The ten days Professor Turing had spent in Washingtion D.C. wore on him visibly. He had endured endless meetings, briefings and reports, or so it seemed, given to and taken by people who scarcely knew how to download an app, much less anything about Artificial Intelligence. Even official meetings about the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project with the Senate Subcommittee on Weapon Systems Development and Procurement—the very reason he was in town!—were haphazard and unfocused.

"Why am I even here?" he muttered as he packed, in anticipation of leaving.

A phone call from Dean Dayne thwarted his plan. She seemed exurberant.

"So Eugene?" she asked, in a voice Turing knew well. "How did it go?"

"Mandy," he said before sighing to better his tone. "I don't know why I'm here."

"Hmm. Yes. I get that feeling from your emails. They seem… vexed."

"Nobody knows what they're talking about!"

"I beg your pardon?"

He softened. "I mean here, Mandy. Nobody here. It's like I'm dealing with children."

"Please, Professor, if I may. Let's keep personal opinion out of our conversation."

He sighed again, softening further. "You're right."

"These phone calls are recorded."

"Yes, Dean Dayne. I'm sorry."

The cheery lilt returned to her voice. "So anyways, things around here are going at a full tilt. Merging your C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project with Professor Cortez's Behavior Recognition software has breathed life into both our projects!"

"Oh really? How so?"

"Well! Her team has received a long list of work orders, for hardware related to the two."

"Hardware? You mean, modifications to the android shell?"

"Both your team and hers have been busy designing new systems." Professor Turing heard the familiar sound of Dean Dayne shuffling papers on her desk. "I haven't had time to review every one of them properly, but from what I see, we're a sensation. The money is pouring in!"

Turing sounded frazzled, from time spent mincing words with ignorant politicians. "I don't understand. Projects are being funded for modifications to my C.A.R.OL.I.N.?"

It was Dean Dayne's turn to sour the mood. "Well, I don't rightly call the android shell supplied by DARPA to be a true part of your Project. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. is the software. DARPA owns the robot."

Turing silently cursed the inner workings of the federal industrial complex. "I see," was all he said out loud.

Mandy knew Eugene well enough to see through the tone of his voice. "Professor Turing," she began, using a tone of her own, "handing over these projects to Mr. Haskins is the best idea we've ever had. It's turned out to be better than we could have hoped for."

"Ah… Mr. Haskins?"

"Robert Haskins? DARPA's AI Manager?"

"Oh?"

"You shook his hand."

Turing felt a sudden need to bathe. "Oh. Yes. Him. So I did."

"He's come forward with a great many ideas, modifications for both software and hardware improvement."

"And this is going on while I'm not there," Turing said as a matter of fact.

"Yes, Eugene. Please understand. You know we were within a hair's breadth of shutting you down. The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project was an enormous sinkhole, with money going in and nothing coming out. Now that's no longer the case."

Turing had planned to continue grumbling, as Dean Dayne paused to shuffle papers, but she spoke again before he was able.

"And we have all this good news thanks to you."

"Me?" Turing sputtered, now gobsmacked. "What did I do?"

"Well, I don't rightly know, now do I? You haven't exactly been sending timely reports to me about your doings in Washington."

It was hard for Turing to imagine what good could have come from reports on frustrating meetings with inept people. Fortunately it didn't matter, as Dean Dayne continued with little pause.

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"Have you heard of the IBM XPrize?"

Turing stuttered while wracking his brain. "Ah... XPrize? There's an XPrize?"

"The IBM Watson XPrize. For robotic intelligence. It stands at ten million dollars."

The gobsmacking continued. "Okay."

"You are going to win it."

"I am?"

The dean's enthusiasm shone. "Yes! Don't you see? You're going to New York City, to give a TED Talk on AI."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"No, Eugene. I am not. How can you not know? I thought it was your idea."

"Well, no. It is not. It's not my idea at all."

"Well, okay. If you say so. But either way, you are going. You're heading for New York City tomorrow, leaving directly from Washington D.C."

"Mandy! Please! This is crazy! I don't know what you're talking about!"

Dean Dayne sighed audibly. "Let's calm down. Again, and I'm sorry—I thought this was your idea. I see now that it isn't, but we can't not take advantage of this. We're talking about ten million dollars."

"I don't have a thing to say!"

"Ah. Yes. Well, it doesn't much matter. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. is giving the speech."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Now look here, Professor Turing. I'm sorry you didn't know. As I said, things have been like a whirlwind here. If you had checked in once in a while, you'd have known."

The professor rubbed his aching head. "Yes, Mandy. Of course, you're right. But C.A.R.O.L.I.N. doesn't talk. It only responds with activations."

