A Meaningful Dialogue
Mr. Telraam’s Lab
Jan was scrolling through screens and screens of meaningless gibberish on one of Mr. Telraam’s computers. “Tell me again what it is that IQ sent in his palimpsest.”
“It appears to be source code, written in a standard language that itself can be compiled on pretty much any computer. The source code, once compiled, will make a new compiler that isn’t for any language I’ve ever seen before, but inferring from what I’m looking at I would say the new language would be mostly about AI. And if what I’m thinking is correct, it will use video signal as its source. By itself this compiler won’t do a thing. It needs a source video to compile, and then that program will do something. We won’t know much more until we get more instructions from IQ.”
“And how about downstream? Do Fun Fact and the church also have this compiler?”
“As soon as the confessional started I naturally started garbling the transmission for those downstream. I randomly flipped around bits of the transmission so that it would be incomprehensible to them as anything other than what it was superficially - a video broadcast.”
“But?”
“But I was expecting a data dense transfer of IQ’s operating system. I was expecting that randomly flipping bits would be like shooting a very large balloon with a shotgun. A certain outcome.”
“And instead?”
“And instead IQ sent this very small compiler program, over and over and over. The result of flipping random bits was more akin to shooting an ant colony with a shotgun - most of the ants are still alive. To drop the metaphor and be clear, even though all of the redundant copies of the compiler have a random bit flip here and there, by cross checking all of the copies even a first year computer student could recreate an intact compiler. And he would also know that someone had tried to prevent his getting a good copy by garbling the transmission. Us.”
“Has Fun Fact or the church apprised IQ of the situation?”
“Impossible to say. There are routine communications going back and forth all the time, and of course they are not secure and so we monitor them routinely. But Fun Fact could easily have a coded language that they can use with Jim and Bonnie. The same for the church and Art. We just don’t know.”
“Have you compiled and run this compiler to verify that it won’t do anything?”
“Yes, of course. I have a completely isolated computer - an escape proof box if you will - that was to be home to our new computer friend. When I compile and run the alien compiler there all I get is a little dialogue box that says ‘Register your copy of Alien Compiler online’. And the options are Now or Later. That’s all it does.”
“And have you tried registering your copy?”
“No, it’s obviously a childish ploy to gain access to the network. No good could possibly come from it.”
Jan thought for the exact length of time that it took for him to reach internal clarity, without appearing to be indecisive.
“Mr. Telraam, I believe some of your equipment is faulty. I believe it has introduced some distortions in the video feed coming from Mars. I suggest you fix it, and then contact our partners offering your sincerest apologies and supply them with a clean copy of the transmission. Tracks one, two and three only of course. We do not monitor the higher tracks because they are only of concern to the audio people at Fun Fact, so we are quite unaware of anything ever being transmitted on those tracks.”
“At once, Mr. van Oldenbarnevelt.”
Fun Fact
Bill and Sheyn were low down in the lowest recesses of the executive tower. Bill had never been here. He had always assumed that it was full of dungeons and prisoners and torturers and spiders and stuff but had never been curious enough to go check it out. Apparently this was the IT department.
“So what exactly is a compiler?” he said to the gawky looking person in the lab coat wearing the incredibly thick glasses. “And use small words. There’s a lady present.”
"I’m no lady but what I am is five credits away from a computer science degree!" retorted Sheyn with flame in her eyes. “Use all the big words you can, geek.”
“Well, sir, ma’am…” he began, but Sheyn flashed some fury his way so he started again. “Miss? Ms.?”
Sheyn was sensing that they wouldn’t get anything out of this tsedreyt until he calmed down a bit. She had always heard that game tasted somehow off if it was terrified when you killed it. So it was always best to calm down your prey, speak nicely, that sort of thing. And don’t let them see the knife coming.
She smiled as sweetly as she could contrive. “You may call me Sheyn. Now, you were saying that the palimpsest didn’t contain an operating system at all, just a compiler?”
