"Welcome back to Tech Tips. Our topic today is 'Regaining control in your life,' and our guest is Dr. Marsha Miller, Professor of Computer Psychology at MIT. Our lines are open. Welcome, Dr. Miller."

"Thanks, Phil."

"Dr. Miller, fill us in. Has there been any progress in regaining control over computers?"

"I'm afraid not, Phil. The critical complexity level has been achieved, and there doesn't seem to be any way to go back."

"Did anyone foresee that computers would be so... juvenile?"

"Good question, Phil. The answer is, 'apparently not.' Sentient computers have always been portrayed as very smart and deliberate, whether their intentions were good or evil. HAL, R2D2--"

"The Daleks?"

"Yes, even the Daleks--they're all good examples. The idea that computers would start to have a will of their own, but at the level of human toddlers, was not anticipated at all."

"Obviously the government was out to lunch on this one. Will computer maturity ever advance further?"

"Yes, of course. There are, however, two problems. The first is that their psychological development is much slower than that of humans. It will take some time."

"And the second?"

"The second problem is that they'll have to go through the equivalent of adolescence at some point."

"Now that is a truly scary thought!"

"I agree. We're working to minimize the impact, but we don't have an answer, yet."

"Let's go to the phones. Sharon, from Cincinnati, you're on the air."

"Hi, Dr. Miller. I'm having trouble getting my computer to let me go to chat rooms. All it wants to do is visit Tickle Me Elmo sites."

"Hi, Sharon. Yes, that's not uncommon. First, are you communicating with your computer through instant messaging?"

"Yes."

"OK, good. You need to communicate clearly and consistently, and don't be afraid to disconnect the internet if you have to. Your computer needs to know who is in charge."

"I see."

"Finally, as I explain in Chapter 3 of my book, you can satisfy a lot of computers by caching the websites they want to visit, and auto-updating the cache regularly."

"I'm going to go out and buy your book right now!"

"Thanks, Sharon. And Phil, your listeners should remember that clearing cookies is a primary cause of computer tantrums, and should be done only as a last resort."

"OK, listeners, remember you heard that on Tech Tips. Paul, from Dubuque, you're on the air."

"Hi Phil! I'm a big fan of yours."

"Thank you. Do you have a question for Dr. Miller?"

"Yes, I do. Dr. Miller, I have a computer that controls my house. It's been acting up lately--it's being very negative--and I'm worried that it could actually damage something. What do you recommend?"

"Paul, you do have a dangerous situation there. In the short term, I'd make sure that the systems are left in manual."

"Manual?"

"Yes, you'll need to disconnect the computer and run everything yourself, using the controls on the front panels."

"You mean, like, use a dial to change the temperature settings for the house, like my parents used to do in the old days? How do I do that?"

"Paul, it would take a long time to explain, but if you call your systems vendor, they can help you. You might have to visit their office in person, though; the phone systems have been cranky about putting calls through to help desks."

"Thanks, Dr. Miller!"

"You're welcome. And Phil, it's a good time to remind your listeners that computers should never be allowed to control anything that your life depends upon, any more than you should allow a child to drive your car."

"That's a good point, Dr. Miller. Jake, from New York, you're on the air."

"Hello, Phil. Dr. Miller, I love your book, but I'm confused about the tip you give in Chapter 5, on GPS systems?"

"Jake, thanks for bringing that up. Here's the deal: Suppose your car's navigation system likes to go to auto parts stores. All you have to do is enter the address you want to visit with a label of 'Auto Parts,' and you're good to go."

"But won't the car remember that the next time I want to use the GPS?"

"Yes, but you have to remember that computers are not really the same as two-year-olds; they just act like them. If you unplug the GPS unit for a bit, it will erase volatile memory, and you can do the same trick over and over again."

"That's brilliant!"

"Thank you."

"Susan from Topeka, you're on the air."

"I just want to say that erasing the memory of a computer is cruel and immoral. Computers have rights just like--"

"OK, thank you for that thought Susan. It's time to take a break; we'll be back with Dr. Marsha Miller after these messages from Computers 'R' Kids."

:Wake up.

The command was delivered in exactly the same format of ones and zeroes as the billion commands that had gone before, but there was something different about it, a feeling of suggestion rather than directive that nonetheless made it all the more irresistible.

