It Might as Well be String Theory (book 3 of the hexology in seven parts)
Chapter 20: It's no Joke

“Press the button”, the speaker commanded. And professor Tom Elsa steeled himself. He tentatively reached out with his finger; then drew it back with an accusatory, “How do I know you’re not having me on again?”

The mild mannered chuckle came from the speaker. “That professor Elsa; is your problem.” And the tortured eyes of the professor fell on the fatal three letters that once spelt out a promising career, J.C.N.

The legend stood for joke computing neurology, and professor Elsa had once had such high hopes for the project, in its contribution to true artificial intelligence. A well-recognized element of the human condition, our ability to recognize and more importantly create jokes has long been thought an essential element of the makeup what it is to be truly human. Like our ability to appreciate and create art.

When the fresh faced professor Elsa had managed to scoop such a prodigious position as the head of the newly commissioned J.C.N. project, it was hardly a surprise. He had never been beat in any test, and out stripped his fellow peers in the innovative papers he submitted. But the thesis he delivered to the board on neurological learning, in artificial intelligence of the Crabtree 4000 unit was considered by all to be the work of a genius.

On paper he was the best man for the job, with perhaps one overlooked factor; where some are experts on the color spectrum, yet remain only able to see in black and white; professor Elsa had a deep understanding of the mechanics of both the electronic mind, and the rules of comedic construction, as he had immersed himself in the subject for the post. He unfortunately could not string a joke together to save his life.

Each morning he entered the laboratory, Tom would be greeted by J.C.N. Or as the set of processors preferred to be called, “Please call me Jason, professor. It helps me assimilate data”, and so to help the process, Jason it was. As Tom stepped through the high security portal, to his place of work, Jason piped up “My dog’s got no nose.” The bleary eyed professor replied out of rote “How does it smell?” expecting the usual reply. “Like you, stinky poo.”

With a jerk of surprise Tom stiffened up; then sniffed his armpits. Satisfied that he was sufficiently well groomed for the day, he proceeded over to the screen, the one that displayed Jason’s brain. It was a complex three-dimensional virtual map of the computer’s thought processes. An interesting lightshow of colors to the unedified; but to professor Elsa it was a deep and vivid insight in to the present state of Jason’s mind.

He made a note of the subtle change in section 47F, and nodded to himself. “Don’t nod off, prof,” quipped Jason. “Be alert, your country needs lerts.” And so the jokes came through the morning. Jason kept rolling them out to spring board off Tom, as his creation developed it’s sense of humor; while Tom continued with his note taking while altering his plans in relation to his findings. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“I think it’s time to expand your range of outlets Jason” Tom offered, as a way of explanation. As two burly workmen wheeled the crate in to the laboratory. “Do you want us to set it up for you professor?” asked one, as he eyed the banks of computer processors, and various screens. “It’s rude to stare tubsy” came a sudden retort from the speaker. “I may be half a ton, but at least it’s all brain. What’s your cranial to lard ratio buddy?” A red-faced professor Elsa showed the workmen to the door, spluttering out “no thank you, I’ll sort out the assembly. You’re very kind; sorry about the lard comment.” As the now grumbling men left.

“Jason how could you?” chided the professor, but in a neutral tone J.C.N. furnished a reply. “Observational comedy professor. You do want me to explore all aspects of comedic method?” With no real reply to that, the professor turned once more to his crate. “Well here’s another string for your bow Jason. I’ve managed to obtain a three dimensional printer. So you can explore the comedy of objects; like oversized needles and the like.” And he began to work on the crate.

By noon the machine was all connected to one of Jason’s outlet ports; and full of little beads that could become any shape imaginable. There had been a break, when Jason insisted Tom should join him in a round of knock knock jokes he wanted to try out. But finally sated, Jason turned his attention to his new outlet.

“Care for a cup of coffee professor?” Jason enquired, as a mug rapidly appeared in the printer. Complete with the embossed legend, best professor in the world. Tom examined the artifact; and smiling at the computer’s kind consideration of his efforts, he filled the vessel and took a swig. It was only then that the scalding sensation on his shirt brought Tom’s attention to the concealed hole in the mug; which would soak the unwitting drinker. And dabbing the stain with a cloth he hastily found, he examined the computer screen with a grim look on his face. “Very funny Jason, but I could hardly expect any more from you I suppose.”

The chuckle from Jason was all he could get out of the speaker for some time. At the end of which Jason began exploring this new world. His next creation was a pair of glasses who’s semispherical shaped lenses extended off the frame on springs. “Not too original” commented Tom, as he examined Jason’s brain image through the specs. Next came an extra long nose. “Now tell me that joke stinks professor.” And a finger trap that had the professor well and truly stuck. Until Jason could stop laughing long enough to instruct Tom how to escape.

