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And now, to the Daystrom Cybernetics Annex on Galor IV, some 26 years earlier...
Part Two
"Learning Observation Recall Experiment," Dr. Ira Graves read off the electronic placard announcing his colleague's upcoming seminar. He scratched a hand through his stubbly, russet beard. "Sounds so...academic. Why not call it LORE, for short? 'S catchier, not to mention easier for those damned idiot tech journalists to spell."
"Lore, eh?" Noon snorted over his datapad. "Not bad. Kind of mysterious. And he's been wanting a real name."
Graves furrowed his forehead. "What do you mean, 'he's been wanting'?" he said, his faded British accent strengthening as his voice grew harsher. "Computers don't 'want,' Soong, be they duotronic or positronic. I've warned you before about anthropomorphizing this project of yours."
"I'm not anthropomorphizing anything," Noon retorted, and shoved the datapad into his satchel. "He told me he wants a real name. I told him I'd think about it."
"When did this start?" Graves pressed, his frown growing deeper.
"Remember that new program I was telling you about? The one to handle choice and preference?"
"But that was just theory," Graves said. "Numbers on a screen. Don't tell me you—"
"Finished it? Installed it? Tested it?" Noon said, a cocky little smirk twisting his lips. "Done and done."
"And?"
"And what? It works, Ira. My project does just what it says in the abstract: it thinks."
"Learn, observe, recall – that's what it says in the abstract," Graves snapped. "Thinking is something else entirely, and you know it. But, preference? Wants and desires? That's your imagination talking. You bring that up tomorrow and the panel's going to tear you apart. Again."
"It's true, Ira," Noon insisted. "Look, I was going to wait until the seminar tomorrow, but…here…"
The young man dug deep into his satchel and pulled out a textured, silvery box, about the size of a human skull. "You've been listening to all this, haven't you?"
"I have," the box replied in a flat, mechanical simulation of Noon's own voice.
"Good grief, Soong, you've been carrying it around with you?" Graves said. "You know you can't take experimental equipment out of the lab unless—"
"Give it a break, Ira. I've got my degree, you're not my supervisor any longer. Besides, Lore isn't lab equipment. He's a functioning positronic computer. My functioning positronic computer. The only one ever made. Lore," Noon addressed the box, "what do you think of the new name your Uncle Ira just gave you?"
"Lore," the box repeated, as if testing out the sound. "The name is acceptable. In fact, I like it. Thank you, Uncle Ira."
"…God…" Graves moaned, bringing an exasperated hand to his head. "The computer says it likes its name. And it's thanking me, no less!"
"I'm telling you, Ira, I'm sure I've really cracked it this time," Noon said, cradling the shiny box like a proud parent. "Asimov's dream of a stable, workable positronic brain is finally making the leap from science fiction to science fact. My Lore represents the start…the start of a whole new dimension of cybernetic intelligence. Perhaps even cybernetic consciousness."
"Now that I know you shouldn't bring up in your talk tomorrow," Graves warned.
"Why not? With Lore here as a functional prototype, who's to say—"
"Noonian!" Graves snapped. "Feet, on the ground, now. All this dreamy speculation is fine when you're talking with me, but do not get up in front of that panel and start spouting promises. We've both been down this road before. Prototypes fail. Theories change as work progresses. If you tie your reputation to developing an actual, stable positronic brain – not a computer system, like Lore, but an actual brain – and it doesn't pan out, your future at this institute—"
Noon held up a hand.
"All right, all right," he said, "I get what you're saying."
Graves squinted at the younger man.
"I'm not convinced that you do," he rumbled. "Politics isn't just for politicians, Dr. Soong. It exists in academia too. Like it or not, as long as you're a researcher here, the public image you project reflects back on this institution. That means every word, every deed, every publication. Now, to people like you and me, conscious, self-aware computers are a dream, an ambition. But, to most of the rest of the universe, the very notion of sentient machines is a nightmare, a threat to be feared. That kind of publicity, we can't afford. So, take it easy tomorrow. Stick with what's done, what's provable. Demonstrate your Lore's ability to observe, and recall its observations. That has crowd appeal, it's useful, and it has direct, real-world applications that 'justify' our department's research to the institute, to the public, and to Starfleet. That's good stuff, beneficial stuff the institute can put in its newsletter and you can put in your CV. But do not – do not – start proselytizing about conscious computers and sentient androids! Those exist in your imagination, Soong. Only in your imagination."
"Starfleet," Noon scoffed, and tightened his grip on his little positronic prototype. "All right, Ira. I hear you. I'll play to the crowd tomorrow, just like you said, and I'll keep my theories to myself. For now. But I'm telling you this: no computer of my design is ever going to be put to military use, no matter how 'benevolent' the 'Fleet pretends to be. 'Peaceful missions of exploration,' my ass. Tell that to the Iotians, or the Ekosians, or the countless other victims of Starfleet weapons and cultural contamination! What Starfleet would do with a real thinking, feeling android – or to it—!"
"You're preaching to the choir here, Noon," Graves said. "You don't have to convince me of Starfleet hypocrisy when it comes to 'new' life forms. But that doesn't change the fact that Starfleet's needs drive a significant portion of our research and development facilities. They're what allow theory-driven projects like ours the freedom they have. So, I'm warning you one last time to bite your tongue, and keep it bit until tomorrow's talk is over and done."
"Yes, sir," Soong said, and gave the older man a mocking salute. "You got all that, Lore?"
"Uncle Ira says, tomorrow, you are to put me through a staged routine and refrain from offending or frightening the media or the institute's backers by demonstrating my more…unsettling…abilities. Is that not an accurate summation, Father?"
Graves's eyes bugged from his head. "Excuse me?" he exclaimed.
"I'd say you've got it just about right, my boy," Soong said, staring Graves straight in the eye. "See you tomorrow, Ira."
"Noonian!" Graves shouted after Soong's departing back. "Noonian, what's with this 'Father' business? Noonian, you are not walking away from me!"
"Tomorrow!" Noon called back with a wave. "We'll be good, I promise!"
To Be Continued...
References include: TOS: A Piece of the Action, Patterns of Force; TNG: The Schizoid Man.
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