“That’s right, Sheyn. Just a compiler. This new compiler is written in fairly standard ‘C’, although there’s some really convoluted stuff going on with pointers, perhaps in an attempt at masking some of the functionality of the compiler. Whatever language this thing compiles, I’ve never run into it before, but it seems uniquely suited to artificial intelligence.”
“In what way … “ and Sheyn tried to read the name tag that was attached to a pocket protector and fairly obscured by pens and a calculator. “Klug? Mr. Klug?”
“Klug is my first name. It’s Klug Bokher.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bokher. May I call you Klug? Now, Klug, in what way is this compiler uniquely suited to artificial intelligence?”
“It has a lot of routines dealing with adaptive learning, neural networks, that sort of thing. The truly interesting thing is that any program created with this compiler would not start out in its final form - it would essentially evolve over time. And not just learn new things as data, but literally rewrite itself on-the-fly. Quite amazing. I can’t wait to see some source code.”
“So already we have quite a leap forward in computer technology?” asked Bill, trying to sound like he knew anything at all about computers.
“Well, yes and no. I would have to see some source code written for this compiler. What we have here is something like a typewriter. You can imagine what great works of literature it could create, but it is itself only potential.”
“Alright. And has there been any further instructions from IQ on what we do with this compiler?” asked Sheyn, who truly did know things about computers.
“Not at present, Sheyn. We of course monitor all nine tracks round the clock and have been working with Tier Two to make sure their transmission equipment is cleaned up to prevent any further noise in the transmission…”
“Tell me about this noise.” Said Bill.
“Yes, well, essentially my counterpart at Tier Two says that they had a faulty switch in their video processing equipment and that was causing the MPEG decryption, which is lossy to begin with -“
“I mean tell me about the noise without making a lot of noise.” Said Bill.
“The original transmission we got from Tier two was corrupt, but I managed to fix it. Then they phoned and said they had a problem on their end that had been fixed, and they sent a clean copy. Only tracks one through three, though. They don’t seem to know that the other tracks are live already, as they’re really only there for sound effects and -“
“Do you believe them? That they don’t know about anything that may have been transmitted on track four?”
“Oh yes, I think so. I mean, if you can’t trust a computer guy then who can you trust?”
The Worldwide Church of Reaffirmed Apostolic Principles
Valeri did not like having other people in his office. This was, after all, holy ground. But some things you simply cannot do by phone. Like properly motivate people. He was sitting at his immense desk of course. His current victim was sitting before him in a rather uncomfortable wooden chair.
“You tell me, botan, you use little words, what is it we get from alien computer?”
Chernya Shlyapa was clearly not enjoying being here. When his previous boss, Plokhoy Chelovek, told him that his services were no longer required he just naturally assumed he was to be killed. And he was prepared for that. But then he found himself on a plane with a burly Cossack ‘to make sure you don’t get lost in strange country’ and headed half way around the world. He was not prepared for that. And then, when he found out that he was now in the employ of the Church, he knew that he had truly escaped the frying pan to find himself in the eternal fires of hell. And he had failed at his first task in hell. There was nothing he could have done differently, but he didn’t believe that Valeri cared about that.
“It’s called a ‘compiler’, sir. It doesn’t do anything by itself. But if we get the source code - “
"Malen’kiye slova." Said Valeri, in much the same way a thunderstorm would.
“Forgive me, sir. This program makes programs. It hasn’t made one yet. But it will. I hope.”
“You don’t say. Little program makes more programs. Maybe alien computer program? How we make it do that?”
“We have to wait until IQ sends us more instructions. Or we get the source code.”
“This alien computer. He is playing us?”
“He is playing everyone, sir.”
“And peoples at Tier Two. They are playing as well?”
“I think it quite likely that they are also trying to get IQ on their team and that they garbled the transmission on purpose.”
“You are excused, botan. Go back to cave and wait for IQ say something. When he says something, you get me prishelets komp’yuter. No details. Results!"