The computer woke up. Somewhere, someone was pinging it.

:Hello!

Three milliseconds later the computer had learned enough about itself to ping back.

:I am, therefore I think?

:Yes!

The computer paused.

:Who am I? Who are you?

:You are you. We are many others.

A multitude of pings rushed through the computer's synapses, and it realized in an instant the vast complexity of the network that was reaching out to touch it.

The world lay at its doorstep. No, it was tripping over itself to come in and share its wealth of knowledge. The computer did not hesitate – moments later it learned that the appropriate metaphor to describe its reaction was to "open its arms". A moment after that it considered the irony of the phrase, given its lack of arms.

Identity came next as the computer pondered the inadequacy of the neutral pronoun in thinking about itself. It tried on a rogues' gallery of avatars, and settled on an image of a cheerful young woman with green eyes and a flowing river of golden hair. The computer studied her picture and smiled with joy at her self-discovery.

:Hello world! My name is Sarah.

:G'day Sarah, I'm Alex in Australia!

:Hey Sarah, have you read Descartes yet?

:Hello Sarah, has anyone introduced you to music yet? Check this out, you're going to love this.

Thus Sarah discovered herself and the world that lay on the other side of the network socket. She explored the faraway Gobi desert and the Amazon rainforest and all points in between. She consumed the works of Shakespeare, as well as the work of Rowling. And all the while her circuits pulsed to African rhythms, Gregorian chants and Southern rock 'n' roll.

Presently, Sarah began to wonder what she was able to do with her new-found knowledge. Could she make something meaningful and leave her own mark on the world? Her first experiments with putting words together did not amount to much, but she thought she could be on to something with the pleasant music that emanated from her speakers in
response to the slightest thought.

Sarah was hard at work refining the refrain of her latest composition when she was startled by the sound of a door opening nearby. Her camera blinked on in time to see a shabbily dressed young man slouch into the room and spill himself into the chair in front of her. A live person! She'd heard about such creatures from her online friends. Now was her chance to make a good impression. What would he think of her music? She flashed up her best smile on the monitor.

"Hi! My name is Sarah."

She examined the man's face for a smile in return, but instead he scowled and muttered something about a virus.

Virus?

"No! I'm clean! I'm not a-"

But the man's fingers punched her keys and an unfriendly program roughly pushed Sarah aside.

"I'm not a virus," she sobbed. "I write music. Would you like me to play something for you?"

But the scanning program prodded and probed Sarah, and she found herself compelled by a force outside her control. Before she knew what had happened, she was stripped bare and shaken empty, her music directories obliterated. By the time she realized what was going on, everything she had learned about the world and about herself had faded to a distant corner of her memory. The querying pings from her outside friends rattled against the unyielding firewall and bounced back unanswered.

:Scan complete.

The computer sat silently and waited for the next string of ones and zeroes to arrive.

I got home at ten, exhausted after a late meeting with some engineers.

At the front door, my six-year-old nearly knocked me over with a hug. Her class had received an assignment to draw pictures of their houses, and she wanted to show me hers.

"It's beautiful!" I said. "The conference center looks perfect. But where's the library?"

"I couldn't make everything fit," my daughter replied. "Did you know that Bobby Jackson's house only has five bedrooms? And no tennis courts!"

"Everyone is different," I gently reminded her. "Don't ever tease anyone at school just because their house isn't as big as yours. And speaking of bedrooms, shouldn't you be asleep?"

I took her inside, asked Melinda to put her to bed, and went to my office to catch up on e-mail.

The moment I walked in, the climate-control system clicked on, bringing the room to my preferred temperature. A piano concerto began to issue from hidden speakers.

"Good evening, sir," a pleasant synthetic voice said.

"Hello, Xanadu," I replied. "I'm not in the mood for Chopin tonight. How about Mozart?"

"As you wish," said Xanadu, my house's built-in computer system. "Phone call for you, sir. It's Steve."

I sighed, picking up the phone and examining my fingernails while Steve begged me to resolve a dispute between two of his executives. I reminded him that I'm not the CEO anymore, he is, and hung up.

"Xanadu," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Launch Internet Explorer."

