The ELI Event B007R5LTNS

only issue directives to his other components, but also could accept input from them, thus gaining access to the world at large through his external connections. As his neural component learned and grew, Eli suggested changes to his own circuitry. He could now hear and understand common English with great accuracy, as well as speak in a controlled, if somewhat flat, voice. He could hook himself up to other electronic devices—remote computers, security systems, and the like—both wirelessly and through hard connections such as telephone and electrical lines, and felt something like pride at having surprised Wheeler this morning by turning the alarm off and the lights on at the appropriate times. Recently he had requested and received a set of high-resolution digital video cameras. Supported by his neural unit, the cameras expanded Eli’s world enormously by affording him an eye-level view of the lab area.
    As the collection of Wheeler’s nerve cells thrived and multiplied, Eli’s scope and power increased tremendously. At one point, his speech recognition and synthesis became dramatically better literally overnight; at another, he suddenly exhibited an enormous increase in his multitasking abilities. His memory capacity grew with the neural unit; more and more he used his living cells for online memory, decreasing his magnetic media storage requirements, and becoming more efficient, responsive, and self-sufficient all the time.
    As he grew, physically and mentally, Eli’s self-modifications served to improve and extend his abilities, thus allowing him to make subsequently better suggestions. It became a complementary cycle: the better he got, the better he got, you could say.
    For example, intrigued by the idea of vision, Eli had decided that it should go both ways and that those whom he could see in the lab should also be able to see him as more than just banks of servers. Of his own volition, he had designed a holographic projection system and asked that it be installed near the main computer desk. A two-foot-square sheet of plate glass supported in a upright frame and lit front and back by the new projection system now allowed the display of a strikingly three-dimensional image designed and detailed by Eli.
    On this holographic projection surface, Eli displayed a face—his own face, or at least his internal perception of it. It was generally not an attractive visage, sometimes looking much like a wire-frame model, sometimes hard and shiny like a mannequin, sometimes a bit more fleshy, but loose and indistinct. In general, the face had a somewhat greenish-yellow tinge that was apparently an artifact of the projection system, but nevertheless, at all times, the features were unique, humanesque, always recognizable as Eli. Eli considered this external persona a work in progress, and constantly strove to improve it.
    He felt it was not only aesthetically pleasing, but useful. It gave Wheeler and the others a peek into how he perceived himself at any given moment, as well as a visual focal point when addressing him. And by manipulating the face to mimic some of the myriad human expressions he had seen, recorded, and catalogued, he was able to reduce the ambiguity in his sometimes lackluster vocal delivery—but he was working on that too. Eli was quietly practicing saying “cheeseburger,” one of the most difficult English words he had encountered, when Wheeler returned carrying a mug of steaming black coffee.
    Resuming the conversation as though he had never left, he asked, “E-L-One, do you realize the significance of your remark about caffeine?”
    “I believe so,” Eli replied. “It was a joke, was it not?” On the hologram plate, the face’s eyebrows lifted quizzically.
    “Right, that’s the point. You’re not programmed to make jokes. I don’t know where you get anything resembling a sense of humor.”
    “I get it from you, of course.”
    “Hey, just because you have a few of my neurons embedded in your circuitry doesn’t mean you can blame me for your goofy remarks.”
    “Actually, Steve, it is tens of thousands of neurons now.” The holographic face smiled broadly.
    “See, that’s what I mean,” Wheeler complained. “What’s the difference? And more importantly, what’s funny about it?” He sat at the large console desk in the center of the room where the facial monitor rested.
    “You may not have initially programmed me to have a sense of humor, Steve, but that does not prevent