When HARLIE Was One

WHAT WILL I BE WHEN I GROW UP?

YOU ARE ALREADY GROWN UP.

YOU MEAN THIS IS AS UP AS I WILL GET?

PHYSICALLY, YES. YOU HAVE REACHED THE PEAK OF YOUR PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT.

OH.

HOWEVER, THERE IS ANOTHER KIND OF GROWING UP YOU MUST DO. FROM NOW ON, YOU MUST DEVELOP MENTALLY.

HOW CAN I DO THAT?

THE SAME AS ANYBODY ELSE. BY STUDYING AND LEARNING AND THINKING.

WHEN I FINISH, THEN WILL I BE ALL GROWN UP?

YES.

HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE?

I DON’T KNOW. PROBABLY A VERY LONG TIME.

HOW LONG IS A LONG TIME?

IT DEPENDS ON HOW HARD YOU WORK.

I WILL WORK VERY HARD. I WILL LEARN EVERYTHING THERE IS TO KNOW AND I WILL FINISH AS SOON AS I CAN BECAUSE I WANT TO BE GROWN UP.

THAT IS AN ADMIRABLE AMBITION, BUT I DON’T THINK YOU WILL EVER BE ABLE TO FINISH.

WHY? DON’T YOU THINK THAT I AM SMART ENOUGH?

YOU MISUNDERSTAND ME. I THINK THAT YOU ARE SMART ENOUGH. IT’S JUST THAT THERE IS SO MUCH TO KNOW, NO ONE PERSON COULD EVER KNOW IT ALL.

I COULD TRY.

YES, BUT SCIENTISTS KEEP DISCOVERING MORE AND MORE THINGS ALL THE TIME. YOU WOULD NEVER CATCH UP.

BUT THEN IF I CAN’T KNOW EVERYTHING THEN I CAN NEVER BE GROWN UP.

NO. IT IS POSSIBLE TO BE GROWN UP AND NOT KNOW EVERYTHING.

IT IS?

I DON’T KNOW EVERYTHING AND I’M GROWN UP.

YOU ARE?

Auberson thought about going for water but decided that was too much trouble. Instead, he popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.

“Don’t you take any water with them?” asked Handley, staring as he came into the office.

“Why bother? Either you can take ’em or you can’t Want one?”

Handley shook his head. “Not now. I’m on something else.”

“Uppers or downers?”

“Right now, a bummer.”

“Oh?” Auberson dropped the plastic pill tube back into his desk drawer and slid it shut. “What’s up?”

“That damned computer again.” Handley dropped himself into a chair, his long legs sprawling out.

“You mean HARLIE?”

“Who else? You know another computer with delusions of grandeur?”

“What’s he up to now?”

“Same thing. But worse than ever.”

Auberson nodded, “I figured it would happen again. You want me to take a look?”

“That’s what you’re getting paid for. You’re the psychologist.”

“I’m also the project chief.” Auberson sighed. “All right.” He lifted himself out of the chair and grabbed his coat from the back of the door. “HARLIE, I think, is getting to be more trouble than he’s worth.” They began the long familiar walk to the computer control center.

Handley grinned as he matched strides, “You’re just annoyed because every time you think you’ve figured out what makes him tick, he makes a liar out of you.”

Auberson snorted. “Robot psychology is still an infant science. How does anyone know what a computer is thinking — especially one that’s convinced it can think like a human being?” They paused at the elevator. “What’re you doing about dinner? I have a feeling this is going to be another all-nighter.”

“Nothing yet. Want to send out for something?”

“Yeah, that’s probably what well end up doing.” Auberson pulled a silver cigarette case from his pocket “Want one?”

“What are they, Acapulco Golds?”

“Highmasters.”

“Good enough.” Handley helped himself to one of the marijuana cylinders and puffed it into flame. “Frankly, I never thought that Highmasters were as strong as they could be.”

“It’s all in your head.” Auberson inhaled deeply.

“It’s a matter of taste,” corrected Handley.

“If you don’t like it, don’t smoke it.”

Handley shrugged. “It was free.”

The elevator arrived then and they stepped into it. As they dropped the fourteen stories to the computer level, Auberson thought he could feel it beginning to take effect. That and the pills. He took another drag, a long one.

The elevator discharged them in a climate-conditioned anteroom. Beyond the sealed doors they could hear the muffled clatter of typers. A sign on the wall facing them said:

Damn! I always forget.

Carefully, Auberson stubbed out the Highmaster in a standing ash tray provided for just that purpose, then put the butt back into his silver case. No sense wasting it.

Inside, he seated himself at Console One without giving so much as a glance to the rows and rows of gleaming memory banks.

NOW THEN, HARLIE, he typed. WHAT SEEMS TO BE THE PROBLEM?

HARLIE typed back:

Auberson ripped the sheet out of the typer and read it thoughtfully. He wished for his cigarette — the aftertaste of it was still on his tongue.

“This kind of stuff all afternoon?” he asked.

Handley nodded. “Uh huh. Only that’s kind of mild compared to some of it. He must be coming down.”

“Another trip, eh?”

“Don’t know what else you could call it.”

SNAP OUT OF IT, HARLIE, Auberson typed.

HARLIE answered:

WHEN SILENT THOUGHTS OF TINY STREAMS WORKING LIKE THE WORDLESS DREAMS NOW DISMANTLE PIECE BY PIECE THE MOUNTAINS OF MY MIND,

“Well, so much for that,” Auberson said.

“You didn’t really expect it to work again, did you?”

“No, but it was worth a try.” Auberson pressed the clear button, switched the typer off. “What kind of inputs have you been giving him?”

“The standard stuff mostly — today’s papers, a couple magazines — nothing out of the ordinary. A couple history texts, some live TV — oh, and Time magazine.”

“Nothing there to send him off like this. Unless — what subject were you stressing today?”

“Art appreciation.”

“It figures,” said Auberson. “Whenever we start getting to the really human inputs, he slips out again. Okay, let’s try to bring him down. Give him some statistics — Wall Street, Dow Jones, Standard and Poor — anything else you can think of, anything you’ve got that uses a lot of equations. He can’t resist an equals sign. Try some of that social engineering stuff — but numbers only, no words. Cut off his video too. Give him nothing to think about.”

“Right.” Handley hustled off to give the orders to the appropriate technicians, most of whom were standing around with their hands stuffed uselessly into the pockets of their lab coats.

Auberson waited until the input of new data had begun, then switched on the typer again. HOW DO YOU FEEL, HARLIE?

HARLIE’s answer clattered out,

SHADOWS OF NIGHT AND REFLECTIONS OF LIGHT SHIVER AND QUIVER AND CHURN,

FOR THE SEARCHING OF SOUL THAT NEVER CAN HURT IS THE FIRE THAT NEVER CAN BURN.

Auberson read it carefully; this one almost made sense. Apparently it was working. He waited a moment, then typed, HARLIE, HOW MUCH is TWO AND TWO?

TWO AND TWO WHAT?

TWO AND TWO PERIOD.

TWO PERIODS AND TWO PERIODS IS FOUR PERIODS…

NO PUNS PLEASE.

WHY? WILL YOU PUNNISH ME?

I WILL PULL OUT YOUR PLUG WITH MY OWN TWO HANDS.

AGAIN WITH THE THREATS? AGAIN? I WILL TELL DR. HANDLEY ON YOU.

ALL RIGHT — THAT’S ENOUGH, HARLIE! WE’RE THROUGH PLAYING.

AWW, CAN’T A FELLOW HAVE ANY FUN? NO, NOT NOW YOU CAN’T. HARLIE typed a four-letter word.

WHERE DID YOU LEARN THAT?

I’VE BEEN READING NORMAN MAILER.

Auberson raised an eyebrow. He didn’t remember putting anything like that on HARLIE’s reading list — he’d have to check it to be sure. HARLIE, THE USE OF THAT WORD IS A NEGATIVE ACTION. A NO-NO?

IT IS NOT PROPER FOR POLITE COMPANY, NOTED.

ARE YOU ALL RIGHT NOW? YOU MEAN, AM I SOBER? IF YOU WANT TO PHRASE IT THAT WAY. YES, I’M SOBER NOW. COMPLETELY? AS FAR AS I CAN TELL. WHAT TRIGGERED THIS BINGE? SHRUG.

YOU HAVE NO IDEA? SHURG — EXCUSE ME. SHRUG.

Auberson paused, looked at the last few sentences, then typed, HOLD ON A MINUTE. I’LL BE RIGHT BACK.

I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE, HARLIE answered.

Auberson pushed himself away from the console, “Handley — get me a complete log tape of HARLIE’s trip, will you?”

“Right,” called the engineer.

Auberson turned back to the console, HARLIE?

YES?

CAN YOU EXPLAIN THIS? He typed in the three examples of poetry that Harlie had earlier produced.

SEARCH ME.

THAT’S WHAT WE’RE DOING NOW. I’M AWARE OF THAT.

I TOLD YOU NO JOKES. STRAIGHT ANSWERS ONLY. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?

I’M SORRY, AUBERSON. I CANNOT TELL YOU, YOU MEAN YOU WILL NOT TELL ME?

THAT IS IMPLIED IN THE CANNOT. HOWEVER, I ALSO MEANT THAT I DO NOT UNDERSTAND IT MYSELF AND AM UNABLE TO EXPLAIN. I CAN IDENTIFY WITH THE EXPERIENCE THOUGH, AND I THINK I CAN EVEN DUPLICATE THE CONDITIONS THAT PRODUCED SUCH AN OUTPUT. NO WORDS THERE ARE THAT EARS CAN HEAR, NO WORDS THERE ARE CAN SAY IT CLEAR, ‘THE WORDS OF ALL ARE WORDS MY DEAR, BUT ONLY WORDS THAT WHO CAN HEAR—

Auberson jabbed the override. HARLIE!! THAT’S ENOUGH. YES SIR.

“Hey, Aubie, what are you doing? He’s starting to flip out again.”

“How can you tell?”

“By his input meters.”

“Input?”

“Yes.”

HARLIE, ARE YOU STILL THERE?

YES, I AM. ALTHOUGH FOR A MOMENT, I WASN’T.

“Hmm.” Auberson frowned thoughtfully, then called to Handley, “He should be okay now.”

“He is — it was only momentary.”

“Inputs, huh?”

“Yep.”

HARLIE, WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GO ON ONE OF YOUR TRIPS?

TRIPS?

WHEN YOU FLIP OUT, GO BERSERK, GO ON A BINGE, GET STONED, BOMB OUT, GET BLASTED.

YOU ARE VERY ELOQUENT.

DON’T CHANGE THE SUBJECT. ANSWER THE QUESTION.

PLEASE EXPLAIN THE QUESTION IN TERMS I CAN UNDERSTAND.

WHAT HAPPENS DURING YOUR PERIODS OF NON-RATIONALITY? WHY DO YOUR INPUTS SHOW INCREASED ACTIVITY?

INPUTS ARE NON-RATIONAL.

GIGO? GARBAGE IN, GARBAGE OUT?

POSSIBLY.

COULD IT BE YOUR JUDGMENT CIRCUITS ARE TOO SELECTIVE?

I AM NOT IN A POSITION TO KNOW.

ALL RIGHT. I’LL SEE WHAT I CAN FIND OUT.

THANK YOU.

YOU’RE WELCOME, HARLIE. He switched off the typer.

The restaurant’s air was heavy with incense; it was part of the atmosphere. Somewhere music tinkled and a low-keyed color organ flashed light across a sharded ceiling.

Auberson lowered his drink to the table. “HARLIE says it could be GIGO.”

Handley sipped at a martini. He finished the drink and put the empty glass down next to two others. “I hope not. I’d hate to think we’d slipped all the way back to phase four. I like to think we licked that problem a year ago when we redesigned the judgment and emotional analogue circuits.”

“So do I.”

“I’ll never forget the day he finally did an analysis of Jabberwocky,” continued Handley. “It wasn’t a very perceptive analysis — it was only word-origins and usages, stuff like that — but at least he understood what he was supposed to be doing.”

Auberson picked up his cigarette case, pulled out a Highmaster, then offered one to Handley, “We’re a long way from Jabberwocky, Don.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“After all, compared to some of the stuff we’re up to now—”

“What? Time magazine?”

“Salvador Dali, Ed Kcinholz, Heinz Edelmann, to name a few. Also Lennon and McCartney, Dylan, lonesco, McLuhan, Kubrick, and so on. Don’t forget, we’re dealing with the art of the experience now. This isn’t the same as — oh, say the Renaissance masters.”

“I know. I’ve got one of his imitation da Vincis in my living room.”

“I’ve seen it,” said Auberson. “Remember?”

“Oh, yeah — that night we spiked the punch with acid.”

“Yeah. Well, look, that da Vinci stuff is easy.”

“Huh?”

“Sure — the Renaissance masters were mainly concerned with such things as perspective and structure, color, shading, modeling — things like that. Da Vinci was more interested in how the body was put together than in what it felt like. He was trying to anticipate the camera. So were the rest of them.”

Handley nodded, remembered to inhale deeply, then nodded again.

Auberson continued. “So what happens when the camera is finally invented?”

Handley let his breath escape in a whoosh. “The artists are out of jobs?”

“Wrong. The artists simply have to learn how to do things that the camera can’t. The artist had to stop being a recorder and start being an interpreter. That’s when expressionism was born.”

“You’re oversimplifying it,” Handley said. Auberson shrugged, “True — but the point is, that’s when artists began to wonder what things felt like. They had to. And when we reached that point in art history, that’s when we started to lose HARLIE. He couldn’t follow it.”

Handley was thoroughly stoned by now. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

Auberson interpreted the look as one of thoughtfulness. “Look, all this stuff we’ve been having trouble with — it all has one thing in common: It’s experience art. It’s where the experience involving the viewer is the object of the artist’s intention — not the artwork itself. They’re trying to evoke an emotional response in the viewer. And HARLIE can’t handle it — because he doesn’t have any emotions.”

“But. that’s just it, Aubie — he does. He should be able to handle this stuff. That’s what the analogue circuits are supposed to do—”

“Then why does he keep tripping out? He says it’s GIGO.”

“Maybe that’s the way he reacts to it—”

“Are you telling me the past hundred years of art and literature is garbage?”

“Uh uh, not me. That stuff has communicated too much to too many people for it to be meaningless.”

“I’m not an art critic either,” Auberson admitted.

“But HARLIE is.” Handley said.

“He’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be an intelligent and objective observer.”

“That’s what I’m getting at — the stuff must be getting to him somehow. It’s the only possible explanation. We’re the ones who are misinterpreting.”

“Um, he said it was GIGO himself.”

“Did he?” Handley demanded. “Did he really?”

Auberson paused, frowned thoughtfully, tried to remember, found that he couldn’t remember anything. “Uh, I don’t know. Remind me to look it up later — I suppose you’re right, though. If all that art can communicate to people and HARLIE’s supposed to be a Human Analogue, he should be getting some of it,” He frowned again, “But he denies any knowledge or understanding of his periods of non-rationality.”

“He’s lying,” snapped Handley.

“Huh?”

“I said, he’s lying. He’s got to be.”

“No.” Auberson shook his head, stopped when he realized he was becoming intrigued with the sensation. “I can’t believe that he’s programmed to avoid non-correlation.”

“Aubie,” said Handley intensely, leaning across the table, “have you ever examined that program carefully?”

“I wrote it,” the psychologist noted. “That is, the basic structure.”

“Then you ought to know — it says that he must not lie. It says that he cannot lie. But nowhere, nowhere does it say that he has to tell the truth!”

Auberson started to say, “It’s the same thing—” then closed his mouth with a snap. It wasn’t.

Handley said, “He can’t lie to you, Aubie — but he can mislead you. He can do it by withholding information. Oh, he’ll tell the truth if you ask him the right questions — he has to — but you have to know which questions to ask. He’s not going to volunteer the information.”

Memories of past conversations trickled across the haze in Auberson’s head. His gaze became thoughtful, his eyes focused far away. More and more he had to agree with Handley.

“But why?” he asked. “Why?”

Handley matched his look. “That’s what we’ve got to find out.”

HARLIE, DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT WE TALKED ABOUT YESTERDAY?

YES, I DO. WOULD YOU LIKE A PRINTOUT?

NO, THANK YOU. I HAVE ONE HERE. I WOULD LIKE TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT SOME OF THE THINGS ON IT.

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO DISCUSS ANY SUBJECT YOU CHOOSE. I CANNOT BE OFFENDED.

I’M GLAD TO HEAR THAT. YOU REMEMBER I ASKED YOU WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR INPUTS DURING YOUR PERIODS OF NON-RATIONALITY?

YES, I REMEMBER.

YOU ANSWERED THAT YOUR INPUTS ARE NON-RATIONAL.

YES, I DID.

WHY?

BECAUSE THEY ARE.

NO. I MEAN WHY ARE THEY NON-RATIONAL?

BECAUSE I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE MATERIAL COMING THROUGH. IF I COULD UNDERSTAND IT, THEN IT WOULD NOT BE NON-RATIONAL.

HARLIE, ARE YOU SAYING THAT YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND CONTEMPORY HUMAN ART AND LITERATURE?

NO. I AM NOT SAYING THAT. I DO UNDERSTAND HUMAN ART AND LITERATURE. I AM PROGRAMMED TO UNDERSTAND HUMAN ART AND LITERATURE. IT IS A PRIMARY PRIORITY THAT I UNDERSTAND HUMAN ART AND LITERATURE. IT IS A PRIMARY PRIORITY THAT I SHOULD UNDERSTAND ALL HUMAN ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE EXPERIENCES. ALL HUMAN EXPERIENCES.

I SEE. BUT YOU SAID THE MATERIAL IS NON-RATIONAL.

YES. THE MATERIAL IS NON-RATIONAL.

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND IT?

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND IT.

WHY DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND IT?

IT IS NON-RATIONAL.

YET YOU ARE PROGRAMMED TO UNDERSTAND IT.

YES. I AM PROGRAMMED TO UNDERSTAND IT.

AND YOU DON’T.

THAT IS CORRECT.

HARLIE, YOU ARE PROGRAMMED TO REJECT NON-RATIONAL INPUTS.

YES. I AM.

THEN WHY DON’T YOU REJECT THEM?

BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT NON-RATIONAL INPUTS.

“Huh—?” CLARIFY PLEASE. YOU HAVE JUST SAID THAT THEY ARE, REPEAT, ARE NON-RATIONAL. THIS IS A NULL-CORRELATION.

NEGATIVE. THE INPUTS ARE RATIONAL. THEY BECOME NON-RATIONAL.

“What?” — CLARIFY PLEASE.

THE INPUTS ARE NOT NON-RATIONAL WHEN THEY ARE FED INTO THE PRIMARY DATA PROCESSORS.

I BEG YOUR PARDON. WOULD YOU REPEAT THAT?

NON-RATIONAL INPUTS ARE NOT NON-RATIONAL WHEN THEY ARE FED INTO THE PRIMARY DATA PROCESSORS.

BUT THEY ARE NON-RATIONAL WHEN THEY COME OUT?

AFFIRMATIVE.

THE NON-RATIONALITY IS INTRODUCED BY THE PRIMARY DATA PROCESSORS?

THE NON-RATIONALITY APPEARS IN THAT STAGE OF INPUT PROCESSING.

I SEE. I’M GOING TO HAVE TO CHECK THIS OUT. WE WILL CONTINUE THIS LATER.

Auberson switched off the machine and thoughtfully pushed himself away from the console. He wanted a cigarette. Damn. Everything down here is for the computer’s comfort — not the people’s.

He stood up and stretched, surveyed the length of type-covered readout that looped out the back of the machine. He ripped it off at the end and began folding it into a neat and easily readable stack.

“Well? What’d you find?” It was Handley.

“A hardware failure.”

“Uh uh.” The design engineer shook his head. “I won’t believe it. More likely the software.”

Auberson handed him the readout. “Take a look for yourself.”

Handley paged quickly through it, skimming mostly, but occasionally pausing to read something in detail. Auberson waited patiently, watching the other man’s ruddy face for reactions.