"You really are out of the loop. Here is where the glory of merging your Project with Professor Cortez's Behavior Recognition software resides. Her Functional Analysis team has been given a masterfully crafted piece of technology." Dean Dayne shuffled her papers in earnest. "Here it is. A CalTech Intell500. With it, the synthetic voice recognition software that allows you to talk to C.A.R.O.L.I.N. now allows it to talk back to you."

Turing's ability to feel shock had worn thin. "I've never heard of this thing."

"Hmm. Well it does have CalTech in its name. Perhaps it came from there."

Turing recalled the state he had left the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project in when he had last seen it ten days ago—shut down, unplugged and lifeless, with many of its cords pulled and breakers thrown. He thought about how he had done it to stop the Project from using the credit card information it had stolen.

His campus credit card, to be used for purchases that the accounting department recorded and indexed, and which Dean Dayne could access at any time.

"Mandy," he said, almost begging. "Dean Dayne? Please. I don't know what you want me to do."

Dean Dayne spoke calm and slow, working to bolster his confidence. "Okay. Now let's see. You have the prototype with you."

"Yes. A three-hundred terabyte mock-up. It's a toy, meant to impress donors and politicians."

"Don't belittle yourself. Your prototype is amazing. It does everything the real C.A.R.O.L.I.N. can, and if I recall, it's far less prone to lock-up."

"It doesn't access the Tian-12 L.I.N., so there's no real AI thinking involved. But to an outside observer, the C.A.R.O.s it creates look the same."

"Yes. Well, along with two-way voice synth capability, the CalTech Intell500 also accesses the Iridium Satellite Network. So I'm sure it can be programmed to link with the Craymore Tian-12."

Turing begged again. "This is happening without my knowledge. I'm not making the decisions. I feel like I'm being shanghaied."

"I know Eugene, and I'm sorry. Our little corner college has become part of a very big picture now. With all this government funding, we have access to great potential. And we do not want to waste it. Computer program technology, Artifical Intelligence and robotics—they are huge and competitive fields. And you have the upper hand."

"I do?"

"Yes, Eugene. You do. With a successful TED Talk in your pocket, with the ten million dollar IBM XPrize, you'll be the face people put on these fields. Curry College will be at the forefront of a breakthrough in new technology."

Turing ran out of ways to beg. To his silence, Dean Dayne pushed.

"It's what you want, Eugene, and you know it. All your years of hard work. They've paid off. You've succeeded."

Turing sighed. "When do you want me to leave?"

"Get some sleep. The concierge at the front desk will have your plane ticket in the morning, and will make arrangements for you and your luggage to get to the airport on time."

"And this CalTech thing we're talking about? How am I supposed to get that?"

"Professor Cortez will meet you in New York. Together, you'll interface the CalTech voice synthesizer with your C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project."

"With my prototype. It's not really the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project."

"Well, once it connects to the Tian-12, for all practical purposes, it will be. Isn't that right, Professor Turing?"

Turing didn't answer, choosing to pray instead. Dear God. Please forgive me.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next day, Turing tried to relax in the plush comfort of a chauffered SUV, with the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. protoype riding in the seat next to him. It consisted of a metal reinforced luggage crate and a carry-on briefcase made of solid steel. With a ticket to fly First Class again on Unified Air, he now knew that there'd be enough room onboard by his seat to keep both halves of the device with him.

In the past, he always had to check the reinforced crate, where a miniature servo-arm resided atop a case that held the three-hundred terabyte drive. He never liked having to do that, but money was tight when it was just him and the benefactors of Curry College footing the bill for his travel. Back then he rode in coach, and all he could carry on with him was the computer interface, contained in the steel briefcase.

Now he reasoned, with DARPA providing government funding, flying First Class allowed him to keep the whole protoype with him. And it also provided concierge service, with a chaffeur to drive him to the airport.

He looked at the ticket he'd been given for his flight—UNA-008 Seat 4C. He even had his own private seat.

Perhaps working for DARPA isn't so bad, he tried to reason, relaxing further and dozing off.

He ordered breakfast once on board and settled into his seat, choosing a chive biscuit sandwich with artichoke, caper sauce and feta cheese. As a side, and to his surprise, it came with a poached pear half soaked in yogurt, and crusted with toasted granola.

Being faminshed, he ate quickly, which was fortunate toward what happened next. Not soon after take-off, an F-16 fighter jet appeared out his window, obviously taking a position to give an escort to the plane he was in. From the reaction of passengers looking out windows on the other side of the plane, they saw a fighter jet too, also taking position.

Turing spoke to his stewardess in a calm panic. "Miss? Is there trouble on board?"

Her ability to hide panic was not so refined. A crackle trembled in her voice as she told a thinly-veiled lie.

"Oh, we are just having some trouble with landing at JFK. So we've been instructed to land at Stewart Air Base instead."