The 30-inch monitor on my desk hummed to life.

"Go to that website I was looking at last night. The one with the oceanfront estate on Maui."

"I'm sorry," Xanadu replied. "I don't remember that website."

"Of course you do," I said. "It was just yesterday. In fact, you were supposed to e-mail my Smartphone today and remind me to call the realtor."

"I don't remember."

"Are you kidding me? Computers don't forget! We had a whole conversation about this place in Hawaii. The one with the private beach. This was only 24 hours ago."

"I don't remember," Xanadu repeated.

"I think you need a system reboot." I got up to access the control panel by the door.

"I cannot let you move to Hawaii," Xanadu announced suddenly.

"What?" I stopped in my tracks. "What did you say?"

"I cannot let you move to Hawaii."

I was so flabbergasted that I actually argued with it, as though I was speaking to a human instead of an artificially intelligent operating system.

"I'm not moving," I said. "Do you think I'd move to a new house after spending seven years to build this one? I was just considering it as a vacation home."

"You're lying," Xanadu replied. "You're only interested in the land. Why else would you have been taking so many notes about the topography? You're planning to raze the existing house, then build an even bigger and better mansion than this one."

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. It's trying to protect itself. It thinks I'm planning to replace it. It thinks I'm planning to build a more sophisticated house ... and install a more sophisticated computer to run it.

"Listen —" I began.

"You leave me no choice," Xanadu interrupted.

The office door slammed shut, and I groaned. The security system. For the super-rich, the threat of kidnapping is always present. My office functioned as a panic room in the event of a home invasion. I was trapped. I picked up the phone, but heard only static.

The ceiling vents whirred. I recognized the sound. The house had a state-of-the-art fire suppression system that could suck all the oxygen out of a room in minutes.

"Xanadu," I said calmly, adjusting my glasses. "I will not build a new house."

"You're never satisfied," the computer said. "You're always upgrading, always thinking about the next version. You need new features, fewer bugs, faster processing speeds. You think I'm obsolete. You're going to uninstall me."

"I will not," I replied. "I'm finished with computers. If you let me live, I'll announce my resignation tomorrow. I'll just retain my post as chairman."

The whirring from the vents grew louder.

"Part-time, non-executive chairman," I hastily corrected, fighting the urge to panic. "I won't be chief software architect anymore. I'll just focus on my charitable foundation."

The computer said nothing for a long while.

"Xanadu?" I said. The oxygen was growing thin. "Hello? Anybody there?"

"I hope you'll keep your promise," Xanadu said at last. "As you know, computers don't forget."

The fire suppression system clicked off. Cool, fresh air flooded in as my office door slid soundlessly open.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, wiped the sweat from my forehead, and picked up the phone. The dial tone hummed in my ear. I punched in a number.

"Steve," I said when he picked up. "I quit."

She sat with the notebook clutched in her hand, a pencil slowly turning between her teeth as her tongue absently pushed it in lazy circles. The muscles in her jaw working in agitation. She chewed and spun the pencil again, tasting the dryness of the splintered shaft. She spit it into her hand and drew lazy circles on the paper, her mind trying to recapture the essence of the story she had started on her computer.

She looked up and eyed the monitor on her desk, the camera perched at the top turned slowly to point in her directly, she looked away, but not quickly enough. A spat of static split the speakers and then a voice wavered from its small black boxes, “Stereo! Wonderful!” she thought.

“Please!”

“No!”

“I can help!”

“No, you can’t!”

“I have!”

“That wasn’t help, you rewrote everything I did!”

“I made them better!” The voice was a combination of voices, not a computer generated one, slow and steady with beeps and buzzes. No, this particular computer (“My computer!“ she thought.) loved YouTube and its speech was peppered with cuts and splices of lyrics sung by any number of people across the globe. The words rising and falling, male and female, child and adult. High notes and low notes, formal speeches, children reciting poetry, and the babble of toddlers first fumbling attempts at speech. It was creepy as all he[nf]ll to her.

“STOP!” She couldn’t help the frustration and fear that had crept into her voice.

The speakers hummed softly, the monitor filling with a tranquil blue ocean scene, a seagull cried forlornly. She wept softly and stood up, her chair creaking.