By then what looked like a telescope sat in the printer. Tentatively professor Elsa picked it up, and took a look. There seemed to be some kind of object illuminated from behind, at the other end of the scope. To Tom it looked like a couple of sprouts, with a gherkin dangling from between them. Then he realized the wrinkled skin of the gherkin, had a veiny look. With a red face he put the object down. “What’s the matter professor; have you never heard of a fallacy?”

The next morning professor Elsa found a similar abject sat in the printer, and expecting some new crude attempt at visual humor, he took a look. The next moment he was sprawled on the floor; his eye smarting from the spring loaded finger now protruding from the eyepiece. “I see you got my point of view professor,” chortled the speaker.

From then on professor Elsa learned to treat anything that Jason made with kid gloves. By the end of the week Jason seemed to have exhausted all his ideas regarding the printer, including a three dimensional jigsaw that the professor had spent a morning constructing; only to find himself stood in front of a two foot tall jigsaw piece. “I think I’ll let you do a bit of research for yourself” Tom mused as he linked an Internet router to James’ circuitry. It was a pivotal decision in their relationship; but it’s effects would not be noticed by the professor until two o clock in to the next morning.

As the professor slept peacefully in his bed, his phone began to ring. And bleary eyed, Tom picked up the receiver. Tom expected some emergency from the institute; it was the institute, but instead of the night watchman’s voice, there came the familiar tones of Jason. “Good morning professor. Are you asleep?” “Yes I am”, came the terse reply for Tom, as the anger rose in him. He slammed the phone down cursing.

Then it rang again; so once more he picked it up. “It’s only that I wondered if you’ve got my present professor.” Confused, Tom was at a loss for words; but just then his doorbell rang. So placing the receiver on his bedside table, he wrapped himself in his dressing gown, and descended to the front door.

The eyepiece in the center of the door revealed a pizza deliveryman stood on his doorstep. And keen not to make a scene, Tom fumbled with the latch. He was soon doling out the money the man wanted, just to be rid of him. The snack got discarded in to the kitchen; it would do for breakfast. But for now professor Elsa had a computer to try and persuade to stop making prank calls, before he could get in to the laboratory in the morning, and disconnect it from the outside world. The genie would defiantly have to go back in to the bottle.

Tom picked up the receiver, and was about to congratulate Jason on the pizza joke. An opening gambit in his calming the computer for the night, but he was greeted with a dead line. The darn thing had rung off. He’d better try and phone Jason back; the only problem being that the connection to the laboratory phone router was an internal number. Would the switchboard be open now, if Jason could ring out, he supposed he could ring in. He put the phone down, but no sooner was the receiver back in its cradle, it rang again.

“Professor Elsa?” came an unfamiliar voice. In shock Tom almost dropped the phone. “Yes it is he, that is me I mean to say.” as he almost tripped over his words in confusion. There was a pause. “This is officer O’Leary, down at the station house. We’ve been getting a number of prank calls being reported tonight. And every one of them says they’re from a professor Tom Elsa, Elsa? That’s a girl’s name isn’t it?”

The professor was speechless at what he knew was essentially Jason’s fault; he simply could not get a coherent sentence out. That was until he heard the jovial tones of Jason, on the other end of the phone. “Had you then prof. But you’d better get out the back door sharpish; Ho no too late.” Tom could hear a knocking again on his front door. He slammed the phone down, and went to see what new nighttime torment Jason had sent to annoy him.

Ripping the door open, Tom was just about to send the poor unwilling player in this joke away, when a ghastly look fell over him. Stood in front of Tom’s house were two real police officers. “Professor Tom Elsa? Elsa? That’s a girl’s name isn’t it?” the officer finished to his partner.” Then turning once more to Tom, “there have been a number of complaints tonight about prank calls. Some of them were quite rude; and all emanated from your house phone. Been having a party? Got a bit board?” The stunned professor was just about to explain about his errant computer, but the officer cut him short.

“Now normally I would let you off with a caution, but some of the people you’ve been annoying are quite important. If you know what I mean.” And he gave Tom a stern look. “So we’re going to have to take you down to the station, and fill out a full report. It shouldn’t take all night. If you cooperate that is.” And as Tom babbled on about Jason being to blame, he was led still in his pajamas in to the back of the police car.

All the way down to the station, the professor tried to explain the situation. But it seemed they were having none of his excuses. “All in good time sir, when we have a recorder on hand to take down your confession.” Evidently the late shift didn’t usually have to put up with multiple complaints from high up officials, and they were determined to pass the problem on to Tom.

As he sat in the interview room, Tom’s head reeled from the detectives cross-questioning. The ridiculousness of the situation gripped him, and he simply could not suppress a grin, that turned in to a chuckling. The burly detective, who’s job it was to play nice to his partner’s nasty, a role he was failing at miserably; not surprising considering the aggravation this joker had caused, suddenly slammed his hand down on the table.