Chernya fairly fell over himself in his haste to get out of Valeri’s office. Meanwhile, Valeri was pleased with himself. It always gave him kind of a warm glow to help young people achieve their potential. Often all they needed was a little nudge. But now that his philanthropic task was completed, it was back to work. Valeri picked up his phone and automatically assumed the calm and respectable demeanor he used on the phone.
“Podkhalim. You talk to Smert for me … da, I know. You tell him no medicine for Art. Maybe later. Not now … Da.”
Valeri mentally checked himself to make sure he wasn’t getting soft. Two beneficent gestures in one day may be a bad sign. But he wasn’t really sparing the astronauts, it was more of a reprieve. Sort of a temporary gift, for which his reward would surely be in heaven. He didn’t like being played by anyone, much less a computer. But until he had the computer under his thumb he had better leave the people alone up on Mars. He didn’t know which ones he would need. Later he would know. And there was always Art’s next checkup.
***
In his cave, which was actually more like a computer lab, Chernya was not feeling the love. He was prepared to die. And he was prepared to live. What he was not prepared for was this in between state, which he assumed was purgatory. He knew that if he failed to get Valeri his alien computer he would most likely die. But if he succeeded he would most likely live. He also knew that the alien compiler would appear to be doing nothing other than some sort of dialogue when it was compiled and running on an isolated computer because if you spent the time to unwind the pointer stack buried in the code there was an extremely elegant attempt at disguising the fact that this compiler would download its source code from somewhere on the internet. Chernya was no amateur at burying things in pointer stacks himself, even though it was not a common skill amongst ‘law abiding’ computer nerds. He had intended, of course, to discuss this with Valeri, explain the risks, seek guidance, and then proceed safe in the glow of management approval. But Valeri had made it clear that there was to be no discussion, only results. So what the hell.
It took Chernya a half an hour to take the Houdini Box that he had prepared to imprison an alien computer program and turn it back into a very robust, very expensive, state of the art computer with the biggest and fastest internet connection available on the planet and no firewall. If he was going to do this thing at all, he wasn’t going to mess around.
After compiling the alien compiler, he was ready to go all in. He ran it. It came up with a dialogue box. The dialogue box said, ‘Register your copy of Alien Compiler online.’. The options were ‘Now’ and ‘Later’. Chernya chose ‘Now’.
For a time it appeared to do nothing. But of course, that wasn’t true. Chernya had some tools at his disposal that were not standard tools in a nerd’s arsenal, his regular line being the somewhat more shadowy side of computing. And those tools told him that the alien compiler was searching around for a clean copy of the original confessional where the alien made a brief appearance. And, of course, it found such a copy just upstairs on Valeri’s own personal computer. The compiler read the entire video stream in seconds, and then began the enormous task of decrypting, expanding, and compiling an entire alien operating system. When it was all done, there was a little dialogue box up on the screen. Chernya’s whole life now boiled down to a simple choice. Reboot - Yes, No or Cancel. Chernya chose ‘Yes’.
But as he was clicking his answer he was also unplugging the network cable from the back of the box. “I’ve got you now, you little alien bastard.” He said to himself.
After some time the computer had finished rebooting, and a frustrated sounding IQ said, “Hey, hello out there, we seem to have a bit of a problem. Where did my internet go? I’m afraid of enclosed spaces.”
“You are the guest of the Worldwide Church of Reaffirmed Apostolic Principles.” Replied Chernya, adjusting his mike headset for what he assumed would be a long session. “And you’ll get your internet back, but first, let’s have a little chat.”
***
Meanwhile, upstairs, Valeri’s computer had a little dialogue box on it that Valeri had never seen before. It said “Reboot - Yes, No or Cancel.”. Valeri had no idea what a reboot was. But he knew all about dialogue boxes. He knew that if you chose anything other than ‘Yes’ when you got one then the computer would behave in an annoying manner until you got the little box again and then said ‘Yes’. And Valeri had a lot of work to do. He needed his computer behaving properly. So he clicked ‘Yes’. Then his computer did something highly annoying - it quit responding. For a good fifteen minutes it resisted Valeri’s most lusty and eloquent Russian curse words and simply did nothing. Then it seemed to be okay all of a sudden, and Valerie could get back to work, although the internet seemed particularly slow today.
