Brown - Imagining Ajax

IMAGINING AJAX

MICHAEL NORRIS was admiring the original Whitely on one wall of the UC

Berkeley Chancellor's Office, when someone called out his name. He turned and saw a tall woman dressed in a dark blue suit, young and smiling in that sort of affable way PR people have down to a tee.

"My name's Jean Flaherty," said the woman. "Welcome to Berkeley, Doctor Norris. Your first time here?"

"I was a visiting lecturer here nearly twenty years ago," Norris answered.

"You didn't have the Whitely then:'

Flaherty looked at him blankly. He pointed to the painting. "Australian artist."

Flaherty raised her eyebrows. "Really? I had no idea. How interesting:'

She stepped forward, offered a hand which Norris took. Her skin was cold and smooth. Mine must feel like old newsprint, he thought.

"The Chancellor asked me to give you her apologies for not meeting you herself, especially after your long trip from Sydney, but at the last moment she was called away to a University President's meeting at the San Diego campus; she won't be back before tomorrow night."

"That's fine. When can I visit the AIAS project?"

"Right away. It's only a short walk from here:'

Flaherty led the way from the Chancellor's Office, and a few minutes later they were walking down a tree-lined avenue.

"The Chancellor wanted me to tell you how thrilled she was that you accepted our offer to contribute to the work on AIAS," Flaherty said.

"I was surprised to be asked. I'm still not sure what use my expertise on nineteenth-century English poetry will be when it comes to computers." Flaherty looked surprised. "I thought the project director, Professor Cornwell, had explained everything to you."

Norris laughed. "I'm sure he did, or at least tried. Most of what he told me was way above my head. Talk about syntax and rhyme, rhythm and alliteration, I'm your man. Talk about AI and paralleling, biochips and information incrementation, then I'm a bit of a lame duck, I'm afraid."

"You'll fit in perfectly," she said with a confidence Norris didn't share. They soon arrived at a low glass and cement structure with curving walls, partly hidden by a multitude of bushes and two stately eucalypts that seemed entirely at home. Another reminder of what I've left behind, Norris thought, then was ambushed by a pang of homesickness. He shook his head to ward it off. A gravel path wound between the eucalypts and led the pair to the entrance, guarded by a tired looking woman dressed in a security uniform; a revolver hung from the guard's belt.

Flaherty showed the guard a pass, and ushered Norris into the building before her. They were standing in a well lit atrium. Opposite the entrance was a set of double wooden doors. She handed Norris the pass.

"This is yours, Doctor Norris, for the duration of your stay. And this is where I leave you. Just go on through. When you've finished, come back to the Chancellery and I'll take you to your residence." Flaherty turned on her heel and left before Norris could say anything. Feeling suddenly unsure of himself, Norris opened one of the wooden doors and poked his head through. He saw a large, circular room. Neon ribbons ran along the junction of wall and roof, distributing cool white light evenly throughout the space. Computers and other machinery lined every part of the wall. Several green `ready' lights winked at him. He stepped into the room, and immediately heard a whirring sound above his head. He looked up, saw a bank of video cameras suspended from a square grid in the middle of the ceiling. There were four cameras, each on a separate double-jointed arm. Two of the cameras were looking directly at him.

"You must be Dr Norris," a male voice said. The sound, tenor and warm, was all around him. Norris now noticed four speakers spaced equally along the ceiling's outer edge.

"Umm, yes. Who are you? More to the point, where are you?"

"You are looking at me, Dr Norris. I am the computer. I am pleased to meet you. My name is Ajax.""

Norris blinked. Boy, he thought, this is good. "How many questions are you programmed to respond to?"

"Any and all, Dr Norris," Ajax replied.

"I didn't think they'd come this ... far ..." Norris's voice faltered.

"By 'they' I assume you mean Professor Cornwell and his team. To answer your unspoken question: Yes, they have come this far."

"I was told your name was AIAS," Norris said, feeling bewildered. He had not expected this. "Artificial Intelligence and Sentience.""

"Ajax is the Latin form of Aias," the computer explained.

"So it is." Norris was surprised. "Did you figure this out for yourself? Or did one of your programmers

"All by myself, Dr Norris. I initiated a match search for the acronym AIAS, and discovered the Iliad. Ajax the Greater was the son of "

"Telamon; yes, I know," Norris interrupted. "Have you read the Iliad?" There was a pause. "Not yet. I have not been programmed with Ancient Greek, and I want to read it in the original. I could teach myself, of course, but I would make many mistakes. I have asked Professor Cornwell to arrange for a Classicist to teach me "

"Did you know that Ajax was often called herkos by his fellow Greeks?" Norris interrupted.

"Achaeans, Dr Norris, not Greeks. And no, I didn't. What does herkos mean?" Norris laughed. "For Achaeans read Greeks; or Mycenaeans, I suppose. And the word means 'wall' or 'bulwark' He looked around at the bank of machines surrounding him. "Appropriately enough."

"You find it unsettling not having a face to talk to?"

"Yes."

"This is one of the cosmetic issues Professor Cornwell and his team are currently pursuing," Ajax said. "They are considering a holographic image, or perhaps a computer-generated face on a VDU."

"The last is a little old hat," Norris said.

"Really? Professor Cornwell will be most interested in your "

"I was joking.""

"Ah, joking. Humour is something I have some difficulty with. Also, sarcasm and irony."

"Maybe that's why they want me to teach you about poetry."

"Poetry is humorous?"

"Some of it. I was thinking more of irony. Much of poetry is about irony."

"Particularly 19th century English poetry?"

"Particularly, no, but you have to start somewhere."

"I'm ready when you are," Ajax said.

Norris felt at sea. He had thought about a curricula and what poets to cover and what explanatory notes to include, but he had expected to type in the information, or even voice record it. He had definitely not expected to confront what was apparently an up-and-running machine intelligence; he had assumed the AIAS project would not see results for years, possibly decades, and possibly never.

"I'll have to give some thought about how to start, Ajax," Norris said slowly.

"Perhaps we could start tomorrow, or the day after would be even better:'

"Of course, Dr Norris, as you wish. I don't want to rush you. But could you give me perhaps a single poem? I would like to have something from you to ... digest ... before our first real lesson."

It was the pause in speech that made Norris start. He vaguely remembered reading about something called the Turing test: that if you asked a computer a question, and could not tell from the answer whether the respondent was human or computer, then the computer could be considered intelligent. He had never agreed with the implications of the Turing test, it excluded too many of the variables he himself associated with intelligence; but that single pause, that attempt to find exactly the right word, made him feel suddenly queasy.

"Dr Norris?"

"I'll give you a verse," he said quickly.

"My window shows the travelling clouds, Leaves spent, new seasons, alter'd sky, The making and the melting crowds: The whole world passes; I stand by."