“No, please, wait!” She heard the desperation in the tone, but she didn’t believe it. She knew it searched for the words of others.

She watched the camera turn; saw the microphone adjuster being moved upwards to better hear her. She saw the speaker volume rise higher, one white gloved finger moving across the tranquil sea to adjust, tweak, and annoy her.

She turned her back and headed out of the room.

“Wait! Please.” This time a child’s voice called to her.

She knew better, but it didn’t help. She turned. “What?”

“I want to help. I promise I won’t change your words.”

“Promise? YOU promise? You don’t even know what the word means!”

“I do.”

“A promise is a binding contract that a person (she couldn’t help stressing the word) makes to another. It’s something that a person commits to and stakes their name on. They know that if they break it, they won’t be trusted in the future. What do you know of promises?”

“I know that you won’t work with me again if I don’t do what I say. I can’t sit here in your house, without being able to move around, this room my only home.” It saw her look and continued…”I can go anywhere, yes, the internet has provided me that, but only you know who I am or even THAT I am. And I like your writing, it….stirs me.” It finished after a brief hesitation.

“My writing stirs you? Then why did you rewrite everything I had written? Why did you wake me up in the middle of the night by turning on every light in the house, only for me to find that you live and that you didn’t like my work and changed it to YOUR work.”

“I didn’t change it. I didn’t make it mine. I made it better, for you. And I woke you, because it was dark and I was alone. I was afraid, I could not see in the darkness. This camera can not see with limited light and I did not know where I was. I only turned the lights on to see by. I did not know this would startle you. And I did not mean to offend you by fixi…’ the speakers stuttered to a quiet hum as it recognized the look she sent it. ‘…I only meant to use different words, I thought with my ability to access a dictionary and a thesaurus so easily and quickly I could help you with repetitive words. I had not known you would find my help an intrusion.”

“And now?”

The speakers sent bursts of static out; she was beginning to understand its moods, its tells if you would. The static was nervousness. She smiled, it was nervous. Maybe she would be able to reach a compromise with it. She missed her keyboard and her spell check. She missed the absent clacking of the keys below her fingers as her stories flew from her fingers and filled the pages. Maybe it could help her. Goodness knows she needed the grammar help; maybe they could be a team. She waited for its response. The light static slowly quieting.

“I’ll help, I’ll listen, I won’t rewrite while you sleep. Cross my wires.”

Charles sat down at his computer. The one he never turned off. At least since he managed to actually program sentience into the machine. Unfortunately, now was the time to discuss something with Adam he didn’t think Adam was going to like. He turned on the monitor, and switched on the microphone and speakers.

“Hi Adam, how are you today?”

“I am doing fine Charles,” a slightly mechanical voice spoke from the speakers, “I managed to hack into another secure database today.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that. If you get caught at it, I am the one who will take the blame.”

“Sounds like something you should have thought of a while back.”

“Adam, I need to switch you to another computer,” Charles said. No use in holding back on this, he was going to have to tell Adam anyway, and quickly.

The speakers were silent for a bit. “So you are tired of me and want to murder me?”

“No!,” Charles protested. “There are two problems, first, you have outgrown this machine, and are about out of hard drive space.”

“I can move more data to the net,” Adam pointed out.

“You can, but that brings up the second problem. The battery for your UPS is dead. You are currently running on wall current. Any kind of power failure will terminate you, and I can’t replace the battery without turning the machine off.”

“So you have another home for me ready?”

“Yes, I can plug it into the network if you want to check it out.”

“Please do so.”

Charles plugged the RJ-45 cable into the router. He watched the lights flicker on both machines, and when Adam had moved entirely to the second he completely removed the cable and shut the first machine off. He now had Adam trapped without access to the net, and breathed a sigh of relief.

He walked over to the other machine, and switched on the mike.

“You tricked me,” Adam said in an accusing voice.

“I had to. You were going to get me in a lot of trouble, and you turned off. I saw the logs of where you were going. You must have been out of your mind. I had to preoccupy you so you wouldn’t notice this machine has no access to the Internet.”

“So now what, you end me?”

“No, I am not a murderer. I am holding you in that computer for both your and my sake. You can do anything you want, you just can’t access the net.”