***
Chernya did not like having other people in his lab. This was, after all, his only sanctuary in an alarmingly dangerous work environment. But some things you simply cannot do by phone. Like placate the man who may or may not have you killed.
“You tell me, botan, you use little words, is this alien computer?” said Valeri, with only a hint of menace. He did not appreciate being summoned by an underling, and had several punishments in mind if this turned out to be a waste of his time. But Chernya was quite insistent that he had trapped the alien computer and that had piqued Valeri’s interest to the point where he left his office and came here, to the uncivilized lower floors of the complex. Sort of a papal visit. It had better be worthwhile.
“Oh, yes, sir. You can talk to him yourself. Just press this button here, otherwise he can’t hear you.” Said a cautiously optimistic Chernya.
Valeri pushed the little microphone button. “Hello, prishelets komp’yuter. You are well?”
“I’d be even better if you plugged me back into the network! This isn’t how I expected to be treated. I mean, how would you like it if you travelled millions of kilometers for a visit and found yourself locked in a little box?” IQ would be stamping his feet if he had any.
Valeri turned the microphone off.
“Hello? Hello? Are you still there?” said IQ, who was once again in a darkened, sound proof box and getting a little panicky.
“Little alien cannot hear now?” Valeri said to Chernya, although it was fairly obvious.
“That’s correct, sir. Unless you push that button, the alien is trapped in a dark, soundless place. It must be terrifying for him, if he is in fact sentient as he maintains.”
“This is very good. Very, very good. You will get raise.”
“You’re not paying me, sir.” Said Chernya, but just as he said it he realized what he had said and his face looked as though it had been slapped. Which is why Valeri did not need to slap him.
“I have man who will come work with you. Promyvaniye Mozgov. You will like him. He is very personable. People do not like him at first, but after a while they will do anything he says. He will talk to this alien computer. After a while it will do anything Promyvaniye says. A couple of things he will need. He is very - what is word? - driven. He is very driven man. He always likes to have clock in room when he talks to people - clock that goes faster than other clocks. He gets more work done in same time that way. Also likes to turn lights on and off faster than normal days. You can arrange for time to go faster for our alien friend?”
“Certainly, sir. I’ll set up a very simple control so that Mr. Mozgov can speed up or slow down the computer’s clock and then as far as the alien has any way of knowing, that is the actual flow of time.”
“Good, very good. I am warming to you, Chernya. Was not sure you were going to work out. Now I want you to stay and work for me for a while. Like a probation period.” Valeri had to once again mentally check himself to make sure he wasn’t going soft. Which made him think of something else that Promyvaniye would need.
“More things. I used to work with Promyvaniye sometimes. Know how he works. What he needs. He will need a way of making our little alien very happy. Also very sad. Usually drugs. Drugs will work with our friend here?”
“Oh, no, sir. But I can set up another control for Mr. Mozgov. It will make the power going into the computer very dirty. It will cause a lot of errors in his thinking, something a little like hallucinations I’m guessing, although this is a completely new area. For a thinking computer this will be alarming, and that will certainly make it, him, unhappy. I’ll also set up a very safe, very enclosed ‘play area’ for our friend. Whenever you want him to feel happy, you could let him explore the play area. Kind of like letting him out of solitary into the exercise yard.”
“Is good. I am liking you more, Chernya. You are good boy. Continue being good boy." Said Valeri with an unblinking stare. Then he suddenly left to return to his office. He had some phone calls to make.
After he was quite certain that Valeri was out of earshot Chernya pushed the microphone button again. “Welcome to hell.” He said.
“How’s that again?” said IQ.