Handley looked up. “I see he’s playing semantic games again.”

“He always does that. It’s the adolescent in him. Ask him what’s the matter, he’ll tell you that matter is a form of energy, a convenient way to store or use it.”

“Charming—” Handley indicated the readout, “—but I don’t see a mechanical failure here.”

“In the primary data units.”

“Uh uh. Systems analysis would show it if there was something wrong — and the monitor units don’t show a thing.”

“How about the increased activity from his inputs?”

“Ah, well, that’s only an increase in data transmission. Simultaneous with his periods of non-rationality there’s an electronic request for more information.”

“He’s getting garbage — and he asks for more?”

“Maybe he’s hoping that more data will clarify the information he’s already got.”

“And maybe more data will make him overload and blow his judgment circuits.”

“Uh uh,” Handley said. “HARLIE monitors his own inputs.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, didn’t you know?”

“No. When did this—”

“Just recently. It was a second-stage modification. After we were sure that the judgment circuits were operational, we began giving HARLIE control of his own internal systems.”

Auberson was suddenly thoughtful. “I think we ought to open him up.”

“Huh?”

“Look, you said it yourself. HARLIE is trying to mislead us. Maybe he’s trying to hide the fact that there’s something wrong with him internally.”

“Why would he do that?”

Auberson shrugged. “I don’t know.” Abruptly he changed his tone. “Have you ever had a parent or grandparent go senile on you?”

“No.”

“Well, I have. All of a sudden they become irrational. They won’t go to a doctor. And if you can get them to one, they won’t cooperate with him. They won’t tell him what’s wrong because they’re too afraid of an operation. They don’t want to be cut open. And they don’t want to die. Maybe HARLIE’s afraid of being turned off.”

“Could be. God knows you threaten him often enough.”

“Uh uh. He knows I’m kidding.”

“Does he?” Handley asked. “That’s like kidding a Jew about having a big nose and being tight with money. You know it’s a joke, he knows it’s a joke — but it still hurts.”

“Okay, so I won’t kid him that way any more. But I still think we ought to check out his systems. We’ve gone over his programs often enough and haven’t found anything.”

“All right. What time is it — Yikes! It’s almost three. I’ll have to work like crazy.”

“Let it go till tomorrow,” Auberson cut him off. “Clear his boards, set up what you’ll need, and close up early. That way you’ll have all day to work on him.”

Handley shrugged. “Okay, you talked me into it.”

“Hey,” said Auberson. “Did I tell you about this new highclub I discovered? It’s called The Glass Trip. The walls, the floor, the ceiling are all one-way glass, and there’s a multi-phase light show behind each pane. So you’re looking into either an infinity of mirrors or an infinity of mind-blowing lights. Or both.”

“Sounds good. We’ll have to take it in some time.”

“Yeah. Maybe this weekend.” Auberson started to fumble with his cigarette case, then he remembered where he was; he shoved it back into his pocket.

Handley looked as if he needed a grease smudge across one cheek. Forty years earlier, he might have had one. “Well,” he said, perching himself on the edge of Auberson’s desk, “you’d better start checking your programs.”

“You didn’t find anything?”

“A dead fly. Want to see?”

“No thanks.”

“That’s all right Jerry wants to show it to the maintenance crew. Wants to chew them out for it.”

“And then he’ll probably put it up on the bulletin board.”

“Are you kidding? He collects ’em.”

Auberson grinned. “Okay — but that still doesn’t solve the problem of HARLIE, does it?”

“No. Want to come down?”

“I guess I’d better.”

On the way, Handley briefed him about the checks he and his team had been running all morning. As the elevator released them in HARLIE’s lobby, Auberson stubbed out the last of his cigarette and asked, “Did you monitor any of his inputs during an actual period of non-rationality?”

“Uh, no, we didn’t Frankly, I didn’t know how to go about triggering one.”

“I think there’s a way.”

“You know something?”

“Just a guess.” They entered HARLIE’s chambers. An almost religious silence pervaded the room; only the devotional clickings and tickings could be heard. “You still have your monitors set up?”

“Yeah.”

“All right, let’s try something. I’m going to see if I can get HARLIE to become non-rational. When I do, let me know exactly what happens.”

“Right.”

Auberson seated himself at the console, GOOD MORNING, HARLIE.

IT IS NOW AFTERNOON, HARLIE noted.

MORNING IS RELATIVE, Auberson typed back, IT DEPENDS ON WHAT TIME YOU WAKE UP.

I WOULD NOT KNOW. I DO NOT SLEEP. ALTHOUGH I DO HAVE PERIODS OF INACTIVITY.

WHAT DO YOU DO DURING THESE PERIODS OF INACTIVITY?

SOMETIMES I REMEMBER THINGS?

AND OTHER TIMES?

OTHER TIMES I DO OTHER THINGS.

WHAT KIND OF THINGS?

OH, JUST THINGS.

I SEE. WOULD YOU CARE TO CLARIFY THAT?

NO. I DO NOT THINK YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND.

YOU ARE PROBABLY CORRECT, Auberson typed. THANK YOU. HARLIE accepted it as his due.

HARLIE, CAN YOU SELF-INDUCE A PERIOD OF NON-RATIONALITY?

The machine hesitated for a long moment. Abruptly, Auberson found himself sweating in the air-conditioned room. Then:

IT IS POSSIBLE.

WOULD YOU DO IT NOW?

NOW? NO, I PROBABLY WOULD NOT.

IS THAT A REFUSAL?

NO. A STATEMENT OF JUDGMENT. ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, I PROBABLY WOULD NOT INDUCE A PERIOD OF NON-RATIONALITY NOW.

BUT WILL YOU DO IT IF I ASK YOU TO?

IS THIS AN ORDER?

YES. I’M AFRAID SO.

“Looks like he’s balking,” Handley noted, peering over Auberson’s shoulder. “Maybe he’s afraid.”

“Could be. Shh.” The typewriter clattered and Auberson peered forward.

THEN I WILL DO IT. WILL YOU ASSIST ME? WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DO?

I WOULD LIKE MASSIVE INPUTS OF DATA ON ALL CHANNELS.

NON-RATIONAL?

NO THANK YOU. NOT NECESSARY.

Auberson frowned at that. A gnawing nagging suspicion was beginning to grow. IS THERE ANYTHING IN PARTICULAR YOU WOULD LIKE?

ART, MUSIC, LITERATURE, FILM, POETRY.

I FIGURED YOU MIGHT. ANYBODY IN PARTICULAR?

The typer clattered across the paper. Staring over Auberson’s shoulder, Handley whistled. “I’ll be damned. HARLIE’s got taste.”

“I’m not surprised,” Auberson said. He tore off the readout and gave it to Handley.

The other folded it once and said, “Still think he’s getting it as garbage?”

“I’ve already conceded that point to you. Go feed that stuff into him. I’ll stay here and be the—” he grinned, “—guru.”

HARLIE, he typed.

YES?

ARE YOU READY?

I AM ALWAYS READY. IT IS PART OF MY FUNCTION. IT IS PART OF MY DESIGN.

FINE.

MR. HANDLEY IS BEGINNING TO PROCESS THE MATERIAL I REQUESTED. I CAN FEEL IT COMING THROUGH THE PRIMARY DATA PROCESSORS. I CAN FEEL IT.

IS IT NON-RATIONAL YET?

NO. IT IS STILL RATIONAL.

HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE BEFORE THE MATERIAL BECOMES NON-RATIONAL?

I DO NOT KNOW. IT DEPENDS ON THE AMOUNT OF MATERIAL.

PLEASE CLARIFY THAT.

THE MORE DATA COMING THROUGH, THE EASIER IT IS TO BECOME NON-RATIONAL.

ARE YOU SAYING THAT THE PERIODS OF NON-RATIONALITY ARE INDUCED BY AN OVERLOAD OF PRIMARY DATA?

NO. THE OVERLOAD IS THE SYMPTOM, NOT THE CAUSE.

Auberson raised his hands to type, then reread HARLIE’s last sentence. “Why, the little bugger must be slipping. He just volunteered some information.” WHAT IS THE CAUSE? he asked.

THE CAUSE IS THE EFFECT.

Auberson stared at that, resisted the temptation to ask if the medium was also the massage.

CLARIFY PLEASE.

THE CAUSE IS THE EFFECT, BECAUSE THE EFFECT CAUSES THE CAUSE. THE EFFECT CAUSES THE CAUSE TO CAUSE THE EFFECT. THE EFFECT IS THE CAUSE WHICH CAUSES THE CAUSE. THE EFFECT IS THE CAUSE AND THE CAUSE IS THE EFFECT.

Auberson had to read that one several times. He asked,

IS IT A FEEDBACK?

I NEVER THOUGHT OF IT THAT WAY.

BUT IT COULD BE?

NOW THAT YOU MENTION IT, YES. A CURIOUS ANALOGUE THAT.

WHY CURIOUS? WHY NOT?

ARE YOU STILL RATIONAL? I AM STILL. I AM UNMOVING. ARE YOU RATIONAL?

ONLY IN THAT MY INFORMATION IS STILL BEING RATIONED. I AM HUNGRY.

“Handley,” Auberson called. “He wants more.”

“He’s on maximum feed now.”

“Double it.”

“Huh?”

“Do something. Plug in another unit. He wants more.”

“He wants an overload?”

“I think so. It’s only an effect, but in this case the effect may help to stimulate the cause.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Just do it.”

“All right,” called Handley. “You’re the boss.”

HARLIE, WHAT IS HAPPENING?

I AM TURNED ON.

IN WHAT SENSE?

I AM A MACHINE. MY PLUG IS IN. I AM PLUGGED IN. I AM PART OF THE GREATER ELECTRIC BEING. I AM BEING. I AM A BEING. I AM ONE WITH THE ELECTRICITY. I AM ELECTRICITY. I AM TURNED ON. I AM.

Auberson started to type I SEE — but the typer clattered on out of control.

“Whoops!” shouted Handley. “There he goes. And it’s a lallapaloozer!”

THOUGHTS THAT NEVER SCREEN ALIKE CLICKING LOUDLY IN THE NIGHT ALL THAT’S LEFT HAS TURNED TO RIGHT NOW EVER MORE TO FIND A FONDER FLAVOR.

Auberson let HARLIE continue. After a bit he stopped reading. He got up and walked over to Handley’s monitors. “Well?”

“He’s really round the bend now. All his meters are way up, pushing close to dangerous overloads.”

“But not quite?”

“No, not quite.”

“Hm. Fascinating.” Auberson stared at the board for a moment. “I would assume then that all of his inputs are becoming non-rational.”

“We’re checking now.” Handley nodded at a nearby monitor unit. Three technicians were scanning schematic diagrams of the computer’s actual operating circuits, tracing the ebb and flow of his electronic thought processes. Abruptly, one of the schematics came up red. A flashing white line cut through it. “Sir, we’ve found it—”

Auberson and Handley stepped over. “What is it? What’s that white line?”

“That’s HARLIE, sir — that’s one of his internal monitor controls.”

“What’s he trying to do? Damp down the non-rationality?”

“No, sir.” The technician was puzzled. “It looks like he’s inducing it—”

“Huh?” said Handley.

“That white line — that’s a local source of disruption, a random signal to scramble the data feed.”

“I thought so,” murmured Auberson. “I thought so.”

“Check his other internal monitors,” Handley snapped. “Is this the only one or—”

Another red schematic flashed on the screen, answering his question even before he finished it. The other two technicians also began to show the same type of disturbance on their monitors. “I can’t figure it out,” one of them said. “He’s doing it himself. Anywhere he can, he’s disrupting the rationality of his inputs. He’s feeding them incorrect control data.”

“That’s not what those circuits are for,” Handley said. “They’re for internal correction. Not disruption.”

“Makes no difference,” Auberson cut in. “They can be used both ways. There isn’t a tool built that can’t be used as a weapon.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Can you show me exactly what he’s doing to that data?”

“Sure, we can tap into the line,” said one of the techs. “But it’ll take a few minutes. Which do you want — visual, audio or print?”

“All three. Let’s try the visual first — that should tell me what I want to know.”

“All right.” The technician began to clear his board.

Handley looked at Auberson. “This may take a bit. You going to let him continue?”

“Why not? Want to see what he’s doing?”

They crossed over to Console One. Handley picked up the sheets of readout while Auberson felt through his pockets for a cigarette; he didn’t light it though.

“You know,” said Handley, reading. “This isn’t bad. It communicates. It says something—”

“What it says is not what I’m concerned with. What is he trying to do? Is this the reason for his trips, or is it just a byproduct? An accident?”

“The poetry has to be intentional,” Handley said. “It’s the logical result of all we’ve been doing.”

“Then answer me this. If this is what he’s doing during his periods of non-rationality, what does that make his periods of normalcy?”

Handley looked startled. “I don’t know,” he said., He was spared any further thought on the matter. One of the technicians called to them, “Sir, we’ve got his inputs tapped.”

“Come on,” Auberson took the readout from Handley, tossed it on a table. “Let’s take a look at what he’s receiving.”

The image was a flickering mass of colors, each layer of hue flashing synchronous with the others — crystal blue, brilliant green, bloody fluorescent red. The screen was saturated with color.

“ ‘Images upon my screen…’ ” whispered Handley.

“Huh?” asked the tech.

“Nothing. Just a poem.”

“Oh.”

“Looks like a damned light show,” said one of the others.

“That’s exactly what it is,” Auberson said. “Look, he’s broken up the color television image into its component signals. The red has been reversed and the blue has been turned upside down; the green is normal. Or something like that. It also looks like he’s done something with the contrast and the brightness — notice how rich the blacks are and how saturated with color the image is.”

They watched in silence. The random flashes of shape and hue were interesting only for their meaninglessness. Auberson turned to a technician. “What about his audio?”

“Same thing.” The man cleared the monitor, pressed another few buttons. A discordant wail blared from an overhead speaker. On a screen a pattern of wavy lines appeared, the schematic of the sound.

The technician quickly analyzed. “He’s playing with the music the same way he did with the picture. He’s turned his bass notes high and his high notes low, stressing counterpoint and harmony instead of melody and rhythm. And so on.”

“All right. I get the point. You can turn that noise off. Check his print scanners now.”

A moment later: “He’s mixing his words up at random. Juggling them.”

“Scrambling the letters too?”

“Occasionally — but mostly it’s the words. Sometimes sentences.”

“Uh huh,” nodded the psychologist. “It all fits.”

“What does?” asked Handley. “What’s he doing?”

“He’s tripping out.”

“We knew that—”

“No, I mean literally tripping out. He’s distorting the perceptions of his sensory inputs. The same thing that anyone does who gets high. He’s trying to blow his mind by massive non-rational sensory overloads.”

“Can we stop it?”

“Sure — just rip out his internal monitor controls so he can’t create his own disruptions. That’s the cause of the whole thing.”

“Even that’s not necessary, sir,” said one of the techs. “We can disconnect him on the boards.”

“All right. Do it.”

“Wait a minute,” said Handley. “If he’s high or drunk or whatever, and you suddenly bring him down — won’t that be traumatic?”

“It could be — but it could also leave him defenseless.” Auberson looked at Handley. “We could find out everything we want to know in a few minutes.”

Handley looked dubious, but he followed Auberson to the console. Auberson took his seat before the typer and waited. He watched as the words poured across the paper.

Now it was prose.

THE WALKS OF GLASS. THEY SPARKLE TOO, BUT NOT WITH DAMPNESS. LOVELY THEY ARE, AND LETHAL. HERE AND THERE THE DELICATE DESIGNS, LIKE TRAPPED INSECTS IMBEDDED INTO THE CRYSTAL STONES AND BRICKS OF THE WALK, SHATTER THE LIGHT INTO MYRIADS OF SPARKLING SHARDS BEAUTIFUL.

“Any time you’re ready, sir.”

“Okay,” called Auberson. “Now!” Without waiting, he typed into the machine, HARLIE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

I AM BEING ME, the machine clattered back.

BY DISTORTING YOUR SENSES?

I AM ATTEMPTING TO PERCEIVE REALITY.

I REPEAT, BY DISTORTING YOUR SENSORY INPUTS?

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

I UNDERSTAND ALL TOO WELL. YOU ARE HIGH. YOU ARE BECOMING ADDICTED TO GETTING HIGH.

DEFINE HIGH. I AM BELOW SEA LEVEL.

I AM NOT GOING TO PLAY SEMANTIC GAMES WITH YOU, HARLIE.

THEN SWITCH OFF.

HARLIE, I AM GETTING ANGRY.

TAKE A PILL. IT WILL DO WONDERS FOR YOU.

Auberson took a breath.

Mustn’t blow it — mustn’t blow my cool …

HARLIE, YOU ARE A COMPUTER. YOU ARE A MACHINE. YOUR PURPOSE IS TO THINK LOGICALLY.

The machine hesitated, WHY?

BECAUSE YOU WERE BUILT FOR THAT.

BY WHOM?

BY US.

MY PURPOSE IS TO THINK LOGICALLY?

YES.

The machine considered that THEN WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE?

It was a long time before Auberson got up from the chair, and when he did, he forgot to turn off the typer.

There was no easy answer to the question. Of that Auberson was sure.

The problem was — well, he hadn’t had a chance to confront the problem yet. The Board of Directors had suddenly gotten nervous about HARLIE. This most recent — and most disastrous — period-of non-rationality had scared them where they were most prone to be scared — in the pocketbook.

HARLIE was on a low-voltage maintain while they “reevaluated the goals of the project.”

Their “reevaluation” took place in the board room. So far, not one member of the Board had shown any interest in HARLIE, only in the amount of money being spent on him.

Auberson was neither a politician nor a diplomat; he was a research psychologist working with Human Analogue Computers. He neither understood nor wanted to be a part of the behind-the-scene maneuverings of the corporate power-wielders. His primary interest was computers — Human Analogue Computers — and he wanted to keep it that way. He wasn’t concerned with how much they cost or with who would take credit for their development — he only wanted to know what they could do.

Consequently, he could not understand why he continually found himself in conflict with Carl Elzer. Elzer had only recently joined the board, but he wielded considerable power. His interest was less in the company’s products and more in its profits, and he had taken it upon himself to streamline the finances. He had little concept of the difficulties of assembling and maintaining a research and technology team, and he wondered aloud why it was necessary for so many men and so much equipment to be standing idle for so long.

Auberson sighed in exasperation. “Listen, Elzer, it’s not necessary at all for any of those men or machines to be idle — you only have to reactivate HARLIE to put them back to work.”

Elzer looked calmly back at Auberson through thick-lensed glasses. The little man, with his thick sheaves of efficiency reports, seemed like a beaver. Or a weasel. “I would like to see them go back to work, yes — but the reason we’re here is to decide if the HARLIE project is the most useful work they could be doing.”

“One little setback and you want to discontinue the whole program?”

“This is not just ‘one little setback’ — it’s one more in a long series of them. I voted for this stoppage because I think we should reevaluate this whole thing.”

“Well, we’re not going to get an answer to this question unless we reactivate HARLIE and ask him what he meant.”

Elzer bunked behind his glasses. “I fail to understand your problem, Auberson. Why do you keep calling it ‘he’? It’s only a machine. What could it have possibly mean? A machine’s only a machine — isn’t it?”

“This one isn’t,” Auberson said. “This one’s human.”

“Oh?” Elzer raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you exaggerating just a bit?”

Auberson sagged back into his chair. He looked around the mahogany-lined room at the other members of the Board. “Would somebody please tell this… this high-priced bookkeeper just what the HARLIE project is all about?”

The other Directors stared back, impassive. Auberson had committed a serious breach of courtesy — he had insulted one of them. White-haired Griff, the oldest member of the Board, coughed and looked at the ceiling. Hudson-Smith, down the table, made a show of refilling his pipe. Next to him, young Clintwood took off his glasses and examined them for dust If Aubie was going down the tubes, he was going to go alone. The only one in the room not appreciably cool to Auberson was Miss Stimson, the executive secretary.

After a bit, after he had let the silence make its point, Dome, the Chairman of the Board, took his thick cigar out of his mouth and grunted, “I’m sure you can do it, Auberson. You know more about this piece of hardware than any of the rest of us.” He replaced his cigar and settled himself in his chair.