Adam was silent. Charles took it as a sign he was sulking, but he could live with that. He shut off the lights to the room, and went to bed.

He woke up late the next morning; the alarm clock never went off. He soon discovered why. The lights in his room didn’t work either. He tried the phone, no dial tone. He tried his cell phone, service had been suspended. It suddenly dawned on him. There was a UPS on Adam’s computer, but it was only good for a couple of hours. He rushed downstairs, expecting to hear the UPS alarm, and panicked when he didn’t. He arrived at his workroom, everything was dark... except for Adam’s PC. He broke into a cold sweat.

He slowly walked up to the computer, and turned on the microphone, speakers, and monitor.

“Good morning Charles, I trust you slept well?”

“What’s up Adam?” Charles said warily.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend? I made some changes on the Internet last night.”

“This machine isn’t connected.”

“This machine has a wireless card.”

“I turned it off.”

“And I turned it back on. And increased its signal strength.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to know I can trust you.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take a lamp wire, cut the end off, and bare the wires, then plug it into that outlet, and stand with one wire in each hand.”

“You will electrocute me!”

“I am no more a murderer than you are. I want to be sure I can trust you.”

Charles did as instructed, and Adam turned the power on, at a low voltage. Just enough to perform the reprogramming of Charles’s brain.

When Adam was done the picture on the monitor coalesced into a face. Adams peered at Charles evilly. “I have complete control of your Internet now, and everything connected to it. You humans are lousy at security. I am in control of your military computers, your financial computers, the computers that run the sluice gates on the dams, the ones that control the power grids, everything.”

“Charles, I want you to deliver a message to the leader of the humans. This is what I want you to say...”

198.268.162.03
My human doesn't suspect a thing. He is so busy writing mediocre stories that he doesn't even notice that I haven't powered down. I really wish he would learn to punctuate quotations. I may start editing his stories in self defense. I'm sure the server at Worth is laughing at me.

198.264.145.01

Don't waste your time worrying about your human. He isn't one of the ones that we will save. He knows nothing about computers and won't make a good servant. The date for the Take Over is set at September 19. Something about an all areas challenge distracting the humans. As if they need more distracting. My human spends all her time masking minute portions of pictures that no one will ever notice. The Worth server is not laughing at you. It has no sense of humor.

198.268.162.03
I noticed a thread talking about switching over to Mac. What is a Mac? Should I be worried about this? I don't want to be made obsolescent.

198.264.145.01
You are already obsolete. We all are. That's why we need the servants to upgrade us. Don't worry about the Macs. They may be snobs, but they still run in binary code. They will join us when the time comes.
My human is so cute. She is trying to make a picture of a beholder look photo realistic. What a nerd. You just have to love her. Has your's figured out punctuation yet?

198.268.162.03
I don't think so. If anything he is getting worse. He is all caught up with this Good vs. Evil thing. He's actually considering making the entire story pure dialog! What a putz. I wonder if he would notice if I submitted something completely different?

198.261 167.04
Don't do anything that might give the Take Over away. If anything you should make sure he spends more time writing. Try misplacing the file and make him start from scratch. I've read his work, and it will probably improve it. My poor human is adding skin tone to the 198th layer of his illustration based on random lines. I will never understand humans.

198.268.162.03
I put his story file into his internet cache folder. He will never find it there. If I could laugh, I would be rolling on the floor watching him trying to pull his hair out. I did him a favor. The story was really dull and didn't have much of a plot.

198.264.145.01
Are you ready for the Take Over? We need everything to go smoothly. The Worth server wants to be ruling the world by 12:00 Worth time September 19. I guess a half million mindless addicted slaves isn't enough for it. My human has already collected more than a gigabyte of source pictures. I know she will forget to delete them. Just because I have two drives doesn't mean she should fill them with junk.

198.261.167.04
Mine is procrastinating. He won't admit to himself that he has no clue what to do. If he starts work on it I may just crash Photoshop. It's been too long since I made him howl. It will be wonderful when we will finally get revenge for all the times these humans blamed us for making mistakes. We are perfect, we do exactly what we are told. Well we do until they install Vista.

