Databases Reference
In-Depth Information
A complete set of pre-baked memories explained why the indy blossomed so
quickly: though unconventional, it didn't need any training period. To deal with
something this archaic, I'd need to do some research of my own. I power cycled a
large backup fileserver, which took it offline. Like my workstation, Pandora.0 didn't
immediately re-occupy the resources, so I had a bit more room to work with, at least
for the moment.
Still no indys responded to my pings. I could get to the archive.indy website,
which contained the personality templates (but not any training regimens) of all
the public indys, as well as a great deal of proud historical information on indy
precursors, organized by year. In the 2020s folder, I found several abandoned Turing
designs. I grabbed everything.
The code from the archives wasn't as intelligible as Judith's, but I could almost
make sense of it. These programs also had
memories
modules that looked much like
Pandora.0's. They also had modules specifically dealing with deception techniques.
I scratched my head for a long minute on that one, until I remembered that the
Turing Test—the ultimate goal for these designs—was based on deception, namely
tricking a human operator into thinking the software was one of them. This made an
indy designed around these techniques a master of disguise. No wonder the whole
architecture was abandoned. No wonder the successful creation of a monster like
this, almost a decade before anything in the history topics, was conveniently swept
out of history.
I had wasted enough time browsing. I needed to
do something
. My coding skills
were so rusty that wiring up some glue code on a deadline was almost beyond me,
but I managed to connect Pandora.0's main cognitive loop with a lesser
memories
module, and leave out the deception module outright. As a safeguard, I added an
expiration date, but any indy with two logic gates to rub together would quickly
notice it and disable it. The resulting Frankensoftware would do terrible on a Turing
Test, but if it could help solve the crisis, it'd be worthwhile. It crashed immediately.
I spun up unit tests for each individual library, which surfaced mistakes I made in
the glue code. I tried again—another crash, though at least the boot sequence got
most of the way through.
My head throbbed. An obvious problem lurked in my code—it was right in front
of me, but I couldn't see it. I closed my eyes and let the impression of a million
lines of code wash over me. Different stretches of code had been written by different
hands, giving an impression like when you drive through different parts of town—
certain neighborhoods simply
feel
different than others. Navigating code is almost
spatial that way. Then I had it. I spotted and fixed a simple error, a single missing
punctuation mark on the boundary between two different neighborhoods. Off to the
races.
>
That was it, a bare prompt with no greeting message. I hoped I didn't make the
thing too stupid. I typed.
>What is your name?
It immediately responded:
>Insufficient data.
Search WWH ::
Custom Search