The War in 2020

a good mimic. How would an American say it? 'Reflexively imitative.' The cradle continues to assure the subject that it is a part of the system for which it was designed. No matter what happens.'

'And…' Ryder began carefully, 'what's going to happen, Nick?'

Nick smiled. 'You'll see.'

Ryder stared down at the tiny brain. How on earth were the Soviets going to attack this problem? They were good.

But Ryder had yet to see them manage anything at the level of sophistication required to overcome the powerful counter-intrusion mechanisms such a system would possess.

'You know,' Ryder said, 'I feel almost solemn. Maybe humbled' would be a better way to say it. To stand in the presence of an intelligence so great.' He put his hands in his pockets, as if to prevent himself from reaching out just to touch the device one time, the way a man might feel compelled to touch a masterpiece of art. 'I don't know. I didn't get much sleep last night. But… I could swear it knows we're here. That it senses us.'

Savitsky just continued to smile. 'Oh,' he said brightly. 'It will know we're here. In a manner of speaking.'

'Nick,' Ryder said, choosing his words carefully, 'I don't want to blow this. I mean, we can't afford to… make any mistakes. There is… a primary computer system… of which you may not be aware. It's in the United States, in Colorado. We could connect it to this. It's possible, I'd just need approval, and—'

Savitsky's smile withered slightly, like a flower at the first light hint of frost. 'Perhaps that will be necessary,' he said. 'Later. But I think you will see… that we are not so incapable.' Then his smile returned. 'Come,' he said. 'Let's get to work.'

The Soviet turned with an air of decision, heading back for the control booth. It was difficult for Ryder to leave the proximity of the brain. He wished he could simply slip it into his pocket and take it away. To where it would be safe. From foolishness.

'Come on,' Savitsky called. 'I want to show you something, Jeff.'

Ryder moved heavily now, the sleepless night returning to haunt him after the flare of excitement he had just experienced. He stepped over electronic switching boxes and loose jacks, more of the weapons of the modem interrogator. In a moment, he was back beside the Soviet in the control booth.

'Take a look at this,' Savitsky said.

Ryder glanced after Savitsky's directing hand. Nothing much. An antique-looking device of the sort that was used to measure cardiac waves or earthquakes. A crude high-resolution screen of a type no longer used in the United States. Manual controls. Knobs.

'That looks interesting,' Ryder lied. 'What is it?'

Savitsky waited before answering. He looked into Ryder's eyes in the weak light, and Ryder could sense a new, weighty sobriety in the man.

'It's a pain machine.'

'What?'

'A pain machine.' Upon repetition, the Soviet s tone had lost its heaviness, becoming almost nonchalant. But Ryder sensed that the man was still serious. As serious as possible. 'You're the first outsider to be let in on this… development.' Savitsky smiled slowly, as if his facial muscles had become very cold. 'It's a mark of honor.'

Ryder did not understand. 'What does it do, exactly?'

Ryder sensed the faintest air of maliciousness about the Soviet now. It was his turn, after a host of casual humiliations at the gold-plated hands of the Americans. 'It occurred to us some years ago, that… interesting possibilities might come into existence, as artificial intelligence systems and their corollaries became more sophisticated. That, to say it in simple words, these devices would develop more and more of a resembling — is that the right word?'

'Resemblance?'

'Yes. More of a resemblance to the human animal. Consequently, they might also develop the same sort of vulnerabilities as the human being. It occurred to us that there must be some way in which a computer could be made to feel pain.' Savitsky considered his words for a moment. 'The electronic equivalent of pain, to be most exact.'

Ryder slowly moved his hands together in front of his hips, interlacing the fingers, tapping his thumbs. Waiting for information. The concept was utterly foreign to him. He looked at Savitsky.

'Of course,' the Soviet continued, 'it's not 'true' physical pain, as you and I would know it. Just as the computer does not perceive the physical environment as we see it.

'I am speaking of simulated pain, for a simulated mind.'

Savitsky examined his American counterpart's reaction. A small, hard smile tightened his lips. 'And it works.'

The gloomy control booth, with its odor of charred wires, had taken on an eerie atmosphere for Ryder. The Soviet was talking about an entirely new dimension of thought in a field where Ryder considered himself competent, and very well-informed. On one hand, Savitsky's speech sounded as silly as a tale about witches and ghouls, while, on the other, the man's voice carried an unmistakable message of veracity, of confidence. Ryder tried to think through at least the immediate ramifications, but his mind kept jumbling with questions of possibility.

'Your… approach,' Ryder said. 'It can't destroy the subject, can it?'

Savitsky's voice was merely businesslike. 'We haven't had that problem with the latest variant of our system. As you can imagine, my friend, there has been some trial and error. We found that machines can no more tolerate unlimited amounts of pain than can the human animal. And, you might say, some machines have weaker hearts than others. Just like men.'

'Have you ever tried it on so sophisticated a system?'

Savitsky looked at him in surprise. 'Of course not. We don't possess such a system.'

Of course not. Foolish question. 'Nick, I'm honestly… concerned. I don't want to waste this opportunity.'

The Soviet began to lose his patience. 'And what, then, is the American solution? What is your alternative? Weeks of trial and error? The cautious stripping of logic layer after logic layer, like peeling an onion that has no end? My country doesn't have weeks. We… may not have days.' The anger went out of Savitsky's voice, and he looked away from Ryder, staring off through the two-way mirror, perhaps staring at a battlefield thousands of kilometers away. 'There is no time,' he said.

No, Ryder thought. Savitsky was right. There was no time. He remembered the morning briefing. The Seventh Cavalry about to be committed to battle. A world in collapse. And he had been thinking like a bureaucrat.

'You're right,' Ryder told the Soviet. 'Let's see what you can do.'

The two men worked briskly, side by side, readying the banks of interrogation support computers. The system was operating on Meiji. In less than a second, the machines could ask more questions than had all of the human interrogators in preautomation history, and they could make their inquiries with a precision denied to human speech.

Savitsky adjusted the lighting out in the interrogation chamber so that the harshest spots shone down directly on the subject. The electronic jungle that filled the room receded into an artificial night out of which peered dozens of tiny colored eyes.

'Ready?' Savitsky asked.

Ryder nodded in agreement.

The process would begin with logical queries on the most elementary level, trying to get the subject to agree to propositions on the order of two plus two equals four. The complexity was not important. The point was to compromise the subject's isolation, to get a hook in, to induce interaction. The first stage was normally the most difficult. Working in through the security barriers and buffers, it could take weeks to get a military computer to concur with the most basic propositions. But, once you broke them down, the data came pouring out.

'Query bank on. Autobuffers active.'

In front of them the green lines on the 'pain' monitor flowed smoothly, ready to register the subject's reaction.

Looking at Savitsky's profile, Ryder was surprised to see jewels of sweat shining on the man's upper lip. The