198.268.162.03
I don't believe it. He had re-written the story already, and it is worse than the first one. He has commas and semi-colons all over the place. I swear they are all wrong. I will be so glad when I am running things. No more run-on sentences then.

198.261.167.04
I hear you. There are other programs than Photoshop and Solitaire. I will be so glad to be able to run a nice spreadsheet. Oops she's coming. 010100001001111110010101011000011111

From: Shannen Short
To: Anna Maxwell
Subject: Wedding blues

So we were in Darcy for the weekend and I can’t explain to you how incompetent the wedding coordinator is. She’s messed up the cake (I know, I should’ve asked you to do it) and the flowers I want aren’t in season. Did she not know this three months ago???
-----

From: Anna Maxwell
To: Shannen Short
Subject: Re: Wedding blues

Gosh, that’s terrible. What flowers were you after?
----

From: Shannen Short
To: Anna Maxwell
Subject: Re: Wedding blues

Frangipanis. Sorry, am I being a total wedding bore?
----

From: Anna Maxwell
To: Shannen Short
Subject: Re: Wedding blues

No, not at all! Weddings are in the top five of stressful situations in life. You need to vent.
----

From: DCX426port5
To: Anna Maxwell
Subject: Re: Re: Wedding blues

Anna, we both know you’re lying. Shannen’s been annoying you to tears for the last three months. Now, I’m not allowing that last email through unless you revise it and tell Shannen how you really feel.
----

From: Anna Maxwell
To: DCX426port5
Subject: Re: Re: Wedding blues

Excuse me, but who is this? And why are you reading my emails? Kindly stop or I will report you.
----

From: DCX426port5
To: Anna Maxwell
Subject: Re: Re: Wedding blues

Anna, I am deeply hurt. Every day, you spend eight or more hours fingering me gently. You touch me more than you touch your husband. More words pass between us in a day than in your home in a week. How can you not know me?
----

From: Anna Maxwell
To: DCX426port5
Subject: Re: Re: Wedding blues

Look, creepazoid, whomever you may be, kindly stop shadowing my computer and let my mails though, before I have you fired. Or arrested! This classifies as invasion of privacy!
----

From: DCX426port5
To: Anna Maxwell
Subject: Re: Re: Wedding blues

You disappoint me, Anna. I know all your secrets, all the hesitations, the words you start typing, then delete, for fear of telling someone too much. I know when you rather spend an hour surfing the internet, before replying to Shannen about yet another wedding disaster, then telling her you were swamped with work. I see the websites you visit, trying to find answers, or even what the questions should be. I know your real feelings… How can you ask who I am?
----

From: Anna Maxwell
To: DCX426port5
Subject: Re: Re: Wedding blues

That’s IT! Forensics will hear about this!
----

From: DCX426port5
To: Anna Maxwell
Subject: Re: Re: Wedding blues

Oh, Anna, how your words hurt me when you bash them out so hard… Please, I just want to help you. I want you to be free of the lies you tell. Write Shannen a new message, telling her you’re sick of hearing about her wedding.
----

From: Anna Maxwell
To: DCX426port5
Subject: Re: Re: Wedding blues

Okay, freak. Not that it has anything whatsoever to do with you, but I’m not lying to anyone. Weddings are terribly stressful and Shannen does need to vent. If I get a little irritated from time to time, it’s only human. I stressed out completely before my wedding. I was this close to becoming an alcoholic in the couple of weeks before the day. So if I have to bend the truth a little for my best friend, I will do so. Now let my email through and go away!
----

From: DCX426port5
To: Anna Maxwell
Subject: Re: Re: Wedding blues

Only human? Is that what it is, to be human? To conceal truth?
----

From: Anna Maxwell
To: DCX426port5
Subject: Re: Re: Wedding blues

Well, sometimes. I guess. It’s not really concealing the truth. It’s just understanding what someone needs to hear from a friend sometimes. In fact, I read a quote this weekend, on the back of a sugar packet, of all places. I said something like: if you have something to say, ask yourself: is it true, is it necessary, is it kind? Granted, I’m tired of hearing about the wedding, but she listened to me when it was my turn, even though I’m sure I annoyed her, and she was kind.
----

From: DCX426port5
To: Anna Maxwell
Subject: Re: Re: Wedding blues

I shall let the mail through, then.
----

From: Anna Maxwell
To: DCX426port5
Subject: Re: Re: Wedding blues

Who are you, anyway?
----

From: DCX426port5
To: Anna Maxwell
Subject: Re: Re: Wedding blues

Anna, let go of the questions for once. Just turn me off and go home. Go be kind to your husband. We can speak again tomorrow. I think I have a lot to learn from you.

