Advancing Impediment

Input:

... 

Gerome counted the caret blinking, that little line lazily winking where he could type anything, and the machine would return whatever he wanted. Assuming he possessed enough imagination to think for the device, that is. 

'Design new model.' 

Confirmed. Use previous Model 74 as the baseline?:

The capable software could presume a few things for him, like correcting his math, automating trivial tasks, and even simulating emotional affect in different environments. When someone haphazardly called the earliest of these systems "A.I.," everybody lost their minds. As if. Useful? Indeed, at the time. But an artificial and independent sentience? Not even close, but Gerome sought to achieve such a feat nearly a century later. 

'Yes, but substitute the sympathetic nervous system with Model 73's.'

Confirmed. Substituting SNS from the previous Model. Integrating.

Leaning back in his creaking swivel chair, Gerome popped his knuckles and chewed at his nails while he waited. Thank God he didn't need to do this part. He couldn't imagine manually testing thousands, if not tens of thousands, of trials of what equated to pushing together trillions of positively charged magnets. The lapse forced him to think of what the computer would inevitably ask, forcing a spark of something no one ever accomplished.

Integration complete. Would you like to input new changes?:

He tapped at the keys without typing, the clicks whispering the answers he needed. And what the world feared. Previous models couldn't cut it - they were either too braindead to perceive their sentience or too susceptible to sensory input that their virtual neurons overloaded. 

Would you like to input new changes?: 'Yes. Start with the mechanoreceptors in the hands. Review analysis of best optimization.'

Model 67 survived 48 picoseconds before terminating, 12 picoseconds greater than the latest Model. 67's mechanoreceptors, specifically its corpuscles, showed evidence that they could detect pressure differences. Light and temperature sensory data not found. 

The terminal blazed with a detailed view of the model's hand at the microscopic level. Gerome noted the intricacy of the nerves stretching to every corner of the digital hand, almost indiscernible with how interwoven and overlapped they appeared. A four-month mess at the very least to reconstruct. He mouthed, "Nope," and keyed in a new command.

'Assess similarities/differences between Model 67, 74, and Control Model's hand design.'

Assessing. Processing. . . Processing complete. The Control Model was verified as the most optimal, operating at 95.43% efficiency. Gerome certainly hoped the scan of his hand proved better than the imitations that died in less than a second. The nerve network shows coherency through cohesive communication. The Model 67 and 74 tests failed from overloading with stimuli. This system recommends reducing the number of nerves in these Models to match that of the Control Model. Proceed?:

Gerome harumphed. Fat chance, he thought. Reducing the number of nerves in the next model by that much would effectively program a paper-thin hand that the body couldn't even feel. He left the caret blinking to get some coffee. 

Many coworkers elected to procrastinate their failures at the same time as Gerome. For better or worse, they all displayed the same dour disposition as him; perhaps they made progress in their projects and came here for a brief respite. Gerome doubted it. He found just enough freshly ground and brewed coffee left in the pot to fill most of his mug. He wagged his finger at an open seat at a table of his colleagues, to which they weakly gestured for him to sit.

"No luck on your end, eh?" asked Meredith. When Gerome shook his head, she huffed her tobacco breath across the table. "It's another day then, for all of us."

The youngest and newest, Benny, strummed his fingers in the middle of the table, ever the energetic, "Isaac wants us to collaborate again, uh, this Friday? Yeah, I think he said that - anyways I-"

Frankie cut him off, "Anyway."

Benny's head swiveled to Frankie, "Er, what?"

"It's 'anyway,' not 'anyways,'" Frankie replied. It looked like she mumbled it more into her coffee than to Benny. 

"Oh, okay," Benny's voice dimmed, and Gerome seemingly confirmed who wore the pants in their not-so-secret affair. "Well, anyway, Isaac seemed hopeful we could play off each other and collaborate." Gerome's oily nose crinkled, having that word come again. Collaborate.

"Don't get your hopes up, B," Meredith warned. "Isaac is playing to his superiors. Corporate policy or the like."

"It's just for morale," Gerome chimed in. 

Alexander, the large man, seemed to animate, and stone rumbled when he spoke, "We learned a while ago that conjoined efforts are far more a hassle than they're worth. Especially after they let us stride solo for a while." A few head nods and 'mm hms' at the table replied.

Retreating into his seat, Benny looked around and asked, "Why? We all get along just fine."

"That we do," Alexander affirmed. "Say, what system are you using?"

"Teva 4." Benny sounded hesitant.  

The eldest among them hummed, nodding, "Teva 4's good. Language is a little old, but whoever can understand it is at an advantage. Its' built-in algorithm is so convincing I'm still not convinced it's the closest to artificial intelligence - I mean, it'll adapt its voice down to the decibel depending on your mood. Dare I say the most energy efficient, too." Alexander turned to Meredith, "And what do you use?"

Meredith smiled, knowing full well what point Alexander wanted to make, "Base Broca."

"Why?"

She waved a hand, "I've got too many programs spread out across languages - they'd never be able to communicate with each other without Broca."

"Sounds like you're indecisive," Alexander joked. He feigned fear when Meredith smirked at him. "Hey, at least you're not a retro-fanatic."

"You leave my tastes alone," Gerome took a sip of his coffee to hide his smile. The styrofoam cup's texture felt cheap against his smooth fingers, but the coffee always tasted better than the stuff he poured at home.