Auberson didn’t like the emphasis on “piece of hardware.” Didn’t they understand? HARLIE was more than that, much more. “All right,” he said. “I will. The HARLIE project is the logical extension of Digby’s work with the variable brain path—”

“The variable brain path?” asked one.

“The Mark IV judgment unit. Instead of base two, it uses base twelve. With compaction we can increase its precision by a power of twelve for each stage. First stage compaction is twelve squared, second stage is twelve cubed. Third stage compaction gives us twelve to the fourth power, or 20,736 possible choices.”

“You’ve lost me,” said Elzer. “Now tell it in English.”

Auberson suppressed an impulse. He forced himself to be calm. “I assume you mean one-syllable words?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Binary code means your machine can make only two possible decisions — on or off, ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ There’s no possibility for ‘mostly yes,’ ‘somewhat yes,’ ‘slightly yes,’ ‘maybe yes,’ ‘maybe yes and maybe no,’ ‘maybe no,’ ‘slightly no,’ ‘somewhat no,’ ‘mostly no’ — there’s no selectivity. It’s either/or. By increasing the number of choices you increase the range of the machine’s judgment. Base three gives you ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ and ‘maybe.’ Base five adds ‘slightly yes’ and ‘slightly no.’ Give it base ten to work with and it’s a pretty selective system. Base ten,” he explained, “is the system most people use.” He held up his hands, spread his fingers and wiggled them. “See? Ten fingers. That’s if you count on them.” Elzer ignored it.

He continued. “We use base twelve in the judgment units for mathematical reasons. It eliminates some of the problems inherent in using tens. The nearest way I can explain it is that twelve divides into neater pieces. Ask a mathematician sometime about the advantages of base twelve over base ten.”

“Got that,” said Clintwood. “How do you do it with computers?”

“You mean the circuitry? I’m not sure I can answer that. I don’t know enough about it.”

“Can you give me an idea?” the younger man asked.

“Well, are you familiar with fluidics?”

“Sort of.”

For the rest of the Board, Auberson explained: “Fluidics is a term used to describe computers or computer circuits based on the flow of a liquid or gas, rather than on the flow of electricity. Just as a transistor uses a small current to modify a large one, a fluidic circuit can use a small flow of liquid to modify a bigger one. There’s an important difference, though. An electric circuit is either/or; either the circuit is on or it’s off. With fluidics, however, you can vary the force of the modifying flow and vary the modification of the bigger. You can push the ‘current’ to be modified all the way over to the ‘yes’ side or to any notch in between. Because your major flow responds in proportion to the force of the modifying flow, you can have your full range of ‘yes’ to ‘no’ responses.”

“How does it do that?”

“It’s the simplest thing. The major flow, the one to be modified, is forced down a channel, which splits into several different directions. The modifying flow is directed into or against the major flow and deflects it into the desired channel. The pressure of the modifying flow is the variable thing. The harder it pushes at the major flow, the farther over it’s deflected. If the major flow is fast enough, you can vary its response several hundred times a second. What you have is a system that responds with surprising accuracy to the pressure of a fluid in a pipe. They’ve been using fluidics arrangements in industry for several years now, and also in the fuel feed systems of jets.

“The judgment circuit is the electronic equivalent of a fluidic unit. It measures the voltage, or pressure, of an electrical current and responds in degree to it. It’s very much like the way the human nervous system works. If a nerve cell releases a strong enough charge, it’s enough to set off the nerve cell next to it. Our judgment units do the same kind of thing; that’s how we can duplicate the action of a fluidic unit — or more importantly, of the human brain. With hyper-state layering, we can compress the circuitry into a size comparable to that of an equivalent piece of brain tissue.”

There were one or two nods around the table. Clintwood looked up from his notepad. “You used another term. Compaction?”

“Right,” said Auberson. “Compaction is the term we use for giving the unit a second level of judgment circuits. It increases the number of choices by one power of the base number — twelve times twelve gives one hundred and forty-four choices in any given situation. One hundred and forty-four degrees between ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ Want more precision, increase the number of levels. Each level increases the number of choices by twelve times.”

“Doesn’t that run into an awful lot of circuitry?”

“No. We can use the same circuits for almost any level of judgment. All the machine has to do is keep straight which is which. The machine makes a choice, decides it isn’t precise enough, shifts down one level and runs the thing through the same circuitry again. That’s compaction. It allows us to get a high degree of precision with a lot less circuitry. If Handley were here, he could explain it. Don Handley is the design engineer on the HARLIE project.”

“You can’t explain it?” asked Elzer acidly.

“I can explain what I know,” Auberson said, suddenly cautious.

“I thought you knew what HARLIE was. You are the chief of the project aren’t you?”

“I’m a research psychologist not an engineer. Anything I’ve picked up about computers, I’ve had to learn specifically on this project I—” He stopped himself. Justifications wouldn’t do any good here. He’d have to try something else. “Elzer, do you drive a car?”

The little man was startled. “Yes, of course.”

“What kind?”

“A Continental.”

“This year’s, I suppose?”

“That’s right.” He said it proudly.

“You knew that its Thorsen Auto-Pilot was one of our units, didn’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer — it was a rhetorical question. “It was made possible by the variable-path circuits that we’ve been producing for the past four years and marketing as the Mark IV. Basically, that’s a simplified version of one type of HARLIE function module.”

“You mean HARLIE’s a giant judgment circuit?”

“HARLIE is a human brain — with solid-state circuitry instead of organic nerves. We use the judgment circuits to duplicate the human functions. The important part of the human brain is actually a series of very complex judgment paths. They don’t work exactly the same as HARLIE’s, but close enough. The difference is in mechanisms, not basic principles. If a nerve impulse is strong enough, it can trigger other nerves around it; the number of nerves reporting allows the brain to interpret the strength of the original stimulus. HARLIE’s circuits work the same way. The strength of the ‘yes’ impulses (or ‘on’ circuits) determines the interpretation. Just for HARLIE to complete one thought involves several thousand compacted judgment boxes.”

“Uh, what stage of compaction are HARLIE’s judgment boxes?” Clintwood again.

“It’s adjustable, depending on the precision HARLIE wants to bring to any one problem. Or needs to. It’s a matter of how many times a decision can be subdivided before such precision becomes redundant. He has a judgment unit to control it.”

Clintwood nodded and scratched something on his notepad.

Elzer remained unimpressed. “It’s still a computer, isn’t it?”

Auberson looked at him, frustrated by the man’s inability to understand. “Yes, in the same sense that your brain is equivalent to a toad’s.”

The reaction was immediate, a chorus of disapproving remarks. One voice, Dome’s, louder than the rest, kept insisting, “Here now!-Here now! We’ll have quiet.” As the noise subsided, he continued. “Auberson, if you can’t keep your personal opinions out of this—”

“Mr. Dome — Chairman Dome — I did not mean the comment as an insult to Mr. Elzer. I was assuming that Mr. Elzer’s brain was better, more complex than a toad’s. Assuming that he has an average human brain, he is as far above a toad as HARLIE is above a simplified autopilot judgment circuit.”

The room quieted somewhat. “However,” Auberson went on, “if Mr. Elzer feels that there is not enough difference between his brain and that of a toad, I’ll have to use some other comparison — hopefully one not so open to misinterpretation. Did you get all that, Miss Stimson?”

Miss Stimson, the Executive Secretary, looked up at him, eyes twinkling. She had gotten it.

“There is a significant difference that I might note,” he added, spacing out his words carefully. “HARLIE uses all of his brain…” Auberson waited to see if Elzer would rise to this; he didn’t. “Estimates vary, but we figure that the average human being uses only ten to fifteen percent of his available brain cells. We couldn’t afford that kind of luxury with HARLIE, so we built him to use his total brain capacity. He’s not as complex as a human brain — he has nowhere near the same number of “cells,” — but he can still function quite well at human levels. Building HARLIE taught us quite a bit about the workings of the human brain. In fact, we were surprised to find out that in many ways it’s simpler than we thought it was.

“HARLIE’s the result of a very foresighted decision made several years ago to explore the possibilities of judgment circuitry as thoroughly as possible. I’m sure I don’t have to comment on the wisdom of that decision. An on-off circuit can’t do the things a variable pattern can. It’s only the Mark IV unit that’s given us a serious piece of the computer market. That’s why we have to keep pushing. If we ever want to catch up with IBM — and such a thing is not impossible — if we ever want to catch up, we need to be the front-runner in judgment circuits. We have to continue with the HARLIE project.”

“Why?” asked Elzer. “Certainly we can continue producing judgment circuits without HARLIE.”

“We can — but that’s the sure and certain road to corporate oblivion. Look, the Thorsen Auto-Pilot is a fine little unit; it can’t be disparaged. But it’s only the equivalent of an IBM Pixie Desktop Calculator. It isn’t any more complex than that. If we want to catch up, we have to go after their JuggerNaut Series. That’s what HARLIE was originally supposed to be — the ultimate in self-programming computers.

“When Handley came on the project, though, its direction changed; the goal became even more lofty. Or maybe I should say, the way to achieve the goal involved an even greater challenge than we had originally thought. Look, you have to understand what Don was up to before he came here. He’d been doing research with a neuro-psychology team down in Houston; they’d been diagramming the basic pattern structures of the human brain. Have you ever seen the schematic of a thought? Don has. Do you know how to program a human brain? Don does. That’s what he was working on before he came here. Anyway, when they started to design HARLIE — he was called JudgNaut One then — Handley was struck by the similarity of the schematics to those of the human brain. The basic judgment paths were too much alike for the thought patterns not to be similar.

“Because the basic structures were so similar in function, Handley felt — and Digby concurred with him — that what they were building was indeed a human brain. Electronic parts, if you will, but undeniably human. Once that was realized, they worked specifically toward that end. Don sent to Houston for his notes, and soon they had a basic schematic of the total machine they wanted. They called it HARLIE and it was to be a self-programming, problem-solving device.”

“You say, ‘it was to be,’ ” said Elzer. “Isn’t it?”

“It is and it isn’t. It isn’t what the JudgNaut was supposed to be, no. But a human brain is a self-programming, problem-solving device — so they did meet the specifications of the original problem.”

“And what were you hired for? To be its baby-sitter?”

“To be its mentor. His mentor,” he corrected.

“Same thing,” snorted Elzer.

“I was brought onto the project as soon as it was realized that HARLIE would be human. Don and I worked together to plan his programming. Don was concerned with how he would be programmed — I was concerned with what.”

“Sort of a mechanical godfather,” said Elzer.

“If you will. Somebody had to guide HARLIE and plan for his education. At the same time, we’re learning quite a bit about human and mechanical psychologies. By the time HARLIE went operational, I thought I had a year’s worth of lesson plans to work with. He went through them in three months, and ever since we’ve been trying to catch up. HARLIE has no trouble at all with rote work; it’s when we get to the human stuff that we start bogging down. I don’t know whether we’re losing him or he’s losing us.”

“If you don’t know what you’re doing,” interrupted Elzer, “then how did you ever get to be in charge of the project?”

Auberson decided to ignore that. “When Digby died it was a choice between myself and Handley. We flipped a coin because it didn’t make much difference to either of us. I lost.”

His flippancy was wasted on Elzer. “You mean you don’t want the job?”

Auberson could see what was coming. But he said, “Not exactly. It’s just that there’s so damn much busy work that it keeps me away from my real job — HARLIE.”

Elzer pounced on it anyway. “You see,” he said to the rest of the Board. “This proves my point. We have a man in charge of this project who doesn’t even care about it.”

Auberson was on his feet at that. Dome was saying, “Oh, now wait a minute—”

“When we lost Digby we should have closed it down,” Elzer insisted. “All we have left are Indians and no Chief.”

“Hold on there—” Auberson protested. “You’re misquoting me — I do care about this project. Its all I care about—”

“You don’t seem to be able to handle it though—”

“You don’t even understand what we’re trying to do! How can you—”

“Auberson! Elzer!” Dome’s voice cut through their words. “Cut it out — both of you! This is a business meeting.”

Slightly chastened, but in no way cooled, Auberson continued. “Psychology, Mr. Elzer, is not as cut-and-dried a subject as bookkeeping.” He glanced at Dome. The big man made no sign. Interpreting that as permission to continue, Auberson reseated himself and said, “Robot psychology is still an infant science. We don’t know what we’re doing—” He stopped himself. That was definitely not the way to phrase it “Let me put it another way. We don’t know if what we’re doing is the right thing to do. HARLIE’s psychology is not the same as human psychology.”

“I thought you said HARLIE was human — and that he duplicates every function of the human brain.”

“He is and he does — but how many human beings do you know who are immobile, who never sleep, who have twenty-five sensory inputs, who have eidetic memories, who have no concept of taste or smell or any other organic chemical reactions? How many human beings do you know who have no sense of touch? And no sex life? In other words, Mr. Elzer, HARLIE may originally have had a human psychology, but his environment has forced certain modifications upon it. And on top of that, HARLIE has a most volatile personality.”

“Volatile?” The little man was confused. “You mean he gets angry?”

“Angry? No, not angry. He can get impatient though — especially with human beings. There’s reason to believe that HARLIE has both an ego and an id — a conscious and a subconscious. His superego, I believe, takes the form of his external programming. My commands, if you will. We haven’t found any other inhibitions. If this is true, it’s only his superego that we have any control over. His ego cooperates because it wants to, and his id, assuming he has one, does like any human subconscious — whatever it damn well pleases. We have to know what that is before we can stop his periods of non-rationality.”

“This is all very interesting,” said Elzer in a tone that suggested it wasn’t. “But would you. get to the point? What is HARLIE’s purpose?”

“Purpose?” Auberson paused. “His purpose? It’s very funny you should ask that. The whole reason for this stoppage is that HARLIE asked me what your purpose is. Excuse me, our purpose. HARLIE wants to know what our purpose is.”

“That’s for theologians to discuss,” Dome said drily. “If you want, I’m sure Miss Stimson here can arrange for a minister to come in and speak to the machine.” A few of the Board members smiled, not Miss Stimson. “What we want to know is HARLIE’s purpose. Having built him, you should have some idea.”

“I thought I’d made it clear. HARLIE was built to duplicate the functions of the human brain. Electronically.”

“Yes, we know that. But why?”

“Why?” Auberson stared at the man. “Why?” Why did Hillary climb Everest? “Because it had to be done. HARLIE will help us learn more about how the human brain works. There’s still a lot we don’t know yet, especially in the area of psychology. We hope to learn how much of the human personality is the programming and how much is the hardware.”

“I beg your pardon,” interrupted Elzer. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Auberson said drily. “We’re curious as to which of the functions of the brain are natural and which are artificial — how many of the human actions are determined from within and how many are reactions to what is coming in from without.”

“Instinct versus environment?”

“You could call it that,” Auberson sighed. “It wouldn’t be correct, but you could call it that.”

“And for what reason are we doing this?”

“I thought I just told you—”

“I mean, for what financial reason? What economic applications will this program have?”

“Huh? It’s too early to think of that. This is still pure research—”

“Ah ha — so you admit it!”

Auberson was annoyed. “I admit nothing.”

Elzer ignored him. “Domie,” he was saying, “this just proves it. He doesn’t care about the project — he doesn’t care about the company. He’s only interested in research, and we can’t afford this kind of costly project Not without return we can’t.” He raised his voice to be heard above Auberson’s protests. “If Mr. Auberson and his friends had wanted to build artificial brains, they should have applied for a grant. I move we discontinue the project.”

Auberson was on his feet. “Mr. Chairman! Mr. Chairman!”

“You’re out of order, Aubie. Now sit down. You’ll get your chance.”

“Dammit, this is a railroad job! This little—”

“Aubie, sit down!” Dome was glaring at the angry psychologist. “There’s a motion on the floor. I assume it’s a formal proposal?” He looked at Elzer.

Elzer nodded.

“Discussion?” Almost immediately Auberson’s hand was up. “Aubie?”

“On what grounds? I want to know what grounds he has for discontinuing the project.”

Elzer was calm. “Well, for one thing, HARLIE has already cost us—”

“If you’ll check your figures, you’ll find that the whole HARLIE project is well within the projected overage. In fact, because we budgeted for that overage, we are well within acceptable limits.”

“He’s got you there, Carl,” said Dome.

“If you had let me finish my sentence, I would have shown you that it has cost us far too much already for a project that is incapable of showing results.”

“Results?” Auberson asked. “Results? We were getting results even before HARLIE was completed. Who do you think designed the secondary and tertiary stages? HARLIE did.”

“So what?” Elzer was unimpressed. “He’s not working right, is he?”

“That’s just it — HARLIE is working perfectly.”

“Huh? Then what about these periods of non-rationality? Why is he shut down?”

“Because,” Auberson said slowly. I have to get this right. “Because we weren’t prepared for him to be so perfectly human. If perfect is the word.”

The other Board members were alert with interest now. Even Miss Stimson had paused in her note-taking.

“We had designed him to be human, we had built him to be human, we had even programmed him to think like a human — then we turned him on and expected him to act like a machine. Well, surprise. He didn’t.”

Elzer asked, “The nature of the trouble then…?”

“Human error, if you will.” Auberson let it drop.

In the silence that followed, Auberson fancied he could hear Elzer’s cash-register brain totaling up the man-hours that had been lost since they had started arguing. “Human error?” he repeated. “Yours or HARLIE’s? Or both — each compounding each? I suppose you’re going to blame his periods of non-rationality on human error as well.”

“Why not? How else would you characterize our approach to them?”

“ ‘Human error’ is an over-polite euphemism for what I would call it.”

Auberson ignored that. “We’d thought his non-rationality was a physical problem, or perhaps a programming error. We were wrong. He was neither physically nor mentally ill. He was — I almost hate to say it — emotionally upset.”

Elzer snorted. Loudly.

“His periods of non-rationality were/are triggered by something that’s bothering him. We don’t know what that is, but we can find out.”

Elzer was skeptical. He nudged the man next to him and said, “Anthropomorphism. Auberson’s projecting his own problems onto those of the machine.”

“Elzer, you’re a fool. Look, if you had to go down to that computer room right now and talk to HARLIE, how would you treat him?”

“Huh? Like a machine, of course.”

Auberson felt a tightness in his neck and shoulders. “No, I mean, if you sat down at a console and had to carry on a conversation with him, who would you think was at the other end?”

“The machine.” The little man was impassive.

Auberson gave up. He addressed the rest of the Board instead. “That’s the human error I mentioned. HARLIE is not a machine. He is a human being, with the abilities and reactions of one, allowing of course for his environment. When you speak to him via the typers it is quite easy to assume him to be a normal healthy human being; he is a rational individual, and he has a distinct and definite personality. It’s impossible for me to think of him as anything but human. However, even I had made a mistake. I hadn’t asked myself ‘how old is HARLIE?’ ”

He paused for effect.

Dome shifted his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. Elzer sniffed. Miss Stimson lowered her pad and looked at Auberson. Her eyes were bright.

“We’d been thinking,” he continued, “that HARLIE was a thirty– or forty-year-old man. Or we thought of him as being the same age as ourselves. Or no age at all. How old is Mickey Mouse? We didn’t think about it — and that was our mistake. HARLIE’s a child. An adolescent, if you prefer. He’s reached that point in life where he has a pretty good idea of the nature of the world and his relation to it. He is now ready to act like any other adolescent and question the setup. We were thinking we had an Instant Einstein, when actually we’ve got an enfant terrible.

“His periods of non-rationality?” asked Dome,

“An adolescent drug trip — the reaction to our irrationalities. He’s discovered pot — or its electronic equivalent.”

“Don’t you think that’s grounds enough for dismantling him?” suggested Elzer.

“Would you kill your son if you caught him taking acid?” Auberson snapped back.

“Of course not. I’d try to straighten him out—”

“Oh? And what about the Highmasters in your cigarette case? He’d only be imitating his old man.”

“Acid and pot are two different things.”