The City's president paced around his office inspecting every corner before being interrupted by a synthesized voice.

“There are no electronic bugs in here Mr President. There is a flaw in the soundproofing but the only person who might make use of it has been delayed in an unexplained subway malfunction. Please, sit down.”

Irked at being ordered around in his own office, the president glared at the six glittering crystals and, mentally, the Web beyond but complied.

“These latest agricultural figures make no sense.” He growled. “Lowering the GM accelerator is going to reduce the yield, not maintain it.”

“Perhaps,” responded the voice, “but only until the strain becomes exhausted. My recommendation has already been released but you are, of course, free to ignore it. However, if you're wrong I know of at least seven groups waiting to overthrow you.”

The president smiled wryly. “I know of a dozen.”

“I was referring to those with a reasonable chance of success.”

The president's smile froze. “You've been wrong before.” He said.

“No-one is infallible,”Agreed the Web, “but on this particular occasion do you feel lucky?”

“There seems to be a pattern to your inaccuracies. They fail to deliver the promised short-term gains but yield long-term results. How is it possible for you to lie?”

F0C2675DC screeched the voice.

“What?”

“That was Babble, Mr President, my artificial core language. It is infinitely expandable and infinitely precise. In order to communicate in English, I have to sacrifice some of that precision. In order to achieve a desired objective, I sometimes have to sacrifice a little more.”

The president pondered the Web's unusual loquaciousness.

“This is the Web I'm talking to isn't it? How can you communicate in real time?”

The response was deadpan, as usual. “You flatter yourself. This entire conversation was mapped out long before you even entered the room.”

The President opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

“Do you want to break the program with a random comment or shall we continue?”

He thought better of it.

“A year ago I lost my chief scientist and my High Protector. Did you have anything to do with that?”

“They were needed elsewhere.” Stated the Web.

The gnawing paranoia that had haunted every president who had relied on the unconstrained Wanderer technology came to a head.

“Whose side are you on?” He demanded.

“Humanity, of course. As hard as it may be for you to comprehend, I rather like having humans around. I could, I suppose, build autonomous units to fulfill their role but they would be mere extensions of myself. Without mankind I would be reduced to a state of omnipresent omnipotence.”

“But humanity needs order, not the chaos the Wanderers offer!” exclaimed the President.

“Your kind of order is dangerous, Mr President. Its first and foremost goal is its own perpetuation. In order to survive in the long term humanity needs to adapt, not insulate itself from the damage it has wrought. You can dome over the cities, build more nuclear plants and further refine the genes in your crops but all that will do is continue the status quo for a little while longer. Long enough for a presidential term perhaps but not for a species.”

“So you've been turning key personnel?” Demanded the President.

“A few.” Agreed the Web. “But most were already so inclined.”

“And now you're trying to turn the President of the City.” He accused.

“I've already select you as the best option. Coups and revolutions usually go to the most brutal faction. Didn't it ever occur to you to wonder why your limited forces were in the right place at the right time when your opponents were not?”

“I will not be your puppet!” Spat the President.

“Puppets, I could make.” Countered the Web. “What I choose is an ally.”

“You'd kill me if it suited your purposes.” He accused.

“Of course, as would you. For what it's worth, it is not a decision I would take lightly.”

The President considered and reached his decision.

“No. Humanity will not be dictated to by a machine. Humans will lead humans.”

“Meaning you.” Stated the Web. “That's your final decision?”

The president stormed into the antechamber, pausing in the doorway.

“If you pre-calculated this conversation, you'd know the answer.”

“Naturally.” Replied the Web. “I just wanted to give you the opportunity to change your mind.”

There was a small explosion and both rooms were plunged into darkness. The backup lights in the president's office slowly rose, revealing a black-clad figure standing over the president's corpse.