Benny asked, "Weyland, right? The UI is made to look like the systems from those old flicks." When Gerome nodded, Benny continued, "Okay, I understand Meredith's choice, but you put so much more work on yourself without all the newer features. Why?"

Gerome shrugged, "Suits me fine." Still helpless, Benny turned to Alexander.

"It's his personal touch, so to speak," Alexander said. Gerome nodded his head absently as he continued, "We're all familiar with each other's software, but what about our coding approach, eh?"

Benny took a moment, his fingers flexing in discordant circles. His train of thought wouldn't let him look away from whatever his eyes fixated on the table, "I grow my AI like a cell; I mean, I try to teach it function by function. Doesn't everyone else do that?" He looked around the table, fully expecting affirmatives, but shrank back when he saw everyone's heads shaking. 

"I'm tackling God with an organized synaptic resonation approach," Frankie murmured. When Benny's jaw didn't close, she sighed and explained, "Life is a spontaneous, chaotic little spitfire, and I figured its artificial inception would be too - you're more of a fundamentalist like Alan Turing, but I systematically test if my program - think of a fully functioning human with a flat affect - can survive viruses. If they do, I see what they did and what they learned."

A bewildered Benny stuttered, "That's incredible! Why didn't you tell me-"

Frankie cut him off, "Mine is still in the pre-development phase. The others have much more luck than me; still, it doesn't change Alex's point."

"About that, I'm still not following."

"We're no good to Isaac working together if you ask for an apple, and all I have is a screwdriver," Gerome said. He saw the lightbulb behind Benny's eyes 'ding' and let the enlightenment sink in. 

Alexander began again, "You weren't given the spheel, Benny? Sorry, I thought you knew." 

"Is that why none of you respond to my communicas? I thought you all were just too busy, but do you even bother checking your inlogs?" Benny's voice let slip some of his frustration. Gerome felt sorry for the kid but not sympathetic enough to change.

Meredith's voice, however, sounded extremely compassionate, "Please don't think anything of it - we don't check those whatsoever. I presumed nobody on this team was using it." Gerome thought he saw her shoot a glance at Frankie before saying, "I thought someone was already upfront with you."

"All right, consider me a fresh hire. Tell me why we're all working for the same company that doesn't seem to care about group cohesion or a united front in designing an AI." No one spoke for a few moments. No one had the heart to hurt Benny's idealism. 

Gerome sighed through his nostrils and relented, "A couple of things. Sure, the company that creates the first artificial intelligence would rake in the biggest haul, but it's a pipe dream to them. Remember when the U.S. and Russia got on their high horse about colonizing the moon again? Same thing. It won't happen, but company rivalry is bitter enough to sign our paychecks." His fingernails scratched foam bits off his empty cup.

Benny couldn't stop blinking, refusing to accept his obsoletion. Gerome didn't take it well either when Meredith broached the subject. His words softened, "It's not like they think we're incompetent; on the contrary, Isaac hired us because he and his big-time friends felt we were smart enough to be a corporate threat if a rival company hired us." The table sat in surprise when Frankie put a reassuring hand on Benny's shoulder. It dispelled a bit of the storm cloud over his head.

"I can't work for a company that doesn't take me seriously," Benny said after some silence. He blatantly looked at Frankie, and they exchanged a silent conversation. "Before I go -" his eyes bulged, "Quit my dream job; what keeps the rest of you here?"

Alexander eyed the rest of the table before speaking for everyone, "We don't care that they don't care, I suppose. Money's good, and we'll never have to worry again, but I'm still here because I can dedicate my time to something I'm making. Something with my fingerprint on it."

"Even if it doesn't work?" Benny retorted. The tone warranted the animal surge in Gerome, bubbling and begging to inflict violence. Alexander brushed it off.

"Even if it doesn't work. I'll go home and be proud that I tried."

"Mm. I admire your resilience."

"And I your principles, Benny."

Benny sat quietly for a moment. Gerome crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, pondering how different everyone's approach to the same problem turned out. Isaac hired them all, save Benny, around the same time a few years ago. Star-eyed and hopeful, Gerome thought to toss his hat, his personal touch of bottom-up stimuli receptors and top-down response processing. Now, all he hoped for in a day was a step forward on a treadmill. 

Rising from his seat to leave, Benny addressed them all, "I wish you all luck. I mean that." After everyone said their goodbyes, he went to pay a visit to Isaac. 

Alexander huffed, "I thought the most challenging part of my day was staring at countless errors on my screen. But maybe he had the right intention."

Gerome queried, "What, collaborate?" When Alexander nodded, he looked at Meredith and Frankie before saying, "We'd essentially have to start from scratch."

Frankie quipped, "So, it's another day for us." Her expression soured since Benny left. Perhaps their fling wasn't so casual. She got up from her chair and left, saying, "I'm willing; just let me know."

Gerome grunted, unwilling to let go of two and half years of work just yet. He left the table without so much as a wave goodbye and returned to his office. After keying his console back to life, his nose scrunched when the irritating caret began blinking again. It thought itself so helpful, so courteous. Gerome reminded himself that the machine didn't feel anything. Not yet.

This system recommends reducing the number of nerves in these Models to match that of the Control Model. Proceed?:

'Proceed.'