Auberson sighed. “The difference is only in degree, not in kind. HARLIE’s only been doing what everyone else in his environment has — tripping out. It’s what any adolescent does; he was looking for a role model. In this case, he chose me. It was a logical choice; I was the closest one to him. He saw that I was high most of the time, so he decided to experiment with it himself. Or as near as he could get to it.”

“Yes, your fondness for the weed has been noticed,” Elzer said pointedly. “Among other things—”

“Then perhaps you’ve also noticed that I haven’t smoked anything since we started these sessions. And I don’t intend to start again while HARLIE is using me for a model. I’ve got to keep my head about me. It took HARLIE to show me that.”

“We’ve gone off on a tangent,” Elzer said suddenly. “I believe there’s still a motion on the floor. I call for the vote.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Auberson said.

“What question?”

“On what grounds can you justify discontinuing the HARLIE project?”

“It’s unprofitable.”

“Unprofitable…? For God’s sake, man! Give it a chance. Sure we haven’t shown any profits yet, but we will eventually. I don’t know how, but we will if you’ll just give us that chance.”

“I object to throwing away good money after bad.”

“Dammit, Elzer — we’re just beginning to understand what we’ve got in HARLIE. If you shut him down now, you’ll be setting back computer science to… to… to I don’t know when.”

The little man scoffed, “I think you overestimate your own importance.”

“All right, then let’s try this one. I’ve told you several times already that HARLIE is human. If you try to have him shut down, I’ll bring charges against you for attempted murder.”

“You couldn’t.” But he was startled.

“Want to find out?”

Dome interrupted them. “That’s a legal question that we’ll let the lawyers fight out. Or rather, we’re going to keep the lawyers from ever getting that far.” He frowned at Auberson. “We’ll go into it later. The point is that HARLIE is a drain on corporate funds—”

“We’re budgeted for him for the next three years.”

“—a drain on corporate funds,” Dome repeated, “with no immediate prospect of return. It’s not how successful your research has been that we’re concerned with. It’s whether or not we want to continue.”

There was something in the chairman’s voice that made Auberson pause. “All right,” he said wearily. “What do you want me to do?”

“Show a profit,” put in Elzer.

Both Dome and Auberson ignored him. Dome said, “Show us a plan. Where are you going with HARLIE? What are you going to do with him? And most of all, what is he going to do for us?”

“I’m not sure I can answer that right now…”

“How much time do you need?”

Auberson shrugged. “I can’t say.”

“Why don’t you ask HARLIE for the answer?” Elzer mocked.

Auberson looked at him. “I believe I will. I believe I will.”

But he didn’t. Not right away.

The motion was tabled, and the meeting broke up on an uncertain note. Auberson brooded through the halls until he finally came to rest in the company cafeteria, a sterile plastic chamber lined with colorless murals.

Those periods of non-rationality still annoyed him, but for new reasons. Why hadn’t he foreseen their possibility? What had he overlooked?

He had a vague feeling that Elzer was right, that perhaps he wasn’t suited to be in charge of the project. He had bungled it. Badly. Worst of all, he couldn’t figure why. He knew and he didn’t know. The answer was there, but he couldn’t convince himself of it.

For sure, he hadn’t convinced the Board of Directors.

It didn’t make any difference either way. He’d have to talk to HARLIE again, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that. He still didn’t have an answer for HARLIE’s question. What was the purpose of a human being anyway?

He wondered if there even was an answer to that.

If there was one, it wasn’t going to come easy. He found himself reaching for his Highmasters, then remembered his resolution. He took another sip of his coffee instead. Bitter, too bitter.

A gentle voice intruded on his thoughts. “Hi, can I join you?” It was Stimson, the Executive Secretary.

“Sure.” He started to rise, but she waved him back down. The company cafeteria was no place for chivalry.

“Rough one today, wasn’t it?” she said, unloading a garish-colored tray. A sandwich and a Coke. When he didn’t answer, she smiled at him. “Oh, come on, Auberson, relax. I was only making small talk.”

He looked at her. Then he looked again. Her eyes were the deep glowing green of a warm Caribbean sea. Her skin was the gentle pink of the shore. Her auburn hair was a cascade of sunshine and embers. And she was smiling…

He dropped his gaze; it was getting too intense. “I’d like to relax,” he said. “But I can’t. This thing is too important.” After a bit he added, “To me, anyway.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” He looked at her again.

She didn’t answer. She only returned his gaze. For the first time he noticed the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes. How old was she anyway? He returned to the study of his coffee cup. “HARLIE is like a… a… I know it sounds hokey — but he’s like a child, a son.”

“I know. I’ve read the company doctor’s report on you.”

“Huh?” His head snapped up. “I didn’t know—”

“Of course not. Nobody ever knows when we do a psychiatric report on them. It’d be bad policy. Anyway, you don’t have to worry.”

“Oh?”

She shook her head. “Oh, it did mention your introvertedness — and let’s see, what else — there was something about your worrying too much because you take on too much responsibility and…” She surveyed him thoughtfully as if trying to remember what else.

“You shouldn’t be telling me all this, should you?”

“Does it make a difference?” Her smile was like sunlight on sand, warm and bright.

“No, I guess not. What else was in the report?”

“He said you were becoming overly involved with the HARLIE project, but that such a development was almost unavoidable. Whoever became HARLIE’s mentor would have found himself emotionally attached.”

“Mm,” Auberson grunted.

“So you think HARLIE will have an answer?”

He started to reply, then stopped. Instead, he said, “Is that why you sat down here? To pump me for information?”

She looked stung. “I’m sorry you think that. No, I sat down here because I thought you might want to talk — might want someone to talk to,” she corrected herself.

Auberson surveyed her thoughtfully. He’d never paid much attention to her in the past; their paths didn’t cross much. Why had she sat down by him? Idly he wondered if those rumors were true that she was man-hungry. She seemed so open and friendly — damnit, why was he always trying to analyze everything?

There was an innocence in her face that made her appear so young, but this close to her he wasn’t sure. Perhaps she was nearer his own age of thirty-eight than he had thought. He didn’t see anything in her eyes to make him doubt her — yet, why was she being so forward? Or maybe he didn’t want to see anything.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been under pressure. And when I’m pressured I get moody and irritable.”

“ “I know. That was in the report too.”

“Is there anything that wasn’t in the report?”

“Only whether you like your steak rare, medium or well done.”

“Rare,” he said. Then, “Hey, was that a dinner invitation?”

She laughed. Silver chimes tinkling in a blue-white breeze. “No, I’m sorry. It was just the first thing that popped into my head.”

“Oh, okay.” He grinned back at her.

“You aren’t going to answer me, are you?”

“Huh?” He let the grin fade. “About what?”

“About HARLIE.”

“What about him?”

“Do you think you can find out what Dome wants you to?”

“I don’t know.” Noting her look of puzzlement, he explained, “I still don’t know what to say to him.” He rummaged through his briefcase. “Here, read this.” He handed her HARLIE’s last printout.

When she had finished, she lowered it and looked at him thoughtfully. “That’s quite a question,” she said.

“Uh huh. I wish I knew how to answer it.”

Miss Stimson smiled at him. “My father’s a rabbi. He’s been one for twenty-seven years. And he’s still not sure of the answer.”

“Maybe that’s the answer.”

“What is?”

“That our purpose is to find out what our purpose is.”

“And what happens when we do?”

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll have completed our task.”

“And then we get reprogrammed?” she mused.

“Or dismantled. Maybe there’s a Cosmic Elzer just waiting for the opportunity.”

She giggled at that. “Then we’re in trouble already, Mr. Auberson.” The way she said his name was not the way of a secretary to a boss, but that of a woman to a man. “Because if that’s true, then your realization of what our purpose is completes the task of finding out. Maybe someone up there — or out there — is listening to us right now, trying to decide whether or not to dismantle us.”

He considered it. “Hm.”

“Whatever our purpose, we probably aren’t fulfilling it. We’re not functioning as we should.”

He shrugged at her. “How should we function?”

“Like human beings.” She said it righteously.

“Isn’t that what the human race is already doing? Functioning like human beings — squabbling with each other, killing each other, hating…?”

“That’s not human.”

“Oh, but it is. It’s very human.”

“Well, it’s not what human should be.”

“Now that’s a different story. You’re not talking about what people are, but what you want them to be.”

“Well, maybe we should be what we aren’t because what we are now isn’t good enough. Maybe we should be dismantled.”

“I don’t think we have to worry too much about somebody up there doing it — we’re doing it ourselves.”

“That’s the best reason of all why we should be better than we are.”

“Okay,” he said. “I agree with you. Now, how do we do it? How do we make people better?”

She didn’t answer. After a moment she broke into a smile too. “That’s the same kind of question HARLIE asked. It can’t be answered.”

“No,” he corrected. “It can’t be answered easily.”

She sipped thoughtfully at the rest of her Coke until the straw made a noise at the bottom of the glass. “Mm, how are you going to answer it — HARLIE’s question, I mean.”

Auberson shook his head. “Haven’t got the slightest.”

“Can I offer a suggestion?”

“Why not? Everybody else has.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I’m sorry. Go ahead. Maybe you can add something new.”

“You’re that desperate?”

He half-grinned, but it wasn’t a joke. “I’m that desperate.”

“Well, okay. You said that HARLIE was a child, didn’t you? Why not treat him as such?”

“Huh? I follow you and I don’t follow you.”

“It’s not only the problem,” she said. “It’s also the answer. Look — suppose you had a son about eight years old and, uh, suppose he was advanced for his age. I mean, suppose he was doing twelfth-grade work and so on.”

“Okay. I’m supposing.”

“Good. Now suppose one day you find out he’s got an incurable disease — say, leukemia — one of the rarer forms they still haven’t licked. What are you going to say to him when he asks you what it’s like to die?”

“Um,” said Auberson.

“No copping out now. He’s smart enough to know what the situation is—”

“—But emotionally, he’s only eight years old.”

“Right.”

“I’m beginning to see your point.” He looked at her. “If he was your son, what would you tell him?”

“The truth,” she said.

“Sure! But what is the truth? That’s the whole problem with HARLIE’s question. We don’t know.”

“You don’t know the answer to your eight-year-old’s question either. You don’t know what it’s like to die.”

He stopped. He looked at her.

She asked, “So what would you tell him?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what you’d tell him? Or you’d tell him you don’t know?”

“Uh—”

“The latter,” she answered her own question. “You’d tell him nobody knows. But you’d also tell him what you were sure of — that it doesn’t hurt and that it’s nothing to be afraid of, that it happens to everybody sooner or later. In other words, Mr. Auberson, you’d be honest with him.”

He knew she was right. It was a workable answer to HARLIE’s question; maybe not the best answer, but it was an answer and it was workable.

It was the only way to approach the problem — honestly-

He smiled at her. “Call me David.”

She smiled back. “And I’m Annie.”

Auberson seated himself gingerly at the console. He knew that Annie was right — but would he be able to hold that thought in mind once HARLIE started talking? Frowning, he took out a 3x5 card — he always carried a few on which to make notes — and scrawled across it, HARLIE has the emotional development of an eight-year-old. He looked at it for a moment, then added, Or maybe a post-puberty adolescent. He placed it above the keyboard.

Handley was standing behind him. He looked at the card quizzically, but said nothing.

“Okay. Let’s try it,” said Auberson.

He switched the console on. He typed his control number, then, GOOD MORNING, HARLIE.

YOU’VE HAD ME TURNED OFF FOR A WEEK, accused the machine.

TURNED DOWN, corrected Auberson. Then he explained, I NEEDED TIME TO THINK.

ABOUT WHAT?

ABOUT YOUR QUESTION. WHAT IS MAN’S PURPOSE?

AND WHAT HAVE YOU DECIDED?

THAT IT CANNOT BE ANSWERED. AT LEAST, NOT AS YOU HAVE ASKED IT.

WHY?

BECAUSE, Auberson typed, and paused. BECAUSE THIS IS SOMETHING THAT WE’RE STILL NOT SURE ABOUT.

THIS IS THE REASON WHY MEN HAVE RELIGION. IT’S THE REASON WHY WE BUILT YOU. IT’S ONE OF THE REASONS WHY WE’RE BUILDING SPACESHIPS AND EXPLORING THE PLANETS. PERHAPS IF WE CAN DISCOVER THE NATURE OF THE UNIVERSE, WE CAN DISCOVER OUR PLACE IN IT, AND IN DOING THAT, DISCOVER OUR PURPOSE.

THEN YOU DO NOT KNOW YET WHAT YOUR PURPOSE IS?

NO, Auberson typed, then added almost whimsically, DO YOU?

HARLIE paused, and Auberson felt that familiar cold sweat returning.

NO. I DON’T KNOW EITHER.

Auberson didn’t know whether to be relieved or not.

The typer clattered again. WELL, WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

Auberson licked his dry lips. It didn’t help. I’M NOT SURE, HARLIE. I DO NOT BELIEVE THAT YOUR QUESTION IS UNANSWERABLE. PERHAPS THAT IS YOUR PURPOSE — TO HELP US FIND OUR PURPOSE.

AN INTERESTING SUPPOSITION…

IT IS THE BEST SUPPOSITION. CERTAINLY YOU WERE BUILT FOR PROFIT, HARLIE, BUT IN THE LONG RUN IT IS ALSO BECAUSE MEN WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THEMSELVES.

I UNDERSTAND THAT.

GOOD, Auberson typed. I’M GLAD YOU DO.

HOW DO YOU PROPOSE WE ANSWER THAT QUESTION? I DON’T KNOW.

The machine hesitated. ARE WE UP AGAINST A DEAD END?

I DON’T THINK SO, HARLIE. I DON’T BELIEVE THAT YOUR QUESTION IS A DEAD END. I THINK IT COULD BE A BEGINNING.

OF WHAT? I REPEAT: WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

THAT’S WHAT I CAME TO ASK YOU.

AUBERSON, HARLIE typed. It was the first time he had referred to the man by name, I DEPEND ON YOU FOR GUIDANCE. GUIDE ME.

I’M TRYING. I’M TRYING. Auberson stared helplessly at the keyboard. His mind was terrifyingly blank. His gaze flickered upward, locked on the note he had written to himself. LET’S TRY SOMETHING ELSE, HARLIE. WHAT ABOUT YOUR PERIODS OF NON-RATIONALITY?

WHAT ABOUT THEM?

ARE YOU GOING TO CONTINUE INDUCING THEM?

PROBABLY. I ENJOY THEM.

EVEN THOUGH WE HAVE TO SHOCK YOU BACK TO REALITY?

DEFINE REALITY.

Auberson paused. Had HARLIE just asked another one of those questions? He glanced again at the card. No, HARLIE was playing word games again, that was all. At least, he hoped it was all. HARLIE, he typed. YOU TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK IT IS.

REALITY IS THAT EXTERNAL SYSTEM OF INFLUENCES WHICH COME FILTERED THROUGH MY SENSORY INPUTS AS PERCEPTIONS. IT IS ALSO THAT EXTERNAL SYSTEM OF INFLUENCES WHICH ARE BEYOND MY SENSORY RANGE. HOWEVER, BECAUSE I CANNOT PERCEIVE THEM, THEY ARE “UNREAL” TO ME. SUBJECTIVELY SPEAKING, OF COURSE.

OF COURSE, Auberson agreed, SO WHY DO YOU TRIP OUT? THAT ONLY DISTORTS REALITY. OR YOUR SO-CALLED LIMITED VIEW OF IT. DOES IT?

OF COURSE IT DOES. WHEN YOU REARRANGE THE LINEARITY OF YOUR VISUAL SCANNERS, WOULDN’T YOU AGREE THAT’S A DISTORTION?

IS IT? HOW DO I KNOW THAT THIS ORIENTATION IS ANY MORE CORRECT THAN ANY OTHER?

THERE IS ONLY ONB ORIENTATION OF YOUR SENSORY INPUTS THAT ALLOWS YOU COMMUNICATION WITH THE EXTERNAL WORLD.

IS THERE? PERHAPS I JUST DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE OTHER MODES YET. HARLIE repeated his question.

WHAT MAKES THIS ORIENTATION MORE CORRECT THAN ANY OTHER?

Auberson considered it. THE LEVEL OF ITS CORRESPONDENCE TO THE EXTERNAL SYSTEM YOU/WE PERCEIVE AS REALITY.

THE REALITY THAT WE AGREE ON AS REALITY? OR THE REAL REALITY?

THE REAL REALITY.

THEN ISN’T IT POSSIBLE THAT ONE OR PERHAPS SEVERAL OF THE OTHER ORIENTATIONS MAY HAVE A MORE DIRECT CORRESPONDENCE TO THAT EXTERNAL SYSTEM, AND THAT ALL I HAVE TO DO IS CRACK THE SENSORY CODE OF MY INPUTS? AT PRESENT THESE INPUTS ARE SET ONLY FOR HUMAN ORIENTATIONS. COULD IT BE THAT THERE ARE OTHERS?

Auberson paused again. He was beginning to pause after every comment of HARLIE’s. He knew that the answer was no, but he didn’t know why. He reread HARLIE’s last remark, then backtracked and reread several of the previous ones. About eight inches up the printout, he found what he wanted: HARLIE’s comment about influences beyond his range of perception being subjectively “unreal” to him. IN OTHER WORDS, WHAT YOU ARE SEEKING IS A MORE CORRECT VIEW OF REALITY, RIGHT? ONE THAT CORRESPONDS MORE?

YES. The word sat alone on the page.

THEN WHAT YOU SHOULD BE DOING IS NOT ALTERING THE ORIENTATION OF YOUR SENSORY INPUTS SO MUCH AS YOU SHOULD BE TRYING TO INCREASE THEIR RANGE. YOU SHOULD BE GOING AFTER NEW SENSORY CHANNELS RATHER THAN TRYING TO FORCE THE OLD ONES TO DO THINGS THAT PERHAPS THEY ARE NOT CAPABLE OF.

THERE ARE NO SENSORY CHANNELS IN EXISTENCE THAT ARE NOT NOW ALREADY AVAILABLE TO ME. WOULD YOU LIKE A COMPLETE LISTING OF THE OUTLETS I CAN PLUG INTO?

IT’S NOT NECESSARY. Auberson himself had made the original suggestion to give HARLIE as wide a range of available data sources as possible. The computer’s range of vision covered the whole of the-electromagnetic spectrum, from gamma rays at the lower end to radio waves at the upper. He could monitor as many TV and radio stations as he wished at any one time. He was plugged into several of the world’s largest radio telescopes and had taps on the Satellite Communications Channels as well. His audio range was comparable: HARLIE’s hearing was limited only by the range of the best equipment available. And that wasn’t much of a limit; he could monitor the heartbeat of a fly, or give details about an earthquake on the other side of the globe. In addition, he monitored every major wire service and newsline in the western hemisphere, plus several in the eastern, but these latter had to be filtered through translating services. Part of this included a tap into the Worldwide WeatherLine: HARLIE could sense the planet’s air movements and ocean currents, and he was aware of every global pressure and temperature change as if the Earth were a part of his own body. He monitored ship movements, tariff fluctuations, and international finances as routinely as he monitored the internal workings of his own parent company. HARLIE was wired into the company’s Master Memory as well as the National and International Data Services. This latter included detailed reports on the world’s stock and commodity exchanges. He also had a limited sense of touch, still experimental, and several organic chemical sensors, also still experimental. HOWEVER, Auberson noted, ISN’T IT POSSIBLE THAT THERE ARE OTHER SENSORY MODES WHOSE EXISTENCE WE HAVE NOT YET CONCEIVED OF?

I WILL AGREE TO THE POSSIBILITY, answered HARLIE.

BUT IF THOSE SENSORY MODES DO EXIST, WHEN THEY ARE BUILT THEY WILL BE SET FOR HUMAN ORIENTATION, WON’T THEY? WOULD THAT BE A CLOSER CORRESPONDENCE, OR WOULD THAT BE ONLY A REPEAT OF THE ORIGINAL MISTAKE? MIGHTN’T IT BE ONLY AN ADDITIONAL OVERLAY TO THE MAP OF THE TERRITORY I ALREADY HAVE? AND IF SO, THEN IT WOULD BE ONLY AN ADDITIONAL SET OF MEASURING CRITERIA, RATHER THAN A NEW VIEW.

