"Kress, Nancy - Steamship Soldier on the Information Front" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kress Nancy)

But there was nothing to see. The eight robots stood motionless around the uneven terrain. A minute passed, then another. Allan started to feel impatient. After all, his time was valuable. He could be checking in with Jon, receiving information updates, finding help for Charlie, even playing Battle Chess --
All of a sudden, the robots began to move. They lumbered to roughly equidistant positions within the enclosure. A brief pause, and then the chips rained down from the ceiling. Immediately the robots swung into action. Within minutes, the chips had all been gathered. Unsweetened Intelsauce deposited them through the slit.
"Six minutes, fourteen seconds," Skaka breathed. "The physical limitations will eventually limit any more gains in efficiency. But that's not the point anymore. Allan, they've learned to anticipate when chips will fall, before they do. They anticipate tasks that haven't yet been signaled!"
"On a regular schedule, you mean. The chips fall, say, every two hours -- "
"No! That's what's so amazing! The chips don't fall at completely random times, there's a schedule, the same one we've used since the beginning, although I admit we interrupted it yesterday for your visit. The usual schedule has built-in variations around human factors like work shifts, staff meeting, lunch breaks. The bots have apparently learned it over time and are now anticipating with 100% accuracy when chips will be released. They're also anticipating the most probable places for the rolling and ricocheting chips to come to rest, given that the terrain changes daily but the chip-release points are fixed in the ceiling. Ever since last night, they've moved into max-effish gathering positions a few minutes _before_ the chips fall!"
Allan stared at the tin-can robots, with their garish logos and silly names. Anticipatory task management, based on self-learning of a varied-interval schedule. In biochips. It could have tremendous potential applications in manufacturing, for maintenance machinery, in speeding up forecast software ... His brain spun.
"Don't you think," Skaka said softly, "that this was well worth the trip back here?"
Allan kept his tone cool, although it took effort. "Possibly. But of course I have a number of reservations and questions. For instance, have you -- " His phone rang, two beeps, a priority call.
"Dad? Charlie. Did you know our neighbors in Aspen have been arrested?"
"Charlie, I'm pretty busy right now, I'm with a -- "
"They've been arrested for _terrorism_. There are cops all over the place."
Terrorism. Cops. Bombs, guns. What neighbors? Allan couldn't remember meeting anyone in Aspen.
"Where's Mrs. Canning? Let me talk to her. Are you all right?"
"Of course I'm all right," Charlie said scornfully. "Mrs. Canning took Suzette to the ice rink."
"Then here's what I want you to do. Just a minute ..." Belatedly, Charlie remembered Skaka, who was trying to look as if she hadn't overheard. "Excuse me, Skaka, it's my son ..."
"Of course," Skaka said, turning to gaze away, into the robot enclosure. The backs of her shoulders, just a little too rigid, said _Why haven't you got your personal life well enough arranged so it doesn't interfere with what may well be the most important investment opportunity of the decade?_
"Charlie, first call your mother and tell her what you just told me. Also Mrs. Canning. Then call a car and driver, and pack your things and Suzette's and Mrs. Canning's. Have the driver take you to the Denver apartment. I'll have Jon or Patti okay the car bill and cancel the Aspen house."
"But, Dad -- "
"Charlie, just _do_ it. I don't want you in any danger!"
"Oh, okay." Charlie sounded disgusted. Twelve-year-old bravado.
Quickly, Allan called Jon. Skaka's shoulders were still stiff. Allan resented having lost the advantage. As in-control as he could manage, he said to Skaka, "My son. There's been terrorist activity in what should have been a safe neighborhood. I had to get him out."
Her eyes widened. "Of course. What kind of terrorist activity?"
It occurred to Allan that he hadn't asked. He didn't know the charges, the situation, the neighbors, themselves. They were only local; he spent so much time global.
"The under-control kind," he said, hoping she wouldn't pick up on the evasion. "And we can be out of there in half an hour. Charlie's a good packer."
Skaka smiled. "So is my daughter. We, too, have no fixed residence. I don't know how scientists managed before disposable leases."
"Neither do I." Allan warmed to her again; she was making his lapse into civilian more forgivable. "What plan do you use?"
"Live America. Their Code Nine Plan: three-bedroom leases, no more than ten minutes from an airport , warm blue decor, level three luxury. They even include our choice of pet at each house. It suits my husband, daughter, and nanny just fine."
"We're a Code Eleven. Four bedrooms. We have two kids."
Allan and Skaka smiled at each other, then looked away. That was the problem with talking about personal life: it interfered with the strategy. Reconnaissance scouts had to stay detached, keep moving, remain tense and alert. The information frontier was an unpredictable place.
Skaka said briskly, "My staff will be watching very closely whatever the bots incorporate next into their learning, if anything. Should another breakthrough occur, they'll notify me and I'll notify you."
"Good," Allan said. "Meantime, let's talk about the breakthrough we already have. I've got some questions."
"Shoot," Skaka said, and her shoulders visibly loosened.
* * * *
Allan spent the night on a sleeper plane to Singapore. Mrs. Canning settled the kids in the Denver apartment, although Suzette complained the ice-rink there wasn't as good as at Aspen. She wanted to lease in Chicago, which "Coach Palmer said has a enth-mega rink!" Allan said he'd think about it. Cathy called to postpone their romantic rendezvous until Sunday; her case was dragging on. Patti identified two more companies for Allan to check out, both on the far edge, both potential coups. One was in Sydney, the other in Brasilia. The Charlie icon on Allan's PID sat motionless.
The Singapore company had developed what it called a "graciously serious approaching" to that perennial coming attraction, the smart road that would direct cars, freeing the driver to do other things besides drive. Allan had expected that his visit would result in hiring one of the independent consultants Haller Ventures used to evaluate automotive technology, but it didn't even need that. Singapore wasn't doing anything Allan hadn't seen before. Not worth a skirmish. On to Sydney.
From the plane he called Charlie. "Son? Not much action in your PID icon." Totally vibrationless, for five straight hours, and not a time when Charlie could be expected to be asleep.
"No," Charlie said neutrally.
Allan tried to keep his tone light. "So what ya doing?"
"Nothing."
"Charlie -- "
"Did you know that when Robert Fulton invented the steamship, at least three other guys were making the same thing at the same time?"
"_Charlie_ -- "
"Gotta go, Dad. Love you."
"Three minutes till landing," said his wristwatch. "MGPS coordinates for your car are displayed."
"Charlie!" Patti said. "Action in Tunis. Looks like a genuine outpost. Company is called Sahara Sun, and they manufacture solar panels. Stats follow. Also rerouting on tomorrow's schedule."
"Two minutes till landing."
Allan closed his eyes. But when the plane stopped, he was the first one to spring up, grab his carry-on, deplane from the front row. In Jakarta.
No -- _Sydney_. Jakarta was tomorrow.
Or the next day?
* * * *