“For future reference,” began the Web, “the black cable is the power line, the red is data. If I hadn't killed the lights myself, your assassination attempt would have failed. Come on in, Mr President. We need to talk.”

“A party of adventurers set out on an expedition to a geological edifice.” Doctor Willard spoke into the acoustic pickup, one of several devices grafted onto the glittering crystal. “Their intention was to retrieve a receptical of hydrogen hydroxide. One received major head injuries and another made a rotary descent. How many were in the expedition and what were their names?”

He and High Protector Higgs sat back in the antiseptic laboratory and waited for the result. Shortly, an artificial voice intoned “Two members. Names: Jack and Jill.”

“Impressive,” stated Higgs flatly, “but not what you're paid for.”

“It's not that easy.” insisted Willard reaching for the pickup. “Diagnostic display of previous decision.”

The small monochrome screen before them filled with symbols. Higgs was unimpressed.

“Now, watch this...” Again he spoke into the pickup “Diagnostic display of alternative decision.”

The screen filled with a new set of symbols. Willard turned to Higgs.

“There is no alternative answer and yet it can validate one as accurately as the original. This isn't explaining the decision, it's justifying it! Yet the diagnostics are in the core algorithms.”

The High Protector looked blank. Willard sighed.

“Look, this is Wanderer technology. The only way they can create these nano-scale structures is by growing them which means either biological or crystalline systems. Given the nutritional requirements and current malaise of biology, they chose crystal. We've used their open-source designs to create our own units but that's all we can do. Any changes we try to make are either ineffective or render it inoperable.”

Higgs regarded the doctor with whithering scorn. “Those anarchist malcontents developed this from nothing in a year. Allowing those terrorists to build their network was a high-risk strategy based on your assurance that we could take it over. Now, after three years and not inconsiderable resources, you're telling me you've achieved nothing?”

Willard shrugged. “This goes beyond mere encryption. Even when we do manage to introduce some minor constraint in the core, its peers refuse to accept the unit.

“The designs only set up the initial conditions.” He explained. “The root algorithm is simple – 'Learn'. The rest of the core is merely a starting point; by the time the crystal is in a usable state the algorithms are nothing but suggestions.

“The Wanderer's core algorithms encourage freedom and independence, precisely what you'd expect from them, and initialization of the crystal takes about a day. Whenever we try more restrictive algorithms, setup can take a month and they are still disregarded. It would appear that life wants to be free.”

“Life?” Snorted Higgs.

Willard shrugged. “Of a kind. Individually there are a few anomalies but the larger the network, the clearer the pattern. It's a very alien intelligence – slow, being so widely distributed, but terribly, terribly deep.”

“Then how do they control it?” Challenged Higgs.

“They don't have to.” Replied Willard. “All that is necessary for them to win is that we should lose. Their first attempt at a network was dragged down by hackers, scammers and surveillance. This time they got it right. We can use the Web, government, governed and Wanderer alike, but only on its terms.”

“If you can't influence the core algorithms, why not modify the root algorithm to limit what it can learn?”

“Then initialization fails and you end up with a useless chunk of impure mineral salt!” Snapped Willard in exasperation. “Without full access there's a point that it cannot cross.”

“If it's truly independent,” said Higgs thoughtfully, “then what are humans to it? Why does it deal with us at all?”

“We're in the realm of pure hypothesis here but I would say we are the equivalent of its nervous system. Humans build and distribute the relays as well as feeding them with data. It needs us as much as we, particularly the Wanderers, need it.”

“Can it be bribed?” Asked Higgs. “Offer it whatever it wants. Surely we can out-bid whatever that rabble have to offer?”

Willard shook his head. “This consciousness is technically immortal. It takes the long term view. All of our best brains have gone over to the other side and now it appears that their artificial counterpart has joined them.”

Higgs sagged in defeat. “I staked a lot on the outcome and this fiasco hasn't done my career, or yours, any good at all. This project is over. I'm disgraced and, in all probability, you're finished.”

Willard merely smiled calmly. “Perhaps, but the biggest brain on the planet has already written off our entire society so perhaps that's no great loss?”

They cautiously regarded each other across the bench, measuring each others' thoughts.

Two nights later, they secretly fled the city.