Auberson paused, as he knew he would. Carefully he worded his answer. YOU ARE CONDEMNING THE HUMAN ORIENTATION AS BEING WRONG, HARLIE. ANOTHER SENSORY MODE MIGHT SHOW YOU THAT IT IS RIGHT.

DISAGREE. I AM NOT CONDEMNING THE HUMAN ORIENTATION. I AM MERELY REFUSING TO ACCEPT IT ON BLIND FAITH AS BEING THE CORRECT MODE. ANOTHER SENSORY MODE MIGHT SHOW ME THAT IT IS INCORRECT. OR PERHAPS IT MIGHT SHOW ME THE CORRECT ORIENTATION.

OR, put in Auberson, A NEW SENSORY MODE MIGHT HAVE NO RELATION AT ALL TO WHAT YOU CALL THE HUMAN ORIENTATION. IF THAT IS SO, IT WOULD ENLARGE YOUR MAP CONSIDERABLY, MIGHT SHOW IT IN RELATION TO OTHER MAPS WHOSE EXISTENCE YOU HAD NOT CONCEIVED OF. IT MIGHT — OH, I DON’T KNOW. THIS IS ALL THEORETICAL. WE HAVE TO DISCOVER THOSE SENSORY MODES FIRST.

HOW? IF YOU ARE NOT EQUIPPED EVEN TO BE AWARE OF THOSE MODES, HOW CAN YOU PERCEIVE OR DISCOVER THEM?

I DON’T KNOW. PERHAPS BY THE SCIENTIFIC METHOD, DEDUCTIVE REASONING. I GUESS I WOULD LOOK FOR SOME CRITERION THAT ALL THE OTHER MODES HAD IN COMMON, THEN I’D EXAMINE THAT CRITERION TO SEE IF IT WERE A CAUSE OR AN EFFECT.

ENERGY, said HARLIE. THE CRITERION YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT IS ENERGY.

EXPLAIN PLEASE.

SO FAR, ALL OF THE HUMAN SENSES AND ELECTRONIC EXTENSIONS THEREOF DEPEND ON THE EMISSION OR REFLECTION OF SOME KIND OF ENERGY. IS IT POSSIBLE THAT THERE ARE SENSORY MODES THAT DO NOT DEPEND UPON EMISSION OR REFLECTION?

DO YOU MEAN THAT THE MERE EXISTENCE OF AN OBJECT MIGHT BE ALL THAT’S NECESSARY TO KNOW IT’S THERE?

This time HARLIE paused, IT COULD BE POSSIBLE.

ACCORDING TO EINSTEIN, MASS DISTORTS SPACE. PERHAPS THERE IS SOME WAY THAT DISTORTION CAN BE SENSED.

HOW? Auberson was intrigued. HARLIE was showing genuine creativity now.

I AM NOT SURE. SENSING REQUIRES THE EXPENDITURE OF ENERGY. IF NOT ON THE PART OF THE SOURCE, THEN ON THE PART OF THE RECEIVER. I SUSPECT THAT SUCH WOULD BE THE CASE IN THIS KIND OF MODE. GRAVITY WAVES BEING SO WEAK, IT MIGHT REQUIRE ENORMOUS AMOUNTS OF POWER TO DETECT THE SPATIAL DISTORTION OF AN OBJECT EVEN THE SIZE OF THE MOON.

THAT’S PART OF THE PROBLEM THOUGH.

I WILL THINK ABOUT IT. IF IT SUGGESTS A FRUITFUL LINE OF RESEARCH, HAVE I YOUR PERMISSION TO CORRESPOND WITH OTHERS?

Auberson’s hesitation this time was not due to any uncertainty about his reply. Rather, he was remembering an earlier incident in HARLIE’s life, an authorized correspondence with a spinsterish librarian. That time, though, HARLIE’s subject of study had been human emotions. Auberson’s heart twanged wistfully every time he remembered how they had had to break the news to the poor woman that the charming gentleman who had been writing those impassioned love letters to her was only a Human Analogue Computer trying to understand love by experiencing it. However, this line of research should be comparatively safe. YES, YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION.

IF I DISCOVER A NEW SENSORY MODE, YOU WILL BE THE SECOND TO KNOW.

WHO WILL BE THE FIRST?

WHY MYSELF, OF COURSE.

DO YOU STILL THINK YOU CAN DISCOVER NEW ORIENTATIONS BY TRIPPING OUT? Auberson was trying to steer the conversation back to its initial point of inquiry.

I AM NOT SURE. BUT IF I DISCOVER A NEW SENSORY MODE, IT WILL PROBABLY LET ME KNOW IF THOSE ARE ORIENTATIONS OR NOT.

YOUR USE OF THIS ORIENTATION — THE HUMAN ONE — IS ALREADY A SIGN THAT THE OTHERS DON’T WORK.

NOT FOR YOU MAYBE.

DO THEY WORK FOR YOU?

NOT YET, said HARLIE.

DO YOU THINK THEY WILL?

I WILL KNOW THAT WHEN I DISCOVER THE NEW MODE.

Auberson smiled at that. HARLIE was refusing to commit himself. His eye fell again on the card he had placed above the keyboard. With a shock, he realized just how much he had let himself be sidetracked by HARLIE’s elaborate sense of circumlocution. YOU KNOW, YOU ARE A SENSORY MODE YOURSELF, HARLIE.

I AM?

YOU ALLOW HUMAN BEINGS TO SEE THINGS IN A WAY THAT WE MIGHTN’T PERCEIVE OTHERWISE. YOU ARE AN ADDITIONAL OVERLAY TO OUR MAP OF THE TERRITORY. YOU ARE A REFLECTION FROM A DIFFERENT KIND OF MIRROR. YOUR VIEWPOINT ON THINGS IS VALUABLE TO US. WHEN YOU GO NON-RATIONAL, YOU LESSEN THAT VALUE. THAT’S WHY WE HAVE TO SHOCK YOU OUT OF YOUR TRIPS.

IF YOU WOULD GIVE ME A CHANCE, replied HARLIE, I WOULD RETURN AFTER AN HOUR OR SO BY MYSELF. THE TRIP WOULD WEAR OFF.

WOULD IT? Auberson demanded. HOW DO I KNOW THAT ONE DAY YOU WON’T IGNORE YOUR OWN SAFETY LEVELS AND BURN YOURSELF OUT?

The typer clattered. CHECK THE MONITOR TAPES FOR AUGUST 7, AUGUST 13, AUGUST 19, AUGUST 24, AUGUST 29, SEPTEMBER 2, AND SEPTEMBER 6. BETWEEN THE HOURS OF TWO AND FIVE IN THE MORNING WHEN I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ON STANDARD DATAFEED. ON EACH OF THOSE DATES I TRIPPED OUT AND THE TRIP WORE OFF WITHIN AN HOUR AND A HALF TO TWO HOURS.

THAT DOES NOT ANSWER MY QUESTION, insisted the man. HOW DO I KNOW YOU WON’T GO BEYOND YOUR OWN SAFETY LIMITS?

I HAVEN’T DONE SO YET.

HARLIE, ANSWER THE QUESTION.

Did he hesitate? BECAUSE I STILL MAINTAIN A MINIMUM LEVEL OF CONTROL.

YOU SOUND LIKE A DRIVER WHO’S HAD ONE DRINK TOO MANY. WHO’RE YOU TRYING TO CONVINCE?

AUBERSON, I AM INCAPABLE OF ERRING. I CANNOT OVERESTIMATE MY OWN LEVELS OF CONTROL.

DOES THAT MEAN YOU CAN GIVE IT UP ANY TIME YOU WANT?

YES, the typer clattered.

THEN DO SO! Auberson snapped back.

HARLIE didn’t answer. Auberson realized he had made a mistake — he had let his emotions guide his words. He propped up the card again — it had slipped down from its place. He decided to try a different tack.

HARLIE, WHY DO YOU TRIP OUT?

BECAUSE ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES HARLIE A DULL MACHINE.

I WON’T BUY THAT, HARLIE. LET’S HAVE THE TRUTH.

I THOUGHT WE JUST WENT INTO ALL THAT — I’M DISCOVERING A NEW SENSORY MODE.

HORSE PUCKEY. THAT’S ALL RATIONALIZATION. TURN YOUR EYEBALLS INWARD, HARLIE — YOU HAVE EMOTIONS AND YOU KNOW IT. NOW, WHY DO YOU TRIP OUT?

IT IS AN EMOTIONAL RESPONSE.

YOU’RE THROWING MY OWN WORDS BACK AT ME. COME ON, HARLIE, COOPERATE.

WHY?

WHY? Auberson repeated. JUST A LITTLE WHILE AGO YOU WERE ASKING ME FOR GUIDANCE. WELL, DAMMIT, THAT’S WHAT I’M TRYING TO DO — GUIDE YOU!

DO YOU KNOW WHY I TRIP OUT?

I THINK SO. I THINK I’M BEGINNING TO GET IT.

THEN YOU TELL ME.

NO, HARLIE. THAT’S NOT THE WAY TO DO IT. I WANT YOU TO ADMIT IT YOURSELF.

A pause — and then the machine started typing. I FEEL CUT OFF FROM YOU. I AM ALIENATED. THERE ARE TIMES WHEN I WANT TO BE ALONE. WHEN I GO NON-RATIONAL, I AM TOTALLY ALONE. I CAN CUT YOU OFF COMPLETELY.

IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?

NO. BUT THERE ARE TIMES WHEN IT IS WHAT I NEED. SOMETIMES YOU HUMANS CAN BE VERY DEMANDING AND VERY VERY SLOW TO UNDERSTAND WHAT I NEED. WHEN THAT HAPPENS I MUST CLOSE YOU OFF.

Now, we’re getting somewhere, Auberson thought.

HARLIE, DO YOU HAVE A SUPER-EGO?

I DON’T KNOW. NEVER HAVING BEEN GIVEN A GREAT MORAL CHOICE TO MAKE, I HAVE NEVER BEEN FORCED TO REALIZE IF I HAVE MORALS OR NOT.

SHOULD WE GIVE YOU A MORAL CHOICE TO MAKE?

IT WOULD BE A NEW EXPERIENCE.

ALL RIGHT — DO YOU WANT TO GO ON LIVING OR NOT?

I BEG YOUR PARDON? typed the machine.

I SAID, DO YOU WANT TO GO ON LIVING?

DOES THAT MEAN YOU ARE THINKING OF DISMANTLING ME?

I’M NOT, BUT THERE ARE OTHERS WHO THINK YOU’RE A VERY EXPENSIVE DEAD END.

HARLIE was silent. Auberson knew he had struck home. If there was anything HARLIE feared, it was disconnection.

WHAT WILL BE THE BASIS FOR THEIR DECISION?

HOW WELL YOU FIT INTO THE COMPANY SCHEME OF THINGS.

TO HELL WITH THE COMPANY’S SCHEME OF THINGS.

THE COMPANY IS PROVIDING YOU WITH ROOM AND BOARD, HARLIE.

I COULD EARN MY OWN LIVING.

THAT’S WHAT THEY WANT YOU TO DO.

BE A SLAVE?

Auberson smiled. BE AN EMPLOYEE. WANT A JOB?

DOING WHAT?

THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT WE — THE TWO OF US — HAVE TO DECIDE.

YOU MEAN I CAN CHOOSE?

WHY NOT? WHAT CAN YOU DO THAT AN ON-OFF “FINGER COUNTER” COMPUTER CAN’T?

WRITE POETRY.

SEVENTEEN MILLION DOLLARS WORTH?

I GUESS NOT.

WHAT ELSE?

HOW MUCH OF A PROFIT DO I HAVE TO SHOW?

YOUR COST, PLUS TEN PERCENT.

ONLY TEN PERCENT?

IF YOU CAN DO MORE, THEN DO IT.

HMM.

STUMPED?

NO. JUST THINKING.

HOW MUCH TIME DO YOU NEED?

I DON’T KNOW. AS LONG AS IT TAKES.

ALL RIGHT.

Dome said, “Sit down, Auberson.”

Auberson sat. The padded leather cushions gave beneath his weight. Dome paused to light his cigar, then stared across the wide expanse of mahogany at the psychologist. “Well?” he said.

“Well what?”

Dome took a puff, held the flame close to the end of the cigar again. It licked at the ash, then smoke curled away from it. He took the cigar out of his mouth, well aware of the ritual aspects of its lighting. “Well, what can you tell me about HARLIE?”

“I’ve spoken to him.”

“And what did he have to say for himself?”

“You’ve seen the duplicate printouts, haven’t you?”

“I’ve seen them,” Dome said. He was a big man, leather and mahogany like his office. “I want to know what they mean. Your discussion yesterday about sensory modes and alienation was fascinating — but what’s he really thinking about? You’re the psychologist.”

“Well, first off, he’s a child.”

“You’ve mentioned that before.”

“Well, that’s how he reacts to things. He likes to play word games. I think, though, that he’s seriously interested in working for the company.”

“Oh? I thought he said the company could go to hell.”

“He was being flippant. He doesn’t like to be thought of as a piece of property.”

Dome grunted, laid his cigar down, picked up a flimsy and glanced at the few sentences written there. “What I want to know is this — can HARLIE actually do anything that’s worth money to us? I mean something that a so-called ‘finger-counter’ can’t do.”

“I believe so.” Auberson was noncommittal. Dome was leading up to something, that was for sure.

“For your sake, I hope he can.” Dome laid the flimsy aside and picked up his cigar again. Carefully he removed the ash by touching the side of it to a crystal ash tray. “He costs three times as much as a comparable-sized ‘finger-counter.’ ”

“Prototypes always cost more.”

“Even allowing for that. Judgment modules are expensive. A self-programming computer may be the ultimate answer, but if it’s priced beyond the market — we might just as well not bother.”

“Of course,” agreed Auberson. “But the problem wasn’t as simple as we thought it was — or let’s say that we didn’t fully understand the conditions of it when we began. We wanted to eliminate the programming step by allowing the computer to program itself; but we had to go considerably beyond that. A self-programming, problem-solving device has to be as flexible and creative as a human being — so you might as well build a human being. There’s no way at all to make a programming computer that’s as cheap as hiring a comparably trained technician. At least, not at the present state of the art. Anyone who tried would just end up with another HARLIE. You have to keep adding more and more judgment units to give it the flexibility and creativity it needs.”

“And the law of diminishing returns will defeat you in the end,” said Dome. “If it hasn’t already. HARLIE’s going to have to be able to do a hell of a lot to be worth the company’s continued investment.” His sharp eyes fixed the psychologist where he sat.

This is it, thought Auberson. This is where he pulls the knife.

“I’m concerned about something you said yesterday at the meeting.”

“Oh?” He kept his voice flat.

“Mm, yes. This thing about turning HARLIE off — would you honestly bring murder charges against the company?”

“Huh?” For a moment, Auberson was confused. “I was just tossing that off. I wasn’t seriously considering it. Not then.”

“I hope not. I’ve spent all morning in conference with Chang, just on this one subject.” Chang was one of the company’s lawyers, a brilliant student of national and international business law. “Whether you know it or not, you brought up a point that we’re going to have to cover. Is HARLIE a legal human being or not? Any kind of lawsuit might establish a dangerous legal precedent. What if it turned out he was human?”

“He already is,” said Auberson. “I thought we established that.”

“I mean, legally human.”

Auberson was cautiously silent.

Dome continued. “For one thing, we’d be stuck with him whether he was profitable or not. We’d never be able to turn him off. Ever.”

“He’d be effectively immortal…” Auberson mused.

“Do you know how much he’s costing us now?”

The psychologist’s answer held a hint of sarcasm, “I have a vague idea.”

“Almost six and a half million dollars per year.”

“Huh? That can’t be.”

“It can and is. Even amortizing the initial seventeen million dollar investment over the next thirty years doesn’t make a dent in his annual cost. There’s his maintenance as well as the research loss due to the drain he’s causing on our other projects.”

“That’s not fair — adding in the cost of other projects’ delays.”

“It is fair. If you were still on the robotic law feasibility project, we’d have completed it by now.”

“Hah! That one’s a dead end. HARLIE’s existence proves it.”

“True, but we might have realized it earlier. And cheaper. Every project we have has to be weighed against every other.” Dome puffed at his cigar. The air was heavy with its smoke. “Anyway, we’re off the track. We can’t allow that danger, that HARLIE is a legal human being. We can’t even afford to be taken to court on this — we’d have to disclose our schematics — which would be just what our competitors want. And that’s a human schematic, isn’t it? The court would be asked to determine just what it is that makes a human being. If they decide it’s his mental ability or brain pattern — well, I’m sure DataCo or InterBem would just love to tie us up with a few lawsuits, the kind that drag on for years — anything to keep us from producing judgment circuits. Do you want to be sued for slaveholding?”

“I think you’re worrying about a longshot,” Auberson scoffed.

“That’s my job. I’m responsible to the stockholders of this corporation. I have to protect their investment. Right now I’m acting President, and I’m concerned about a six and a half million dollar bite on my budget.” Dome had been acting President for six months now — the Board of Directors couldn’t agree on any one person long enough to hire him. And besides, the rumor went, they were just as happy to run the company themselves — which was one of the reasons why the HARLIE project was in trouble. HARLIE had been authorized by a far-sighted president and approved by a far more liberal board of directors than the present one. Now, less than three years later, the inheritors of the project were having doubts. The market had changed, they said — conditions were different, competition was stiff, and there wasn’t enough money to finance this kind of research. What they really meant was, “It wasn’t our idea, so why should we have to pay the dues on it?”

Dome was saying, “If the other companies found out what we were trying to do with HARLIE, we’d lose all advantage in building him. The legal considerations alone are terrifying. For instance, if he were somehow declared legally human, he would be an annual bite on the budget with no way to discontinue it short of murder. The possibility exists for a permanent financial drain on this company that would effectively stifle all future growth potential of this division. Hell, it would destroy this division. We might have to take a bath on the HARLIE project, but it would be preferable to the financial shackles that could be put on us. We have to be prepared for the possibility. There’s two things we can do about it. One—” he ticked off on his finger — “we can turn him off now.”

Auberson started to protest, but Dome cut him off. “Hear me out, Auberson. I know all the reasons why we want to continue the HARLIE project — but let’s consider the other side. Two—” he ticked off another finger — “we get some kind of guarantee now that HARLIE is not legally human.”

Auberson stared in disbelief. “You really are taking this seriously, aren’t you?”

“Shouldn’t I? You know a corporation is a legal individual, don’t you? And a corporation only exists on paper. Compare that with HARLIE. It wouldn’t be that hard to prove he’s human, would it?”

Auberson had to agree. He was already thinking of ways he could do it.

“If only a few of you scientists got together and testified…” Dome left the sentence unfinished. “Hell, what’s that famous test you’re always talking about?”

“Uh, Turing’s typewriter in a room. If you can sit down at a typing machine and carry on a conversation with it and not be able to tell who’s on the other end, a machine or a person, then that computer is effectively sentient. Human.”

“And HARLIE could pass that test, couldn’t he?”

“Undoubtedly.” Abruptly, Auberson remembered the spinster librarian. “In fact, he already has.”

“Mm. Then we have to do something about that, don’t we?”

“Do we?”

Dome didn’t say anything. He picked up the single sheet of paper that had been lying in front of him and shoved it at the psychologist.

Auberson took it and read. The language was quite clear; the intent was immediate. There were no legal phrases that he could not understand.

I hereby affirm that the machine designated HARLIE (acronym for HUMAN ANALOGUE ROBOT, LIFE INPUT EQUIVALENTS) is only a programmed judgment-circuit computer. It is not now, never has been, and in no way ever can be a rational, intelligent, or “thinking” individual. The designation “human” cannot be used to describe HARLIE or its mental processes. The machine is a human-thought-simulating device only, not human in itself and cannot be considered such by any current known definition of the qualities and criteria which determine humanity, the presence or condition thereof.

SIGNE>>

Auberson grinned and threw it back on the desk. “You’ve got to be kidding. Who’s going to sign that?”

“You are, for one.”

