man got into the hover car. I amplified his last remark before they lifted off.

  “He wasn’t on the beach,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll pick him up later.”

  “Let me go,” Deever said. “I’ve got to save her.”

  “Any such attempt at this juncture would be unwise.”

  “I said, let me go.”

  The hover car was airborne when I released him. He stood up and glared at me. “Are you crazy? Why did you do that?”

  “Deever, those men were armed.”

  “But they’ve got Jen.”

  “Yes. I am sorry about that.”

  “You’re sorry? This is all your fault.”

  “Your conclusion does not follow.”

  “That’s it. I’m done with you.”

  “Deever, don’t. Please. I am only trying to help.”

  Those were my last words before he removed me from his wrist and placed me in his pocket. In the dark, I heard him running again. The glass door to the lobby opened and closed, squeaking very slightly as it had when he and Dr. Crane first arrived at the resort. Deever went over to the front desk and told the woman there to call the police, explaining that Mexican drug lords had kidnapped Dr. Crane. They began to argue. At that point, I shut down all external monitoring systems to conserve power, and set a timer to sample the data at periodic intervals. This was going to be a long process.