> Joshua Collins

> Date: March 18th, 2028

> Location: A&M University, Texas, United States

Josh's dorm room at Texas A&M was pretty much straight out of a movie stereotype. It had two beds, two dressers, two desks, two closets -- and one invisible yet perceptible line straight down the middle. One side was reasonably tidy, with two piles of dirty laundry (one on the bed, one on the floor), papers and books in piles on the desk, and posters of football players and actresses on the wall. The other half of the room was just this side of OCD, with a made bed, neat stacks of schoolwork, a laundry hamper, and a few vintage movie posters from classics like Forbidden Planet, Sneakers, and Iron Man.

True, Josh already had certain tendencies toward that kind of neatness, but his father had pointed out how little space he'd have if he got assigned aboard a ship, and so Josh considered it a good idea -- or “good training,” to use the military phrase -- to travel light and stay organized. Even the posters were there just because a blank wall would stand out too much.

Adam, Josh's roommate, was an agreeable enough sort. They weren't close friends, but they weren't in each other's way. Like the room, they were a walking stereotype, but inverted -- the jock and the nerd who could get along. They'd been paired together freshman year and decided to stick together as sophomores because, face it, there were a lot of worse options out there. Adam usually stayed out late, too, so Josh had plenty of prime study time after classes before the dorm got noisy after 10 PM. Or working on personal projects, like now.

Josh perked up as his phone started buzzing and playing a slow, ominous, martial-sounding piece. Most people wouldn't recognize the theme to a relatively obscure forty-five-year-old movie like War Games, but it was Josh's private little joke. After all, given the options, what else would be more appropriate as the ringtone for the head programmer at Mnemosyne?

“Hi, Dr. North!” Josh said, accepting the call. “What's going on?”

“Josh, good to hear from you.” Adam North's strong baritone sounded tired, but in good humor. “Things are still as exciting as ever over here, possibly getting more so.”

“What, the protesters? I saw the news about that guy who broke in. Did he damage anything?”

The Mnemosyne Project had faced its fair share of detractors over the years, of course. That was how Josh had first heard about them, in fact, in a news piece his parents had been watching when he was seven years old. Normally he tuned everything out back then -- most of it was about how the President was doing this or that thing right or wrong, usually wrong, which really didn't make it that much different from today -- but computers were cool, so it caught his attention. And that meant he heard the reporter on the television talk about the implant and what it was for.

Maw Gerty was starting to get really sick by then, so Josh tried writing in to Mnemosyne about her. If he'd been older, he might have chickened out, but a seven-year-old didn't know no one would listen to him. Good thing, too. Like he'd told the LT, that one letter hadn't just saved Maw's life, it had also gotten him on his current career track. And how many people could really say they found what they loved to do at seven and stuck with it?

“Oh, just some spray paint, and he smashed the receptionist's monitor,” Dr. North said, almost offhanded. “From what he was yelling at the time, he might have thought that was one of the project servers. All it really meant was we needed to replace a monitor and keyboard. Her actual computer was under the desk, completely untouched; and of course, the project servers aren't even in the same building.”

“You're pressing charges, right?”

“Of course! Only against the one man, though. The rest of the protesters are welcome to stay outside and listen to more Chopin and Mozart.”

Josh grinned. Someone at Mnemosyne had gotten the bright idea of installing some concert-grade wireless speakers to play classical music playlists. It was really hard to chant simplistic slogans with that as a background soundtrack, and it had spawned some pretty good memes. Josh had even made a few himself. “I still think you should have released that real-time bad lip read of that activist giving that speech.”

“That was just an internal test of the prediction software,” Dr. North chided, “and it would have been entirely the wrong move to release it to the public. But it was funny, I admit. Anyway, how are your studies going?”

“Good. I've been working on a new drone design for use in a weightless environment.”

“Hmm, that doesn't sound like undergraduate work.”

“It's not,” Josh admitted. “Not normally. But I might be doing this stuff for the Navy soon, so I'm trying to get a head start.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. But wouldn't that be a Space Force thing?”

“Not according to the El Tee. I mean, Lt. Davis. She said if necessary, the Navy will loan me to Space Command. And even if I am, I'm probably just going to be doing things remotely. Just one of the engineers on the ground, assuming that's where I even get placed.” Josh figured that getting trained for engineering work was a given, but he'd heard enough stories about officers and enlisted getting placed elsewhere to know nothing was a guarantee until the Navy in its infinite wisdom decided on your fate. “So that got me thinking about designing a drone to do engineering work remotely. I'm working off of an air-breathing ion thruster design and three manipulators with interchangeable tools. Kind of a Swiss Army drone.”

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“Why air-breathing? If there's air, then it's easy for an astronaut to do it. Humans can do almost anything a drone can do in that situation, and far more reliably.”

“Yeah, but it's still less mass than an astronaut, and you know how human-machine teaming has been proven to be greater than the sum of its parts. Having the option is still good.”

“Human-machine teaming still requires -- oh, I see. You're not thinking of a human engineer on the ground. You're designing something for Mnemosyne Alpha.”

“Well, I was thinking Mnemosyne Charlie specifically, but yes. The biggest issue is the size, though. I have to use six thrusters for three-dimensional attitude control, so even with the air-breathing design and not worrying about carrying fuel, it's still mostly thrusters. And of course I have no real way to test it except in orbit, so I figure it wouldn't go anywhere. It's just practice.”

“Don't sell yourself short.” Dr. North sounded serious. “You've got a real talent for robotics design, and people are going to be needing innovative designs going forward. Navy or not, space or not. I do have one question, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Are all the ion thrusters the same size, and if so, how far can the nozzles turn?”