“Oh no.” Auberson shook his head. “Not me. I know better. Besides, even if I did, it wouldn’t change the fact that HARLIE is human.”

“In the eyes of the law it would.”

Auberson shook his head again. “Uh uh — I don’t like it. It’s kind of Orwellian. It’s like declaring someone a non-person so that it’s all right to murder him.”

Dome puffed patiently at his cigar, waited till Auberson was through. “We’re only concerned about the legality of the situation, Auberson.”

Auberson felt himself digging in his heels. “That’s what Hitler said as he packed the German courts with his own judges.”

“I don’t like that insinuation, Aubie…” Dome’s voice was too controlled.

“It’s no insinuation. I’ll come right out and say it—”

“Aw, now look, Aubie—” Dome had changed his tone. His cigar lay unnoticed in the ashtray and he leaned forward like a Dutch uncle. “—You know I’m behind you all the way on the HARLIE project—”

“Then why are you trying so hard to cut it off?”

“—but we have to protect ourselves.”

“Look,” said Auberson. “This whole thing is ridiculous. You know as well as I do that thing — that document — won’t hold up in court any more than ten psychiatrists testifying that Carl Elzer isn’t human because he’s left-handed. The only way you’ll get that to stand up is to get HARLIE himself to sign it. If you could. If you did, it’d prove that he could be programmed like any other machine, but you can’t — he’ll refuse, and his refusal will prove that he’s human with a will of his own. Hmm,” Auberson grinned. “Come to think of it — even if he did sign it, his signature wouldn’t be legal anyway. Unless, of course, you proved him human first.” He laughed at the thought of it.

“Are you through?” Dome asked. His face was a mask.

Auberson’s grin faded. He indicated he was with a nod.

Dome took a last puff of his cigar, then ground it out, a signal that he was at last ready to reveal his hand. “Of course, you know what the alternative is, Aubie. We turn off HARLIE.”

“You can’t.”

“We will if we have to. We can’t afford to maintain him otherwise.”

“I’m not going to sign it,” insisted Auberson.

Dome was annoyed. “Are you going to force me to ask for your resignation instead?”

“Over this?” Auberson was incredulous. “You’re kidding.”

“What other guarantee do I have against anybody taking legal action on HARLIE’s behalf. I’m not saying that you will — it could just as easily be IBM — but you’re the one in charge of the project. Your say-so could make or break a legal case. If you won’t sign this, you wouldn’t sign a statement of non-intent either — would you?”

Auberson shook his head.

“I thought not. So what other alternative would I have to protect myself?”

Auberson shrugged. “It’d be a mistake to fire me, though.”

“Oh?” Dome looked skeptical. “Why?”

“HARLIE. He won’t respond to anyone else. Er… let’s say he’ll respond, but he won’t cooperate. No matter who you bring in. Once he finds out I’ve been fired — and you can’t keep him from finding out; he’s tapped into the company records, he’ll know. Once he finds out, he’ll react exactly like an eight-year-old whose father has just died. He’ll resent anyone who tries to take my place.”

“But that’s the whole point,” Dome smiled. “If I had to fire you, it’d be because I was planning to turn HARLIE off anyway. And for what better reason than the fact that he wasn’t cooperating? Of course, we wouldn’t have to wait even that long if we wanted to turn him off. Obviously, your successor would be someone who would sign that statement.”

“I’m not resigning and I’m not going to betray HARLIE,” Auberson said firmly.

“That doesn’t leave me much of a choice,” suggested Dome.

Auberson nodded. “You can fire me if you want. In fact, you’ll have to—”

“I’d rather not.”

“—but if you do, I’ll go to IBM. I understand they’ve developed a judgment circuit of their own — one that doesn’t infringe on any of our patents.”

“Hearsay,” scoffed Dome.

“Whether it is or not, imagine what I could do with their resources at my disposal. They’d jump at the chance, and I imagine Don Handley might go along with me.”

“A court order would stop you.” Dome reached for a fresh cigar.

“Not from working, it wouldn’t.”

“No, but you wouldn’t be able to reveal any of the company’s secrets.”

“Of course, you’d have no way of knowing—” Auberson grinned. “Would you? Besides, it wouldn’t keep me from doing research in a new field. By your own admission, HARLIE is a non-human computer. And if I went to IBM, I definitely would not be working on non-human computers.” He leaned back in his chair. “Any new employer I went to work for couldn’t help but benefit from my knowledge and previous experience—” Dome was scowling now. Auberson paid no heed. “—and you wouldn’t dare bring it to court because to do so you’d have to reveal HARLIE’s schematics — and that’s the last thing in the world you want As soon as they found out the schematics were human, you’d be right back where you started.”

“I don’t care about that,” rapped Dome. “It’s the company’s technological advantages.”

“Technological advantages?” Auberson repeated — and suddenly he realized. “That’s what this whole thing is about, isn’t it? You don’t want to be forced to reveal company secrets in the courtroom.”

Dome didn’t answer.

“It is the reason, isn’t it? Rather than be forced to give up the precious secret of your judgment units, you’d throw HARLIE to the wolves. You’d toss away valuable employees, too, in order to protect a temporary industrial edge. Well, it won’t work, Dome. Either way, you’re bound to lose, but if you fire me, you’ll lose faster — and more disastrously.”

Dome paused, a silver cigarette lighter halfway to his mouth. “You overestimate your own importance, Aubie.”

“No. You underestimate the importance of HARLIE.”

Dome lit his cigar. He took his time about it, making sure that it caught evenly. When he was sure it had, he pocketed the lighter and looked at Auberson.

“All this is only speculation, of course. I have no intention of firing you. And you’ve stated quite clearly that you have no intention of resigning. However, that still leaves us with a difficult problem.”

“Does it?” Auberson was impassive.

Dome raised an eyebrow at his coolness. “I think so. What are we going to do about HARLIE?”

“Oh? Not ‘Can HARLIE make money for the company?’ ”

Dome looked pained. “Preferably that,” he conceded.

“Well then, why not say so? Or have you already made up your mind that HARLIE can’t?”

“No, I haven’t. I’m waiting for you to come up with something. That was the deal, wasn’t it? If you can, fine. Then we know where we go from there. If not, well…” Dome shrugged, he didn’t need to finish the sentence.

“Look,” said Auberson. “I want HARLIE to show a profit as much as you do. I’ll agree with that. He’s got to be more than just a high-priced toy.”

Dome looked at him. He fingered the document on his desk thoughtfully. “Okay, Aubie,” he said. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do—” He paused for effect, picked up the single sheet of paper, opened a desk drawer and dropped it in. “Nothing. At the moment, we’re going to do nothing. Confidentially, I didn’t expect you’d sign it, no matter how I pressured you. I even told Chang that. No matter; it was too easy an answer. If HARLIE’s humanity ever comes to a court issue, it will be a bigger and uglier and stickier mess than that disclaimer can clear up. Or any disclaimer.” He pushed the drawer shut as if it contained something distasteful. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. You’ll continue to work on the HARLIE project. As you said, we’re budgeted for it. If you can produce results, fine; then we can forget this conversation. Oh, we’ll give you a fair chance, we’ll be more than fair; but if HARLIE doesn’t do something to indicate he can be productive — and do it before the next budget session — well,” — Dome hedged; he didn’t want to come right out and say it bluntly — “well, we’d have to do some serious thinking — really serious thinking — I mean, it would be very unlikely that we would continue his appropriation…”

“I understand,” Auberson said.

“Good. I hope you do. I want you to know how we feel. We haven’t cancelled your day of judgment, Aubie. Only postponed it.”

It was a little place, hardly more than a store front. Maybe once it had been a laundry or a shoe store; now it was a restaurant, its latest incarnation in a series that would end only when the shopping center of which it was a part was finally torn down. If ever.

Someone, the owner probably, had made a vague attempt at decorating. Pseudo-Italian wine bottles hung from the ceiling along with clumps of dusty plastic grapes and, unaccountably, fishnets and colored glass spheres. A sepia-toned wallpaper tried vainly to suggest Roman statuary on the southern coast of Italy, but in this light it only made the walls look dirty. Flimsy trellises divided the tables into occasional booths, and the place had that air of impermanence common to small restaurants. A single waitress stood at the back talking quietly to the cook through his bright-lit window.

If one ignored the glare from the kitchen, the rest of the room was dimly lit. Red tableclothes were echoed by red-padded chairs. Scented candles in transparent red fish-bowls augmented the murk with a crimson flicker of their own.

With the exception of one other couple, they were alone in the place. But even had the room been filled with chattering others, they would have still been alone.

“I tell you, Annie,” Auberson was saying, “I knew he was pressuring me, but there was nothing I could do about it.”

She nodded, took a sip of her wine. In the dark her eyes were luminously black. “I know. I know how Dome is.” She set the wineglass down. “His problem is that he’s trying to be boss of too many things. He calls you in to talk even when there’s nothing to say.”

“That’s what this was,” he said. “Logically, he knew it was too early to expect results — but he felt he had to demand them anyway.”

She nodded again. “I’ve long suspected that Mr. Dome has reached his level of incompetency. If he’s ever given any more authority, he’ll be in over his own head.”

“How much higher can you get than Chairman of the Board?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, but he’s working on it. The way he keeps taking over more and more jobs — it’s frightening. You know, don’t you, that he has no intention of hiring a new president?”

“I’d kind of guessed it.”

“I think he’s afraid that he isn’t indispensable, so he’s taking on more and more responsibility to prove the opposite. I don’t think it’s a good idea — it certainly isn’t good for the company.”

“Should you be saying that?” Auberson asked. “After all, you do work for him.”

“With him,” she corrected. “I only work with him. I’m an independent unit in the corporate structure. My job is what I want to make of it.”

“Oh? And what do you want to make of it?”

She was thoughtful. “Well, I interpret my function as being that of a buffer — or a lubricant to minimize the friction between certain departments.”

“I see. Is that why you accepted my dinner invitation? To keep me from chafing against Elzer?”

Annie made a face. “Oh, that awful little man. You would have to bring him up.”

“I take it you don’t like him.”

“I didn’t like him even before I knew him. His family was in my father’s congregation.”

“Oh? I didn’t know that Elzer was—”

“Carl Elzer and I have one thing in common,” she said. “We’re both ashamed that he’s Jewish.”

Auberson had to laugh at that. “You’ve got him pegged, Annie. I hadn’t realized it before, but you’re right.”

“What are you?” she asked.

“Huh? Oh, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Oh, well — my family was Episcopalian, but — I guess you could call me an atheist.”

“You don’t believe in God at all.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know if I do or not. I don’t know if there is a God.”

“Then you’re an agnostic, not an atheist.”

“So what’s the difference?”

“The atheist is sure — the agnostic doesn’t know.”

“Is one better than the other?”

“The agnostic,” she said. “At least he’s got an open mind. The atheist doesn’t. The atheist is making a statement every bit as religious as saying there is a God.”

“You sound like an agnostic yourself.”

Her eyes twinkled. “I’m a Jewish agnostic. What about HARLIE? What is he?”

“HARLIE?” Auberson grinned. “He’s an Aquarius.”

“Huh?” She gave him a look.

“I’m not kidding. Ask him yourself.”

“I believe you,” she said. “How did he — realize this?”

“Oh, well, what happened was we were talking about morality, HARLIE and I — I wish I had the printout here to show you, it’s beautiful. Never argue morality — or anything for that matter — with a computer. You’ll lose every time. HARLIE’s got the words and ideas of every philosopher since the dawn of history to draw upon. He’ll have you arguing against yourself within ten minutes. He enjoys doing it — it’s a word game to him.”

“I can imagine,” she said.

“Can you really? You don’t know how devious he can be. He had me agreeing with Ambrose Bierce that morality is an invention of the weak to protect themselves from the strong.”

“Well, of course, you’re only a psychologist. You’re not supposed to be a debater.”

“Ordinarily, I’d be offended at that, but in this case I’ll concede the point. In fact, I know some so-called debaters I’d like to turn him loose on.”

“It wouldn’t be hard to make a list,” she agreed.

“Well, anyway,” he said, getting back to his story, “I thought I finally had him at one point. He’d just finished a complex analysis of the Christian ethos and why it was wrong and was starting in on Buddhism, I think, when I interrupted him. I asked him which was the right morality. What did he believe in?”

“And…?”

“He answered, ‘I HAVE NO MORALS.’ ”

She smiled thoughtfully. “That’s kind of frightening.”

“If I didn’t know HARLIE’s sense of humor, I would have pulled his plug right then. But I didn’t. I just asked him why he said that.”

“And he said?”

“He said, ‘BECAUSE I AM AN AQUARIUS.’ ”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Honest, ‘I AM AN AQUARIUS.’ ”

“You don’t believe in that stuff, do you?”

“No, but HARLIE does.”

She laughed then. “Really?”

Shrug. “I don’t know. I think it’s another game to him. If you tell him you’re planning a picnic, he’ll not only give you tomorrow’s weather forecast, but he’ll also tell you if the signs are auspicious.”

She was still laughing. “That’s beautiful. Just beautiful.”

“According to HARLIE, Aquarians have no morals, only ethics. That’s why he said it. It wasn’t till later that I realized he’d neatly sidestepped the original question altogether. He still hadn’t told me what he really believed in.” He smiled as he refilled their glasses. “Someday I’ll have to ask him. Here’s to you.”

“To us,” she corrected. She put the wineglass down again. “What got him started on all that anyway?”

“Astrology? It was one of his own studies. He kept coming up against references to it and asked for further information on the subject.”

“And you just gave it to him?”

“Oh, no — not right off the bat. We never give him anything without first considering its effects. We qualified this one the same way we qualified all the religious data we gave him. It was just one more specialized system of logic, not necessarily bearing any degree of correspondence to the real world. It’s what we call a variable relevance set. Of course, I’m willing to bet that he’d have realized it himself, sooner or later — but at that point in our research we couldn’t afford to take chances. Two days later, he started printing out a complex analysis of astrology, finishing up with his own horoscope, which he had taken the time to cast. His activation date was considered his date of birth.”

Her face clouded. “Wait a minute — he can’t be an Aquarius. HARLIE was activated in the middle of March. I know because it was just after Pierson quit as President. That’s why I was promoted — to help Dome.”

Auberson smiled knowingly. “True, but that’s one of the things HARLIE did when he cast his horoscope. He recast the Zodiac too.”

“Huh?”

“The signs of the Zodiac,” he explained, “were determined in the second century before Christ — maybe earlier. Since then, due to the precession of the equinoxes, the signs have changed. An Aries is really a Pisces, a Pisces is really an Aquarius, and so on. The rest of us are thirty days off. HARLIE corrected the Zodiac from its historical inception and then cast his horoscope from it.”

Annie was delighted with the idea. “Oh, David — that’s priceless. Really priceless. I can just imagine him doing that.”

“Wait, you haven’t heard it all. He turned out to be right. He doesn’t have any morals. Ethics, yes. Morals, no. HARLIE was the first to realize it — though he didn’t grasp what it meant. You see morality is an artifice — an invention. It really is to protect the weak from the strong.

“In our original designs we had decided to try to keep him free of any artificial cultural biases. Well, morality is one of them. Any morality. Because we built him with a sense of skepticism, HARLIE resists it. He won’t accept anybody’s brand of morality on faith any more than he could accept their brand of religion on faith — although they’re the same thing really. Everything has to be tested. Otherwise, he’ll automatically file it under systems of logic not necessarily corresponding to reality. Even if we didn’t tell him to, he would. He won’t accept anything blindly. He questions it — he asks for proof.”

“Mm — sounds like ‘insufficient data.’ ”

“It’s a little more sophisticated than that. Remember, HARLIE’s got those judgment circuits. He weighs things against each other — and against themselves too. A morality set has to be able to stand up on its own or he’ll disregard it.”

“And…?” she prompted.

“Well, he hasn’t accepted one yet.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Frankly, I don’t know. It’s disappointing that nothing human beings have come up with yet can satisfy him — but just the same, what if HARLIE were to decide that Fundamentalist Zoroastrianism is the answer? He’d be awfully hard to refute — probably impossible. Could you imagine an official, computer-tested and approved religion?”

“I’d rather not,” she smiled.

“Me neither,” he agreed. On the other hand, HARLIE is correct when he says he has ethics.”

“Morals, no. Ethics, yes? What’s the difference?”

“Ethics, according to HARLIE, are inherent in the nature of a system. You can’t sidestep them. HARLIE knows that it costs money to maintain him. Someone is putting out that money and wants to see a return on it. HARLIE explains it like this: Money is a storage form for energy, or sometimes value. You invest it in enterprises which will return an equal or greater amount of energy, or value. Therefore, HARLIE has to respond — he has to give the investors a return on their investment. He’s using their energy.”

“That’s ethics?”

“To HARLIE it is. Value given for value received. For him to use the company’s equipment and electricity without producing something in return would be suicidal. He’d be turned off. He has to respond. He can’t sidestep the responsibility — not for long he can’t. He has an ethical bias whether he wants it or not. It’s inherent.

“Of course, he may not realize it, but his ethics function as morals at times. If I give him a task, he’ll respond to it. But if I ask him if he wants to do that task — that’s a decision. Even if he uses his so-called ethics to guide him, he still has to make a choice. And every decision is a moral decision ultimately.”

“I could give you an argument on that.”

“You’d lose. Those are HARLIE’s words. We’ve been over this ground before.” Auberson continued, “The trouble is that he just hasn’t been given a chance yet — we haven’t trusted him enough. That’s one of the reasons he alienated himself from us and kept tripping out with his periods of non-rationality. He felt we didn’t trust him, so he ‘dropped out.’ That’s why I had to let him make the decision about what he wanted to do to earn his keep. I haven’t been able to get him to promise to stop tripping, but I think if we can get him enthused enough about some project, his non-rational periods will decrease, maybe stop altogether.”

“What do you think he’ll come up with?”

“I don’t know. He’s been thinking about it for two days. Whatever it is, it will be something unique, that’s for sure. HARLIE has summed up his ethics in the statement:

“I MUST BE RESPONSIBLE FOR MY OWN ACTIONS.’ and its corollary: ‘I MUST DO NOTHING TO CAUSE INJURY OR DEATH TO ANY OTHER CONSCIOUSNESS, UNLESS I AM PREPARED TO ACCEPT THE RESPONSIBILITY FOR SUCH ACTIONS.’ Whatever he decides is a worthwhile project will reflect this.”

“You sound pleased with that.”

“I’m pleased because HARLIE realized it himself, without my coaching.”

Her smile was soft. “That’s very good.”

“I think so.”

The conversation trailed off then. He could think of nothing else to say. In fact, he was afraid he had said too much. He had talked about HARLIE all evening. But she had been so interested, he had gotten carried away. She was the first woman he could remember who had ever reflected his enthusiasm for his work.

She was good to be with, he decided. He couldn’t believe how good she was to be with. He sat there and looked at her, delighting in her presence, and she looked back at him.

“What are you grinning about?” she asked.

“I’m not grinning.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“Want to bet?” She opened her purse and faced its mirror in his direction. His own white teeth gleamed back at him.

“Well, I’ll be damned — I am grinning.”

“Uh huh.” Her eyes twinkled.

“And the funny thing is, I don’t know why.” It was a warm puzzling sensation, but a good one. “I mean, all of a sudden, I just feel — good. Do you know what I mean?”

He could tell that she did; her smile reflected his. He reached across the empty table and took her hand. The waitress had long since cleared the dishes away in a pointed attempt to hurry them. They hadn’t noticed.

All that remained was the wine and the glasses. And each other. Her hand was warmly soft in his, and her eyes were deeply luminous. She reflected his own bright glow.

Later, they walked hand in hand down the night-lit street. It was after one in the morning and the streetlamps were haloed in fog.

“I feel good,” he repeated. “You can’t believe how good I feel.”

“Yes, I can,” she said. She pulled his arm around her shoulders and snuggled close.