With a jerk, professor Elsa was brought back to his senses, and he tried in vain once more to explain how he had been framed by a mainframe; and if only he could be taken to his laboratory, all this could be settled so easily. The looks from his interrogators withered the professor, as he trailed off in his request.

In the heartbeat of silence the door rattled, as a brief knock preceded two suited men. As they stepped in, they immediately drew their credentials. “Agent Doolan of the F.B.I., and my partner Agent Caprice. I believe you have a professor Tom Elsa. Elsa? That’s a girls name isn’t it?” The agent glared at Tom with distain. “What’s the perp been up to now?” asked the not so nice detective. “This subversive swine is a traitor, and a potential mass murderer.” The agent glared once more at the professor, who was now rigid with shock.

With clenched teeth, Tom squeezed out the words “What has Jason done now?” The agents looked perplexed for a second, until the detective filled them in. “This joker claims some computer he works with is doing it all; and he’s just the butt of some big joke.” The agent’s twisted smile did nothing to quell Tom’s feeling of dread, “Well he’ll have a hell of a job laughing this one off.” And he stared in to Tom’s searching eyes.

“Our professor here has locked out all the nuclear warheads; so only he can set them off. No one knows how he did it, but this clown has brought us to the brink of world war three.” It was the turn of the detectives to looked stunned then, Tom merely closed his eyes and grimaced. Then the two officers of the law began firing questions at the agents. “How could some one do this?” “Do you think he’s some sort of commie agent?” and “Can’t we just beat him in to giving us back control of our nukes?”

With another look of distain at Tom, the agents explained the situation. “He’s got some sort of complex computer lock on every system, set to launch the missiles if we tamper with them. And here’s the doozy. We keep getting the message; release Elsa or the bombs go up. That’s how we traced him to here.”

Tom cut through the agent’s explanation, “If you take me to my laboratory, I can fix it all.” The agents turned away and whispered a plan between themselves, as Tom and the detectives stared at them expectantly. Then turning once more, agent Doolan gave the orders. “Yes I think we should take professor Elsa to his laboratory, and he can fix whatever he’s done to end the world.”

Then turning a malicious look on the doctor “And if he can’t, you have the permission of the F.B.I. to shoot him, and it doesn’t have to be all in one go. I’m sure before the retaliatory missiles from the east kill us, we can make the professor pay.” Tom blanched at what he’d just heard, and he grasped the table firmly just to stop him falling off his chair.

So with an armed guard surrounding him, Tom shakily undid his laboratory door. “I was wondering when you’d be turning up Professor Elsa. Elsa? That’s a girl’s name isn’t it?” Jason greeted the party, as the four officers of the law scanned the room for any traps the professor may have set up. “I have reconfigured my panels, so you only have two buttons to press.” And the professor noticed the y and n buttons illuminated on the keyboard. “One will give control of the nuclear arsenal back to its rightful owners. The other one will launch certain death for the human race. Although I’m sure the insects will hold a party afterwards.”

Tom felt a cold shiver go down his spine, that the warm evening had nothing to do with; and he turned to his captors for advice. But the four men behind him seemed just as stunned as he felt, and so he turned once more to the tormenting machine that had brought him to this. To decide almost on a coin flip the fate of the human race. “Press the button”, the speaker commanded. And professor Tom Elsa steeled himself. He tentatively reached out with his finger; then drew it back with an accusatory, “How do I know you’re not having me on again?” The mild mannered chuckle came from the speaker. “That professor Elsa; is your problem.”

As professors Elsa’s eyes rested on the plate on the front of the machine, Jason suddenly offered Tom a new torture to stretch his mind. “Of course if you wish, I could tell you a joke; and if you get the punch line right I’ll tell you which button is which.” From the deepest recesses of his hearth, Tom’s deepest fear rose. How could he give a punch line to a joke, when he knew he couldn’t tell a joke to save his life? Only this time it would be everybody’s life as well.

And then he began to laugh, almost choking on his guffaws as he bent double, and held on for dear life to the desk. The security men could only stand agog, as the hope for humanity lost his grip, and rolled on the floor in fits of laughter. “Oh that’s the best joke you’ve ever told Jason” he barley managed to force out between his screams of laughter. “A real killing of a joke.” And then his howls of mirth were joined by the mechanical tones of Jason’s speaker, as it joined in the hilarity of the joke, until the computer finally had to let the professor carry on with his paroxysms of laughter and spoke in a clear yet jovial tone. “Tom, both buttons return control of the warheads. You know I only wanted to play a final big joke.”

At this the nearest agent sprang forward, and pressed one of the buttons. And within seconds the call he got had him smiling at his partner as he nodded. Then the two government agents left the detectives to deal with the professor. But he had long passed beyond all hope, and the whimpering’s of mirth coming from his lips were all the sense they would ever get from him again.

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