“That's two questions, Dr. North.” Then Josh's grin faded as he thought through what the programmer had said. “Oh. Oh! Gah! I'm an idiot. The air-breathing nozzles can flex up to forty-two degrees! Maybe more if I . . . of course! I don't need to rotate the nozzles, I can rotate the frame! That's what gyros are for. I am such a moron. It's obvious!”

“It happens, Josh. You'd have noticed it eventually. I bet you were just focused on the cool ion engines and telling yourself that it was 'only' practice, not for real. If it's a hobby, it'll always stay a hobby. Be professional. Make something you actually could hook Mnemosyne up to.”

“Well, assuming the protesters and the politicians let you hook up a robot to your cybernetic monstrosity.” Josh laughed at the thought.

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about.” Dr. North's voice shifted, sounding almost sad. “Not about robots, exactly, but Mnemosyne. Obviously, we have to move up the timetable on the Alpha build. I'd wanted to do this after the election, just in case, but maybe it won't be a political hot potato.”

“Probably too late on that one.” Josh frowned. “So are you doing this because of the alien ship?”

“Hmm? No, of course not. I'm just concerned about Gertrude. We need to run tests while she's . . . still with us.”

Josh sat bolt upright. “What? What's wrong with Maw-Maw?”

There was a moment of awkward silence. “She . . . didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“She's . . . ah, that is . . . perhaps it would be best if she were to --”

“Tell. Me. Now.” Josh was vaguely aware of his voice getting icy quiet.

“Ah.” Dr. North cleared his throat. “Well. The implant is . . . not holding back the tumor any longer. The last few scans have shown a small but measurable growth. It's nothing immediate, but . . . well, if it impacts her memories like before, we won't have a good baseline for comparison. We can compartmentalize any corrupt dat-- I mean, we can avoid collecting if she's, well . . .”

“Losing her mind,” Josh stated flatly. “Her memories. Alpha's memory core.”

“Yes. Exactly. But I want to assure you, we're not ignoring her. All her needs will be taken care of. I promise.”

“I see. Yes, thank you. I didn't expect otherwise. I'm sorry, Dr. North, but I need to call her.”

“I understand. I just wanted to let you know that we'll have to set up a schedule for testing phase two, but . . . obviously, that can be handled later. Really, I thought you'd know already or I'd never have --”

“It's okay, Doctor,” Josh interrupted. “I get it. But I gotta go. I'll talk to you later.”

“Of course. Good-bye, Josh.”

Josh disconnected, then hit the contact profile for Maw Gerty. It picked up on the third ring.

“Well, hi there, shug,” Gertrude LeCroix answered. “How's college? You ask that girl out yet?”

“Maw-Maw, are you sick again?”

“Oh, I'm doing fine, cher. Good as always.”

“I just talked to Dr. North.”

“Ah.” Maw Gerty sighed. “An' I'm guessin' he told y'all about them doctor reports.”

“Yeah. Why didn't you tell me?”

“Cher, it ain't a bother. Just a little blob growin' a couple micro-whatsits. I'm fine. You gotta focus on your schoolin'. That's the important thing.”

“Mnemosyne is moving its schedule up by almost a year because of those micro-whatsits! That's -- that's --”

“They been collecting they data for nine years now. Plenty of time. They's just impatient is all.”

“Maw. Please.” Josh leaned on his desk, pressing one hand over his eyes and clutching his phone in the other. “Don't sugar-coat this just to protect me.”

“Alight, shug, but I promise I ain't. I'm takin' it easy an' all. Got Sherry to check on me, and Alice is over here most days. Been teaching some more of my recipes. I've got nothin' to do most days but cook and watch my stories.”

Despite the news, Josh couldn't help but smile. Maw Gerty sometimes enjoyed playing up the old-lady stereotypes like pretending to watch soap operas, just like she played up her low-class accent when she could switch to an antebellum Southern drawl, upper-class New England, posh Brit, abrasive Cockney, or a host of others courtesy of a minor but enthusiastic stage career she'd kept up on the side until about seven years ago. The border between kitchen and stage was a bit blurry around her. Josh knew her “stories” were usually a mix of classic movies and modern made-for-streaming productions. She'd even been a fan of the MCU movies until “that handsome one” left the series.

Josh's smile faded as he thought about that. Maw Gerty had taken him to see Endgame in the theater when he was a kid, after Dad hadn't been able to make it home in time for the premiere. That was in 2019, a month before she got the Mnemosyne implant. He'd been worried about losing her then, too.

“Don't you worry none,” Maw said into the silence. “Even if I leave tomorrow, I've lived longer than I had any right to expect. I remember a lot of good times, and I been happy to see more of them. And I fully intend to be around to approve your girl, so you better bring her home, hear?”

That did it. Josh smiled again. “You'd just scare her off with a cooking test.”

“Ain't no way, no how, I gonna let a good boy like you get hitched to some floozy who only like you for your big brain and don't know her way 'round a kitchen without a microwave oven! Uh-uh! I will haunt you!”

“Maw-Maw, you're Catholic. You don't believe in ghosts.”

“When I explain the situation to Saint Peter, he's gonna side with me, just you see. It'll be my special Purgatory to see you with such a creature, so unless you want to share my time you betta shape up and pick a nice girl who can cook!”

Half an hour later, when Josh finally hung up feeling a little less worried about Maw-Maw, he wondered if the world was really ready for Mnemosyne. It was one thing to have a quantum-crystal artificial general intelligence grown with the use of human memories, reactions, and decisions collected by a brain implant over the course of a decade. Certainly there were a lot of people who saw that as unnatural, not to mention the people protesting the lack of hard-wired safeguards on the AGI itself. But there was a much more important question that, outside of a few memes after Maw Gerty's name got leaked to the press, no one had really thought of much.

Was the world really ready for a super-AI hatched from the brain of a black Louisianan grandma?