Fascinating, Webmind sent to her eye. The parallels are not lost on me, and…
And Webmind went on and on, and suddenly Caitlin had sympathy for her dad not liking people talking during movies.
Very interesting, Webmind observed when the film suggested that after a certain threshold was reached, an AI couldn’t continue to evolve without adding “a human quality,” which Admiral Kirk had identified as “our capacity to leap beyond logic.” But what does that mean, precisely?
Caitlin had to keep the dates in mind: although the film was set in the twenty-third century, it had been made in 1979, long before Deep Blue had defeated grand master Garry Kasparov at chess. But Kirk was right: even though Deep Blue, by calculating many moves ahead in the game, ultimately did prove to be better at that one narrow activity than was Kasparov, the computer didn’t even know it was playing chess. Kasparov’s intuitive grasp of the board, the pieces, and the goal was indeed leaping beyond logic, and it was a greater feat than any mechanical number crunching.
But it was the subplot about Spock, the half-human half-Vulcan character, that really aroused Caitlin’s attention—and apparently Webmind’s, too, because he actually shut up during it.
To her astonishment, her dad had paused the DVD to say the most important scene in the whole film was not in the original theatrical release, but had been restored in this director’s cut. It took place, as almost the whole movie did, on the bridge of the Enterprise. Kirk asked Spock’s opinion of something. Spock’s back was to him, and he made no reply, so Kirk got up and gently swung Spock’s chair around, and—it was so subtle, Caitlin at first didn’t recognize what was happening, but after a few seconds the image popped into clarity for her, and there was no mistaking it: the cool, aloof, emotionless, almost robotic Spock, who in this movie had been even grimmer than Caitlin remembered him from listening to the TV shows with her father over the years, was crying.
And, although they were facing almost certain destruction at the hands of V’Ger, a vast artificial intelligence, Kirk knew his friend well enough to say, in reference to the tears, “Not for us?”
Spock replied, with infinite sadness. “No, Captain, not for us. For V’Ger. I weep for V’Ger as I would for a brother. As I was when I came aboard, so is V’Ger now.” When Spock had come aboard, he’d been trying to purge all remaining emotion—the legacy of his human mother—to become, like V’Ger, like Deep Blue, a creature of pure logic, the Vulcan ideal. Two heritages, two paths. A choice to be made.
And, by the end of the film, he’d made his choice, embracing his human, emotional half, so that in the final scene, when Scotty announced to him, in that wonderful accent of his, that, “We can have you back on Vulcan in four days, Mr. Spock,” Spock had replied, “Unnecessary, Engineer. My business on Vulcan is concluded.”
“What did you think?” Caitlin asked into the air as the ending credits played over the stirring music.
Braille characters flashed across her vision: I’m a doctor, not a film critic. She laughed, and Webmind went on. It was interesting when Spock said, “Each of us, at some time in our lives, turns to someone—a father, a brother, a god—and asks, ‘Why am I here? What was I meant to be? ’ ” Most uncharacteristically, Webmind paused, then added: He was right. We all must find our place in the world.
On Tuesday morning, Caitlin’s mother drove her to school, and Caitlin headed up to math class. Webmind knew that she couldn’t really talk to him at school; still, he occasionally sent text to her, commenting on things they were seeing. Only the sounds of the school were new to him; he’d been watching when Caitlin had last attended classes four days ago.
Caitlin’s seat was right next to Bashira’s, and Bash gave her a big smile when she entered. Caitlin was nervous because Trevor was in that class, too, but he didn’t arrive until just as “O Canada” was starting to play.
Caitlin had known the Canadian anthem before moving there—you couldn’t be a hockey fan without hearing it from time to time—but she didn’t really like it: too sexist, with its line about “all thy sons’ command”; too, well, provincial for a country of immigrants such as her and Bashira, with its line about “our home and native land”; and too religious, with the line about “God keep our land.”
Once the anthem was over, Trevor made a show during the morning announcements of arranging his textbook and notebook on his desk, avoiding her gaze.
Is that the Hoser? Webmind asked.
Caitlin nodded—which, she knew, made the view Webmind was seeing go up and down.
She’d hoped for something more interesting than rote memorization of trigonometric identities, which is what they’d done the last time she’d been in class, but today’s subject was only slightly better. And so she found herself looking around the classroom, and seeing—really seeing—some of her classmates for the first time.
She spent a fair bit of time staring at Sunshine Bowen. Caitlin understood the whole big-boobs-equals-hot thing, at least in the minds of most teenage boys, but as for the rest of it, she just didn’t get what all the fuss was about. Oh, the long hair was nice, sure, and its color was… distinctive. And, yes, her clothes seemed to show more skin than just about anyone else in the room was exposing.
Sunshine had her textbook propped up in front of her on her desk— but, after a moment, Caitlin realized it wasn’t because she was reading it but rather because she was using it to shield what she was doing from the teacher’s eyes… something with her thumbs, and—
Oh! She was texting on her cell phone! Caitlin had heard about that, but had never seen it—but, hey, it now seemed downright primitive compared to having words beamed right into your eye.
“Mr. Heidegger?” asked a thin boy sitting in front of Sunshine. Caitlin recognized the voice at once: it was Matt, whom she’d noticed repeatedly in the past because he often asked good questions, and clearly was a math geek himself.
The teacher, who was also thin and had a close-cropped beard, said, “Yes, Matt?”
Matt did not disappoint: he proceeded to ask a very intelligent question about what Mr. H had written on the blackboard. Matt’s voice was breathy, and it cracked now and then as he spoke. The Hoser snorted at one point when it did so, but Caitlin thought it was endearing.
“That’s really beyond the scope of what we’re trying to do today,” Mr. Heidegger said, “but if—”
Caitlin surprised herself by piping up with, “I’ll explain it to him.”
Matt turned around and looked at her, and—
She’d read the phrase often enough in books, and although she’d yet to see a deer, or a picture of one, she imagined that was what was meant by “a deer caught in the headlights.”
Mr. H nodded and pointed to the back of the room, where there were some empty desks. “Go back there,” he said, “where you won’t disturb anyone else.”
Caitlin got up, and, after a second, Matt did, too. He was white—in fact, quite white; “pale” was the appropriate term, Caitlin supposed. And he had a… unique face, unlike any she’d seen yet. But he smiled a lot, and Caitlin liked that.
They kept their voices down, and talked about what Mr. Heidegger had written on the board.
And about how to solve problems involving right triangles using the primary trigonometric ratios and the Pythagorean theorem.
And about how to solve problems involving acute triangles using the sine law and the cosine law.