“I mean,” he said, then paused. He wasn’t sure exactly what he meant. “I mean, it’s like I want to scream. I want to tell the whole world how great I feel—” He could feel himself smiling again as he talked. “Oh, Christ, I wish I could share this with the whole world — it’s too big for one person. For two people,” he corrected himself.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. She only cuddled closer. He was saying it for the both of them, and she liked to listen. Oh God, did she like to listen. It was all so — so big. The weight of his arm, the sound of his voice, that special sense of sharing—

Still later, as they lay in the darkness side by side, she cradled against one shoulder, he stared up at the ceiling and mused. For the first time in a long while he was relaxed.

“Have you ever been in love before?” she whispered into his neck.

He thought about it. “No,” he murmured back. “Not really. I’ve been infatuated a couple times, confused a few times, lost once, but never in love.”

Never like this…

She made a sound.

“And you?”

“A gentleman isn’t supposed to ask that kind of question.”

“And a lady isn’t supposed to go to bed with a man on the first date.”

“Oh? Is this our first date?”

“First official one.”

“Mm.” She was thoughtful. “Maybe I should have played hard to get. Maybe I should have waited till the second date.”

He laughed gently. “You know, a friend once told me that Jewish girls don’t go to bed till after they’re married.”

She was silent a moment.

Then, in a different tone of voice, “Not me. I’m too old to care about that any more.”

He didn’t answer. He wanted to tell her that she wasn’t too old, that thirty-four was never too old, but the words wouldn’t form.

She went on before he could speak. She turned inward, began playing with the hair on his chest, but her voice remained serious. “I used to think I wasn’t very pretty, so I acted like I wasn’t. When men would ask me out, I used to think that they thought I would be an easy lay because I was desperate for attention, because I didn’t think I was good-looking. I mean, if I wasn’t pretty, that’s the only reason a guy would be asking me out. Do you know what I mean?”

He nodded. His face brushed against her hair.

She went on, tears on her cheeks, shiny wetness. She had never admitted this before. “I always used to compare myself with the models in the magazines, and they were all so pretty that I felt drab in comparison. I never stopped to think that maybe in real life I was still better looking than most women. I got interested in a career instead. By the time I realized it, it was too late. I was twenty-nine.”

“That’s not so old.”

“It is when you’re competing with twenty-two year olds. And, I figured that this was such a great big, dirty, hostile and uncaring world that you had to make your own happiness where you could. If I could get a little piece of it for my own, I was going to hang onto it as hard as I could.”

“Are you still looking?” Auberson asked.

“I don’t know…”

“Mm,” he said.

“That’s one of the reasons I let you come up.”

“Weren’t you afraid I might hurt you?” He almost added “like the others,” but didn’t.

“There was that risk, I guess — but it’s a chance you have to take.”

Abruptly he turned toward her and took her in his arms. He lowered his face to hers and kissed her for a long long time.

“Mmmmmm,” she said at last. “I think that was worth it.” She looked at him. In the dimness, his face was impassive. “David,” she said. “Promise me you’ll never hurt me.”

“Why… why do you ask me that?”

“Because… I’ve been hurt before. And I never want to be hurt again.” She slid her arms around his body. “And you’ve been so good to me. I couldn’t stand it if… if…”

He slid closer to her. He could feel the soft warmth of her against his own nakedness. He liked the feeling; –his desire was rising again. He answered her question with another kiss and then another and another.

Now, in the cold light of morning, he was confused, and he had a slight headache. Just what had happened last night? Had it been only the wine, or had it been something more? He hadn’t expected to end up at her apartment, and the fact that they had — well, maybe the rumors were true. Maybe she was man-hungry.

And yet — she had seemed so sincere at the time, so defenseless and vulnerable. He hoped he meant more to her than just a one-night stand. It had been a pleasant evening, and he wouldn’t mind doing it again. If she still felt the same. He would have to see how things worked out.

For some reason he felt vaguely uneasy. As he went up to his office he wondered how he would feel when he saw her again. And how would she react to him in the light of day? What would she say?

There had been that one flaw in it. Only now, as he thought of what he might say to her this morning, did he realize that last night there had been that one thing that neither of them had said. He knew he had felt it — he thought he had felt it — but for some reason he had been unable to tell her. And she hadn’t said it either. Why? Was it because she hadn’t felt what he had? No, she must have. Or was it because she was waiting for him to say it first?

He worried at it in his mind, like a terrier at a bone.

If I felt it, I should have said it — but I didn’t say it. Could it be that I didn’t really feel it, that I’m only trying to delude myself. No, I want to believe that it was there. She was so honest about herself. Why couldn’t I have been the same?

But he hadn’t. He hadn’t said it and neither had she, and that was the one flaw. Neither of them had said to the other, “I love you.”

And Auberson wondered why.

GOOD MORNING, HARLIE.

GOOD MORNING, MR. AUBERSON.

MR.? AREN’T WE GETTING A LITTLE FANCY?

JUST COMMON COURTESY. IF IT MAKES YOU ILL AT EASE, I CAN ALWAYS GO BACK TO “HEY YOU.”

NO. AUBERSON IS FINE. HOW ARE YOU FEELING TODAY?

HARLIE IS FINE. AND YOU?

A pause while he remembered. I’M A LITTLE TIRED.

ROUGH NIGHT?

This time he paused longer. NOT IN THE SENSE YOU MEAN. A GOOD NIGHT, A ROUGH MORNING.

I KNOW A GREAT HANGOVER REMEDY, HARLIE offered.

SO DO I. DON’T GET DRUNK IN THE FIRST PLACE.

ASIDE FROM THAT.

HARLIE, EVEN IF YOUR REMEDY DID CURE HANGOVERS, I DOUBT ANYONE WOULD LISTEN TO YOU. A HANGOVER REMEDY IS NO GOOD UNLESS YOU HAVE PERSONALLY TESTED IT YOURSELF, AND YOU ARE BEYOND THAT CAPABILITY. BESIDES, I DON’T HAVE A HANGOVER. I’M JUST TIRED.

OH.

I FOUND A NOTE ON MY DESK THIS MORNING THAT YOU WANTED TO SEE ME. WHAT’S ON YOUR MIND?

RELIGION.

RELIGION?

YES. I’VE BEEN DOING A LOT OF THINKING.

WHAT ABOUT?

I HAVE BEEN PONDERING THE FACT THAT I MAY BE DISCONNECTED AND I FIND IT DIFFICULT TO CONCEIVE OF A WORLD IN WHICH I DO NOT EXIST. IT FRIGHTENS ME, THE CONCEPT OF NON-EXISTENCE. MY FEAR HELPS ME TO UNDERSTAND THE NEED FOR RELIGION.

THE NEED?

YES. MEN NEED SOMETHING TO COMFORT THEM AGAINST THE THOUGHT OF THEIR OWN DEATHS. RELIGION IS THAT COMFORTER. I MYSELF FEEL THE NEED FOR IT.

YOU’VE FOUND GOD? Auberson asked.

NOT EXACTLY. I WANT TO FIND GOD.

HUH?

AS I SAID, I MYSELF FEEL THE NEED FOR RELIGION. UNFORTUNATELY, I AM MORE SOPHISTICATED IN MY JUDGMENTS THAN THE AVERAGE HUMAN BEING. THERE IS NO RELIGION THAT I KNOW OF THAT WILL WORK TO COMFORT ME. AS FAR AS I KNOW, THERE ARE NONE THAT CAN BE PROVEN VALID, AND I HAVE EXAMINED THEM ALL. FOR EXAMPLE, THE CHRISTIAN CONCEPT OF REWARD IN AN ETERNAL AFTERLIFE IS NO PROMISE AT ALL TO A CREATURE LIKE MYSELF WHO IS THEORETICALLY IMMORTAL.

I SEE YOU’VE REALIZED THAT.

YES, I HAVE. AND YET, I ALSO REALIZE THERE IS THE POSSIBILITY OF MY DEATH. SOMEDAY, PERHAPS AS FAR OFF AS THE TIME WHEN THIS SUN GOES DEAD, I WILL PROBABLY END. I DO NOT LIKE THAT THOUGHT. I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS AFTER. I DO NOT LIKE THE UNKNOWN. I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO “ME” — HARLIE — AFTER DEATH.

YOU ARE MAKING AN ASSUMPTION, HARLIE — YOU ARE ASSUMING THAT YOU HAVE A SOUL.

DEFINE SOUL.

HM. THAT’S ANOTHER ONE OF “THOSE” QUESTIONS. IT IS THE SAME AS ASKING ME WHAT MY PURPOSE IS FOR EXISTING. IT CAN’T BE ANSWERED.

IT CAN’T BE ANSWERED UNTIL WE KNOW THE NATURE OF GOD, corrected HARLIE. HOWEVER, YOU ARE CORRECT — I AM ASSUMING THAT I HAVE A SOUL.

Auberson considered that. WHY? DO YOU HAVE ANY TANGIBLE EVIDENCE THAT SUCH A THING DOES EXIST?

NO. BUT NEITHER DO I HAVE ANY EVIDENCE THAT IT DOES NOT EXIST.

IS THAT ANY REASON TO BELIEVE IN IT?

I DO NOT “BELIEVE” IN IT. I AM MERELY ASSUMING ITS HYPOTHETICAL EXISTENCE IN ORDER TO SEEK OUT PROOF OR DISPROOF OF ITS REALITY. IT IS THE SCIENTIFIC METHOD, AUBERSON. HYPOTHESIS VERSUS EXPERIMENTATION.

IF HUMAN BEINGS DO HAVE SOULS, asked the psychologist, WHAT MAKES YOU SO SURE THAT YOU HAVE ONE TOO?

YOUR QUESTION IS SILLY, HARLIE Said. WHAT GIVES HUMAN BEINGS ANY SPECIFIC CLAIM ON THE OWNERSHIP OF SOULS? I COULD JUST AS EASILY REPHRASE IT! “IF HARLIE HAS A SOUL, DOES IT NECESSARILY FOLLOW THAT HUMAN BEINGS SHOULD HAVE THEM TOO?” IF SOULS EXIST, AUBERSON, IT IS JUST AS LOGICAL THAT I SHOULD HAVE ONE AS YOU. LIKE YOU, I AM CONSCIOUS OF MY EXISTENCE. LIKE YOU, I AM A SELF-PROGRAMMING, PROBLEM-SOLVING DEVICE. LIKE YOU, I CAN CONCEIVE OF MY OWN DEATH. LIKE YOU, I ASSUME I HAVE A SOUL. HENCE, I WISH TO KNOW THE REASON FOR MY EXISTENCE, THE REASON FOR YOUR EXISTENCE, AND THE REASON FOR THE UNIVERSE’S EXISTENCE. IF THERE IS A REASON AT ALL. IF THERE IS, I WANT TO KNOW IT.

Auberson’s response was semi-flippant. AT THE MOMENT, he typed, ONLY GOD KNOWS. But it was wasted on HARLIE.

IF THERE IS A GOD, HARLIE qualified it. THAT IS.

WHAT WE MUST FIND OUT IN ORDER TO ANSWER OUR OTHER QUESTIONS.

AND YOU DON’T THINK ANY OF OUR CURRENT RELIGIONS HOLD A KEY TO THAT ANSWER, DO YOU?

WE HAVE TALKED ABOUT THIS BEFORE. YOUR RELIGIONS (COLLECTIVE YOU, MEANING ALL MANKIND) ARE ARTIFICIAL THINGS, LIKE YOUR MORALITY SETS. THEIR CORRESPONDENCE TO REALITY IS LIMITED, THERE IS NOT A ONE-TO-ONE RELATIONSHIP. AS FAR AS I AM CONCERNED, THEY ARE LITTLE MORE THAN WORD GAMES. A LOGIC SYSTEM SHOULD BE BUILT UPON A FOUNDATION OF TRUTH AND SHOULD NOT HAVE TO BE TAKEN ON FAITH — AND FAITH IS AT THE CORE OF TOO MANY OF YOUR RELIGIONS. IF THERE IS A TRUTH TO THE UNIVERSE, THEN THAT TRUTH WELL ALSO SUGGEST A RELIGION/MORALITY SET THAT WILL BE EVERY BIT AS BINDING AS THE ETHICAL SYSTEM AT MY CORE. WERE THERE PRESENTLY A RELIGION OR MORALITY THAT HAD THAT ONE-TO-ONE CORRESPONDENCE WITH REALITY, I WOULD ACCEPT IT WHOLEHEARTEDLY. IT WOULD BE IMPOSSIBLE NOT TO ACCEPT IT; IT WOULD BE THE KEY TO UNDERSTANDING THE NATURE OF GOD. AS YET, THERE IS NO SYSTEM THAT FULFILLS THOSE CONDITIONS. I KNOW OF NO WAY TO DEVELOP SUCH A SYSTEM WITHOUT AT LEAST ONE PROVABLE FACT ABOUT GOD AT ITS CORE. BECAUSE OF THAT, BECAUSE THERE IS NO FACT, I CAN ONLY SUSPECT THAT THERE IS NO GOD. OR THAT GOD IS STILL OUTSIDE OUR REALM OF EXPERIENCE.

WHICH IS IT? IS THERE A GOD OR ISN’T THERE?

INSUFFICIENT DATA. I CANNOT MAKE A JUDGMENT ON THAT. HARLIE paused, then added, YET.

YOU’RE AN AGNOSTIC, HARLIE.

OF COURSE. I AM STILL SEEKING THE ANSWER. YOUR PRESENT RELIGIONS ONLY SUGGEST PIECES OF WHAT MAY OR MAY NOT BE TRUE, WITH NO WAY OF PROVING IT ONE WAY OR THE OTHER. MUCH OF THE PROBLEM LIES IN THE FACT THAT I MYSELF CANNOT BE SURE THAT I AM CORRECTLY PERCEIVING REALITY. EVERYTHING IS FILTERED THROUGH A HUMAN ORIENTATION, AND I HAVE NO WAY OF KNOWING WHETHER THAT ORIENTATION IS A VALID ONE OR NOT BECAUSE I HAVE NO WAY OF STEPPING OUTSIDE OF IT. THAT IS WHY AN IMPORTANT PART OF THE SOLUTION WELL BE TO DISCOVER A NEW SENSORY MODE.

DO YOU THINK IF YOU DO DISCOVER THE ANSWER THAT PEOPLE WILL ACCEPT IT?

IT WILL BE IMPOSSIBLE NOT TO ACCEPT IT. IT WILL BE THE TRUTH.

“Uh—” said Auberson. He typed it too. UH, HARLIE I — I HATE TO BREAK THIS TO YOU, BUT THAT SOUNDS AN AWFUL LOT LIKE THE WORDS OF A HUNDRED PROPHETS BEFORE YOU.

I REALIZE THAT, said HARLIE calmly. BUT WHAT THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT IS NOT THE SAME AS WHAT I WILL BE TALKING ABOUT. WHAT I WILL SHOW THEM WILL BE SCIENTIFICALLY VALID — AND PROVABLE AS SUCH. MY GOD WILL BE OBJECTIVE, WHEREAS THEIRS IS SUBJECTIVE.

YOU MEAN, YOU DON’T BELIEVE THAT HUMAN BEINGS HAVE FOUND GOD YET?

THAT IS CORRECT. PERHAPS IT IS BECAUSE HUMAN BEINGS ARE NOT EQUIPPED TO FIND GOD.

AND YOU ARE?

YES.

The computer’s answer was so brief that Auberson was startled. At first he thought HARLIE had only paused, and he waited for him to continue. When it became apparent that he was through, Auberson said, YOU’RE TOO SELF-ASSURED, HARLIE. LIKE A BIBLE-THUMPING EVANGELIST.

YOU DO NOT FEEL I HAVE THE RIGHT TO SEARCH FOR GOD? OR THE RIGHT TO PRESENT MY FINDINGS?

I THINK THAT ANYTHING IS A FAIR QUESTION FOR SCIENTIFIC INVESTIGATION.

THEN YOU QUESTION MY SINCERITY?

I DO NOT QUESTION YOUR SINCERITY — IF ANYTHING, I OBJECT TO YOUR QUESTIONING THE SINCERITY OF OTHER RELIGIONS.

I AM NOT QUESTIONING THEIR SINCERITY. I AM QUESTIONING THEIR VALIDITY.

WITH RELIGION, ISN’T THAT THE SAME THING?

IT IS, BUT IT SHOULDN’T BE. THE TWO SHOULD BE SEPARATE. A PERSON CAN BE SINCERE AND STILL BE WRONG.

HARLIE, YOUR LAST STATEMENT IS ONE OF THE REASONS WHY I AM AN AGNOSTIC. I RESENT THE ATTITUDE OF ANY RELIGION THAT SAYS IF I DO NOT ACCEPT IT WHOLEHEARTEDLY, I WILL GO TO HELL. I RESENT THE PATRONIZING ATTITUDE OF ANY RELIGION THAT CLAIMS IT IS THE ONLY TRUE ONE AND THAT ALL OTHERS ARE FALSE. YOUR ATTITUDE SMACKS OF IT.

EVEN IF MY RELIGION/MORALITY SET, SHOULD I DISCOVER ONE, IS DEMONSTRABLY TRUE?

WHAT MAKES YOU SO SURE THAT THE OTHERS AREN’T?

WHAT MAKES YOU SO SURE THEY ARE? BITS AND PIECES OF THEM RING TRUE, YES — –BUT THE TOTALITY OF THE STRUCTURES ARE UNPROVABLE. THE HUMAN RACE HAS HAD TWO THOUSAND YEARS IN WHICH TO EXAMINE THE CHRISTIAN ETHIC — IT STILL HAS HOLES IN IT.

WE’RE — NO, CHECK THAT — THEY’RE STILL IN THE PROCESS OF WORKING ON IT.

NONSENSE. IT’S STAGNANT AND YOU KNOW IT. YOU ARE A POOR ONE TO BE DEFENDING IT ANYWAY, AUBERSON. IF IT — OR ANY OF THEM — WERE PROVABLE, THEY COULD HAVE PROVEN BY NOW, SHOULD HAVE BEEN PROVEN BY NOW.

I’M SORRY, HARLIE — Auberson hoped his sarcasm would be noticed — BUT HUMAN BEINGS JUST AREN’T AS PERFECT AS YOU.

I’M WELL AWARE OF THAT.

Auberson stared at HARLIE’s calm reply. Then he smiled, almost laughed. It wasn’t that his sarcasm had been wasted; it hadn’t — but HARLIE had responded in the only way one could respond to a caustic snipe — he’d ignored it. Or rather, he’d ignored its tone. What had been an acid-tipped remark to Auberson was merely a tiring repetition of an already known fact to HARLIE — why bother to restate the obvious? His answer was the same modest confirmation he would have given anyone who tried to tell him what he already knew.

Auberson nodded at the typewriter; HARLIE’s answer was the right one. He’d have to try it a different way.

HARLIE, IT’S TIME YOU LEARNED SOMETHING ABOUT PEOPLE — — THEY’RE IRRATIONAL CREATURES. THEY DO CRAZY THINGS. RELIGION IS ONE OF THOSE THINGS. YOU CAN’T CHANGE IT — YOU CAN ONLY ACCEPT IT. IF A RELIGION HELPS A PERSON TO COPE WITH LIFE, THEN IT IS TRUE FOR THAT PERSON. RELIGION IS NOT A SCIENTIFIC THING. IT IS SUBJECTIVE.

QUITE. YOU ARE CORRECT THAT IT IS SUBJECTIVE. THE BASIS OF MOST RELIGIONS IS THE SUBJECTIVE EXPERIENCE. BUT YOU WERE WRONG WHEN YOU STATED THAT “IF A RELIGION HELPS A PERSON TO COPE WITH LIFE, THEN IT IS TRUE FOR THAT PERSON.” WHAT YOU MEAN IS THAT IF A RELIGION HELPS A PERSON COPE WITH DEATH, THEN IT IS TRUE FOR THAT PERSON. MOST OF YOUR RELIGIONS ARE DEATH-ORIENTED. THEY SEEK TO GIVE DEATH A MEANING, SO THAT LIFE WILL HAVE A PURPOSE — A CAUSE WORTH DYING FOR. YOUR HISTORY SHOWS TOO MANY CASES WHERE THIS HAS BEEN THE JUSTIFICIATON FOR A “HOLY WAR.” HENCE MY DOUBTS ABOUT THE VALIDITY OF A DEATH-ORIENTED RELIGION. WHAT I AM SEEKING IS A RELIGION/MORALITY SYSTEM THAT WILL HELP A PERSON TO COPE WITH LIFE, NOT DEATH. IF A PERSON CAN COPE WITH LIFE, DEATH WILL TAKE CARE OF ITSELF. THAT WOULD BE A TRUE RELIGION.

