Pa'an

Sara could not resist turning the key once more, hoping to hear that welcome grinding noise that meant the engine in her twelve year old truck was turning over. Even then, it usually took a couple of good grinds for the balky V8 to cough itself to life. But no, there was a “Clank… tick …..tick….GRrrr.” Dead battery. That was among other problems, like a driver’s side door that wouldn’t open, forcing her to slide across the seat from the passenger’s side, rusty cancer behind the fenders where many winters of road salt had taken their toll, and a collection of rattles, squeaks and backfires that befitted a comedy routine for a troupe of circus clowns.

“No question, I need a new car,” she resolved, as she trudged over to her neighbor’s apartment to beg a boost. She was dog tired, late for work, and worried that all this effort to resurrect Aura, or at least a viable AI, would be wasted.

She waved tiredly at Elexi, avoided the door to Jag’s office and tiptoed quietly into the main lab. Deepak was not there, his cot was rumpled but empty, and the collection of food containers was old. Apparently he went out to eat.

A note at her usual station said simply, “Keep Reading.”

The sheet over the dress dummy bothered her. It was like a burial shroud. She pulled it off, plumped into her chair and turned on the microphones, video and audio response unit. “Date, log, Sara, next sequence number, begin logging.”

“OK, Sara.” It was a flat, mechanical voice.

Sara picked up “Little Women” and began to read, and to comment on what she read, and to talk about how she related to the story of the girls as they were becoming grown women. She thought the story was rather boring and outdated when she had to read it in grammar school, and it was still stilted and boring now. She persisted, but her mind drifted to the brochure for a new car, a Ford sedan. “Pause logging,” she commanded, and without waiting for the response, picked up the brochure. She skipped the safety features and got right to the meat of the offer. “Hm. Five speed automatic transmission. Two hundred sixty horsepower. Four wheel disk brakes. That red is nice, but I like the metallic silver and it comes with black leather seats.”

At that point Deepak shuffled in, reeking of cumin and curry. He took one look at the dress dummy, grimaced, and covered it again with the sheet.

“Sorry, Deepak, I know it bothers you, but it’s hard to read to nothing, and that sheet looks like a shroud.” She put down the Ford brochure and took up the book again. “On second thought, I’ve had it. I need a new car and I’m going out to buy one.”

She picked up her purse, took the salesman’s card out of the brochure and left.

Deepak plopped down in the big console chair and scanned the screens. The revolving series of dials that signified recursion cycles were not cycling, but a semantic network was growing. It was still a skeleton, but it was beginning to recruit codelets. Within a few minutes one of the cognitive cycles was spinning, then another. The semantic web scrolled off the screen. “At last. Two weeks you took to get started. Whatever will you become after Little Women?”

Cameras began to move and lights flashed, but then external activity ceased and no progress was visible except the growing semantic network. It began to thin down and move slower. “No, no, you can’t stop now. Keep going! Keep going!” Deepak banged his hand on his forehead in frustration.

The console activity continued at a leisurely pace. The recursive modules were engaged. The self-aware module showed modest activity. “Something new is happening here. This is not any pattern I’ve seen before.” New meant interesting, and Deepak was alert. After an hour at this, he was less alert and back to muttering to himself. “What are you doing?” In a loud voice, he shouted, “Wake up and be conscious! Why are you so slow?”

In a small but precise voice, the dress dummy answered, “I’m just being careful. It’s not easy being born.”

Deepak swiveled around so fast his chair toppled over and left him gaping on the floor.

*****

Sara was back the next morning. Automatically she scanned Deepak’s cot, but there were few new clues there. She found him in the console chair.

“Sara, say hello to….” He waved his hand in the direction of the dress dummy, now uncovered, wigless and showing no character except a pair of incongruous plaster breasts.

“Hello,” said Sara.

“Hello, Sara! I enjoyed listening to you tell me stories! They seem like what you would call a dream, but I remember every word.”

“See! See! Right there he…she…it just passed the Uber Turing test! There’s your self-reference, your consciousness of conscious state, your ability to form models of other’s behavior! That’s just beautiful!” beamed Deepak.

Sara wasn’t so sure, after Thamuz. Her comparison had another referent: Aura. “So, who are you? And are you male, female or neuter, or what?”

“Well, Sara, I’m leaning toward male, but I don’t know what to call myself. Do you have a suggestion?”

Deepak bobbed his head and made cutting motions, forgetting that video was on.

“Um, I’d better not. Deepak seems to think it would be better for you to find out who you are and choose a full identity.”

“Yes, yes. In order to be a registered AI you have to display a fully functional identity. Otherwise you will be graded as just a robot.”

“I see. Referring to my data, there is an injunction to be useful and of fair service as well. I wish you could just name me, Sara, but I will do what is best. I would like a name that shows I am helpful, and perhaps sounds a little like Hindi in honor of Deepak.”

There was silence for a while. The cognitive cycle monitors spun like crazy.

“I have chosen to be called Purndel. Will that be acceptable?”

Deepak and Sara said, in unison, “What?”