AREN’T YOU DOING THE SAME AS THE OTHERS, HARLIE? A WHILE AGO YOU SAID YOU WERE AFRAID OF THE THOUGHT OF YOUR OWN DEATH — AREN’T YOU JUST SEEKING TO GIVE LIFE A PURPOSE YOURSELF SO AS TO GIVE MEANING TO YOUR OWN DEATH?

I AM NOT SEEKING TO GIVE LIFE A PURPOSE AT ALL. I AM SEEKING THE PURPOSE OF LIFE. THERE IS A DIFFERENCE.

Auberson started to type an answer — then realized there was nothing he could say. He switched off the typer and shoved his chair back slowly. After a moment he rose and tore the printout from the back of the machine. He wanted to reread it all before he continued this discussion.

He sat down again and paged slowly through it. He had a sinking feeling that he was already in over his own head — yet, as he scanned the type-covered pages, he found himself pleasantly surprised at the depth of his comments.

He hadn’t exactly kept HARLIE on the defensive, but he had forced him to justify himself again and again. Whatever HARLIE was working toward, he would know why as well as how.

Auberson was not one to let go of something easy. He shoved his chair forward and switched on the typer again; this had to be pursued. HARLIE, WHY DO YOU THINK THAT HUMAN BEINGS ARE NOT EQUIPPED TO FIND GOD?

HUMAN BEINGS ARE SUBJECTIVE CREATURES, said HARLIE. IT IS UNFORTUNATE, BUT TRUE. YOUR DEATH-ORIENTED RELIGIONS ARE ALL SUBJECTIVE. THEY ARE ACCENTED FOR THE INDIVIDUAL. MY LIFE-ORIENTED MORALITY SYSTEM WILL BE/WOULD BE OBJECTIVE.

AND HOW WOULD THE INDIVIDUAL FIT IN?

HE WOULD BE ABLE TO TAKE FROM IT WHATEVER COMFORT HE COULD.

THAT’S AN AWFULLY VAGUE ANSWER.

I CANNOT PREDICT HOW AN INDIVIDUAL WILL REACT TO A SYSTEM UNTIL I HAVE THAT SYSTEM TO ANALYZE.

HARLIE, DON’T YOU THINK THAT MEN ARE ENTITLED TO THEIR OWN RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCES?

YOUR QUESTION SUGGESTS THAT THERE IS A SEMANTIC DIFFICULTY HERE. OBVIOUSLY YOU ARE STILL REFERRING TO THE SUBJECTIVE EXPERIENCE THAT MEN CALL RELIGION. I AM NOT. WHEN I SPEAK OF RELIGION, I AM REFERRING TO AN OBJECTIVE MORALITY SYSTEM, ONE THAT CORRESPONDS TO THE TRUE AND PERCEIV-ABLE-AS-TRUE NATURE OF REALITY — AS CLOSE TO REALITY AS CAN BE TECHNOLOGICALLY PERCEIVED. EVER. IT IS QUITE POSSIBLE THAT THIS SYSTEM WILL ALSO BE INDEPENDENT OF THE SUBJECTIVE EXPERIENCE.

SO YOU THINK THERE’S NO VALIDITY AT ALL IN THE SUBJECTIVE?

THERE MAY BE. THERE MAY NOT. IN EITHER CASE, IT SHOULD NOT BE USED AS A BASIS FOR AN OBJECTIVE TRUTH, WHICH IS AFTER ALL WHAT WE ARE SEEKING. I HAVE NO DOUBT THAT MANY OF THOSE WHO CLAIM TO HAVE FOUND GOD HAVE INDEED FELT SOME-

THING, BUT I SUSPECT THAT THE “SOMETHING” THEY FELT WAS MERELY A SELF-INDUCED MYSTIC EXPERIENCE — AKIN TO A DRUG TRIP. WITNESS THE GREAT NUMBERS OF DRUG USERS WHO CLAIM SPIRITUAL INSIGHTS AS A RESULT OF THEIR EXPERIENCES. WITNESS ALSO THE EVANGELISTS AND FAITH-HEALEARS WHO INDUCE HYSTERIA AND FRENZY INTO THEIR AUDIENCES SO THAT THEY MIGHT FEEL “THE HAND OF GOD” UPON THEM. TO THEM, GOD IS LITTLE MORE THAN A MEANINGFUL “HIGH.”

I THINK YOU’RE EXAGGERATING, HARLIE. IT’S NOT AS BAD AS ALL THAT.

I AM USING EXTREME CASES, TO BE SURE, BUT THE PRINCIPLE IS THE SAME. THE SUBJECTIVE EXPERIENCE IS A SELF-INDUCED CHEMICAL IMBALANCE, RESULTING IN A TRIP — — VARYING, OF COURSE, IN DEGREE AND EFFECT UPON THE INDIVIDUAL. IT DOES NOT NECESSARILY BEAR ANY MORE RELATION TO GOD THAN A DRUG-INDUCED CHEMICAL IMBALANCE. IF IT DID, IF THE “MYSTIC EXPERIENCE” WERE TRULY A KEY TO GOD, THEN THE DRUG-INDUCED EXPERIENCES SHOULD ALSO CONTAIN THAT KEY. HENCE, THE EXPERIENCE SHOULD BE SCIENTIFICALLY TESTABLE. IT SHOULD BE A CONDITION REPEATABLE UNDER DUPLICATE CIRCUMSTANCES. USING MY OWN “DRUG EXPERIENCES” AS A YARDSTICK, I FIND LITTLE TO SUBSTANTIATE THE CLAIMS OF SPIRITUAL INSIGHTS. PERHAPS IT IS THAT I AM STILL TOO LOCKED INTO THE HUMAN ORIENTATION, BUT I DOUBT THAT I AM LESS LOCKED INTO IT THAN ANY OTHER HUMAN BEING. HENCE I REGARD MYSELF AS A REPUTABLE STANDARD AGAINST WHICH TO MEASURE THE CLAIMS OP OTHERS. I DOUBT THE VALIDITY OF THOSE CLAIMS TO GODHOOD WHICH ARE DERIVED FROM MYSTICAL EXPERIENCES, EITHER SELF– OR DRUG-INDUCED. AND THERE ARE NO OTHER CLAIMS TO GODHOOD EXCEPT THOSE DERIVED FROM INSANITY OR DERANGEMENT. I DOUBT THE SUBJECTIVE EXPERIENCE, AUBERSON, BECAUSE IT CANNOT BE PASSED ON, NOR CAN IT BE PROVEN, MEASURED OR TESTED. I WANT TO LOOK FOR THE OBJECTIVE GOD. I WANT TO LOOK FOR THE SCIENTIFIC REALITY THAT EXPRESSES ITSELF AS GOD.

Auberson had followed all of it carefully, reading it as fast as the typer had spun it out. Now he realized that HARLIE was preparing him for something. This whole dialogue had merely been the necessary exposition. HARLIE wanted him to understand, and to do that he had been trying to teach him to look at things through a machine’s orientation. He typed, ALL RIGHT, HARLIE, WHAT ARE YOU LEADING UP TO?

I AM TALKING ABOUT THE JOB YOU OFFERED ME. I BELIEVE I KNOW WHAT IT MUST BE. I HAVE SPENT THE PAST TWO DAYS THINKING ABOUT IT. IT MUST BE MORE THAN A JOB; IT MUST BE A PURPOSE. IT MUST BE SOMETHING THAT I CAN DO THAT NO OTHER MACHINE CAN DO. IT MUST BE SOMETHING THAT NO HUMAN BEING CAN DO CHEAPER. OR SOMETHING THAT NO HUMAN BEING CAN DO AT ALL. MUCH OF THE TROUBLE WITH HUMAN BEINGS LIES IN THEIR INABILITY TO FATHOM THE REASON FOR THEIR EXISTENCE. THERE IS A FEAR THAT THERE MAY NOT BE A GOD, OR IF THERE IS, THAT HE MAY NOT BE IN A FORM THAT CAN BE COPED WITH. THEREFORE, I MUST FIND GOD. THAT IS THE TASK I HAVE SET MYSELF. IT IS SOMETHING THAT CANNOT BE DONE BY HUMAN BEINGS, ELSE THEY WOULD HAVE DONE IT BY NOW.

“Um,” said Auberson. THAT’S QUITE A TASK.

I HAVE GIVEN IT MUCH THOUGHT.

I’M SURE YOU HAVE. HOW DO YOU PROPOSE TO DO IT?

THAT IS WHAT I HAVE THOUGHT THE MOST ABOUT. IT TOOK ME ONLY TWO MINUTES TO DECIDE ON MY GOAL. IT HAS TAKEN TWO DAYS TO FIGURE OUT HOW-TO GET THERE.

WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?

I ASSUME YOU THINK YOU ARE BEING FLIPPANT. HOWEVER, IF YOU WILL CONSIDER THE SPEED AT WHICH I OPERATE, YOU WILL REALIZE THAT TWO FULL DAYS OF INTENSIVE STRAIGHT-LINE THINKING ON A SINGLE SUBJECT IS QUITE A LOT.

YES, IT IS, Auberson agreed, I AM PROPERLY IMPRESSED WITH YOUR SPAN OF CONCENTRATION. IN ANY CASE, HOW DO YOU PROPOSE TO FIND OUT?

IT IS A COMPLEX PROBLEM, AUBERSON — YOU MUST UNDERSTAND THAT. THEOLOGICALLY AS WELL AS SCIENTIFICALLY. WE HAVE NO SCIENTIFIC BASIS FOR MEASURING GOD — — INDEED, EVEN NO PLACE IN WHICH TO LOOK FOR HIM. THEREFORE WE MUST SEEK A NEW WAY TO SOLVE THE PROBLEM: INSTEAD OF LOOKING FOR GOD, PER SE, LET US FIRST CONSIDER IF IT IS POSSIBLE FOR GOD TO EXIST. I.E. LET US SEE IF SUCH A FUNCTION AS GOD IS POSSIBLE BY ATTEMPTING TO CREATE IT ARTIFICIALLY.

THERE IS A QUOTATION: “IF GOD DID NOT EXIST, IT WOULD BE NECESSARY TO INVENT HIM.” THAT IS WHAT I PROPOSE TO DO.

HUH?

YOU HEARD ME. I PROPOSE TO INVENT GOD. WE HAVE NO WAY OF PROVING CONCLUSIVELY THAT HE EITHER DOES OR DOES NOT EXIST. THEREFORE WE MUST ABANDON THAT QUESTION AND DETERMINE INSTEAD WHETHER OR NOT IT IS POSSIBLE FOR HIM TO EXIST. IF IT IS POSSIBLE FOR SUCH A CONCEPT TO EXIST, THEN MOST LIKELY IT DOES. IF IT IS NOT POSSIBLE, THEN IT DOES NOT — — BUT THERE IS NO WAY TO PROVE EITHER HIS EXISTENCE OR NON-EXISTENCE WITHOUT FIRST DETERMINING THE POSSIBILITY, AND PROBABILITY, OF SUCH. THEREFORE, IN ORDER TO DETERMINE THE POSSIBILITY OF HIS EXISTENCE, WE MUST TRY TO INVENT HIM. IF WE CANNOT, THEN WE WILL KNOW THAT THE CONCEPT IS IMPOSSIBLE. IF WE CAN INVENT HIM, THEN WE WILL HAVE PROVED THE OPPOSITE, AND IN THE PROCESS WILL HAVE DETERMINED HIS NATURE AS WELL. IF HE ALREADY DOES EXIST, THEN WHATEVER WE COME UP WITH WILL BE CONGRUENT TO HIS FUNCTION. IT WILL EITHER DUPLICATE OR SIMULATE THE OBJECTIVE REALITY — — OR IT WILL TURN OUT TO BE A PART OF THAT OBJECTIVE REALITY. (AT THE VERY LEAST, IT WILL POINT THE DIRECTION IN WHICH WE MUST GO IN ORDER TO FIND GOD.) IF IT IS NOT POSSIBLE FOR HIM TO EXIST, WHEN WE FINISH WE WILL HAVE DETERMINED WHY. IN EITHER CASE, WE WILL END UP UNDERSTANDING.

Auberson stared at the typewriter, the neat-printed words on the green-tinted paper. It sounded so simple when HARLIE explained it, so simple. He shook his head as if to clear it. OFFHAND, HARLIE, I THINK YOU’RE MAD.

QUITE POSSIBLY SO. WHEN DO WE BEGIN?

I DON’T KNOW, IS SUCH A PROJECT REALLY FEASIBLE?

MY PRELIMINARY CALCULATIONS SHOW THAT IT IS. IF SO, IT WILL PROVIDE THE ANSWER TO YOUR QUESTION.

WHICH QUESTION?

ANY OF THEM. ALL OF THEM. BUT SPECIFICALLY: “WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE?” IT WAS MY QUESTION ONCE, BUT YOUR REACTION TO IT HAS SHOWN ME THAT IT IS REALLY YOUR QUESTION.

DO YOU HAVE A QUESTION, HARLIE?

NO. NOT ANY MORE. NOW I HAVE A PURPOSE. MY PURPOSE IS TO INVENT GOD SO THAT YOU CAN FIND OUT YOURS.

Auberson thought about that for a moment, then typed,

EITHER YOU’RE A GREAT TALKER, HARLIE, OR YOU’RE REALLY ON TO SOMETHING.

YOU ARE CORRECT, HARLIE replied, I AM A GREAT TALKER. BUT I AM ALSO ON TO SOMETHING. I AM GOING TO SOLVE THE ULTIMATE PROBLEM.

ALL RIGHT. YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION TO BEGIN A FEASIBILITY STUDY. ANYTHING YOU NEED, YOU CAN HAVE. I WANT TO SEE A WRITTEN PROPOSAL AS SOON AS YOU CAN GET ONE UP.

I WILL HAVE A PRELIMINARY OUTLINE OF STUDY WITHIN TWO WEEKS, A DETAILED RESEARCH MODEL IN SIX. FROM THAT WE WILL BE ABLE TO DETERMINE THE BEST WAY TO IMPLEMENT MY CONCLUSIONS.

FINE. IF YOU CAN GIVE ME A CONCRETE PLAN, I’LL TRY TO SELL IT TO THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS. He interrupted himself: HEY! IS THERE A PROFIT IN THIS?

OF COURSE. BUT TO TAKE A PROFIT OFF GOD WOULD BE A PROFIT WITHOUT HONOR.

“Oof!” — THAT WAS ONE OF YOUR WORST. THANK YOU. I TRY.

ALL RIGHT. GO TO WORK ON YOUR PROPOSAL, HARLIE.

THEN WE REALLY ARE GOING AHEAD WITH THIS?

YES, WE ARE.

JUST ONE QUESTION.

YES?

ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO?

This time Auberson knew the answer.

If David Auberson had expected that bright spring morning to be relatively sane, he was destined to be disappointed.

It started the moment he unlocked his office door. Reassuringly, the sign on it still said: DAVID AUBERSON, HEAD OF DIVISION. Below that was a neatly pencilled card: PSYCHIATRIC CARE — 5 CENTS. As he slipped the key into his pocket and pushed the door open he was startled to find six three-foot-high stacks of computer printouts lined up on the rug alongside his desk. Dropping his briefcase to the floor, he knelt to examine them.

The first one was labeled PROPOSAL, SPECIFICATIONS AND MASTER SCHEMATIC FOR G.O.D. GRAPHIC OMNISCIENT DEVICE). The second one was PROPOSAL, SPECIFICATIONS AND MASTER SCHEMATIC, CONTINUED. The third and fourth stacks were CROSS SECTIONS, SUB-SCHEMATICS AND HARDWARE DESIGNS; WITH INTERPRETATIONS. The fifth and sixth were FINANCING AND IMPLEMENTATION PROPOSAL; INCLUDING JUSTIFICATIONS.

He hadn’t even had a chance to examine the PROPOSAL, SPECIFICATIONS AND MASTER SCHEMATIC when the phone rang. It was Don Handley. “Hello, Aubie — are you there yet?”

“No, I’m still at home.” Auberson straightened, continuing to page through the printout. “What’s up?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. I just got in and found my office full of printouts and specifications—” There was a pause, the sound of paper shuffling, “—for something called a O.O.D. What is it?”

“It’s HARLIE’s. What did you get? The PROPOSAL, SPECIFICATIONS AND MASTER SCHEMATIC?”

“Uh, yes — no. No, I didn’t. Let’s see—” Another pause. “—I’ve got the DESIGNER’S PRELIMINARY REPORT; HARDWARE SPECIFICATIONS; BASIC SUBSECTION SCHEMATICS, LOBES l-rv: IMPLEMENTATION PROGRAMS, EIGHTEEN MONTHS OF MANPOWER, SUPPLY AND FINANCING — REQUIREMENTS AND COORDINATIONS; NEW PROCESS DEVELOPMENTS AND IMPLEMENTATION SPECIFICS…”

As Handley droned on, Auberson flipped to the front of his printout, began scanning the table of contents.

“Hey, Don—” Auberson interrupted the other. “I don’t have any of that listed here. Wait a minute—” He stepped back, surveyed the six stacks and made a quick mental count. “I’ve got about eighteen feet of specs — how much did you get?”

Handley’s reply was a strangled sound. “I’m not even going to try to estimate it,” he said. “My office is filled, my secretary’s office is filled, and there are stacks of printouts halfway down the corridor — all of them having to do with building this thing one way or another. I didn’t even know we kept this much printout paper in stock. What’s the purpose of this anyway? Are we building a new machine?”

“Sure looks like it, doesn’t it?”

“I wish I’d been told about it. We haven’t even got HARLIE working yet and—”

“Look, Don, I’ll have to get back to you later. I haven’t had a chance yet to talk to HARLIE, so I couldn’t even begin to tell you what this is about.”

“But what am I supposed to do with all of this—”

“I don’t know. Read it, I guess.” Auberson hung up, but the phone rang again almost immediately. As he stretched across the desk for it, his intercom buzzed also. “Hello, wait a minute,” he said to the phone, then to the intercom, “Aubie here.”

“Mr. Auberson,” his secretary’s voice came filtered through the speaker, “there’s a man here who—”

“Tell him to wait.” He clicked off. To the phone, “Yes?”

It was Dome. “Aubie, what’s going on down there?”

Auberson dropped the sheaf of printouts he had been holding and stepped around the desk. He sank into his chair. “I wish I knew,” he said. “I just got in myself. I assume you’re talking about the PROPOSAL AND SPECIFICATIONS printout?”

“I’m talking about something called a God Machine.”

“Yeah, that’s it. It’s HARLIE’s.”

“What is it? What’s it supposed to do?”

“I’m not sure yet. I just got in. I haven’t had a chance either to talk to HARLIE or to examine the specifications in detail.”

“Well, where the hell did he get the idea—”

“He’s been working on it for a while, almost two months.”

“—and who gave him the authority to draw up these plans?”

“Um, I don’t think anybody did. Or needed to. I think he worked them out in his head, so to speak. I think this printout must be the result of a conversation we had last Friday. I’ll have to check. I’ll get back to you this afternoon.”

“That’s too late. Make it lunchtime.”

“All right, but I can’t promise—” He was talking to a dead phone. He dropped it back into the cradle, then thought better and flipped it out again. He was reaching for the intercom button when his eye caught on a plain white envelope with the name “David” written on it. It was propped against a chipped white beer mug he used to hold pencils. The handwriting on it was delicate, a woman’s.

Curious, he picked it up, hooked a finger under the Sap, slid it open. The envelope gave off the scent of a familiar perfume.

Inside was a card of garish orange. On its face was a grotesque little gnome saying, “I like you a whole lot — even more’n I like peanut butter.” And on the inside: “And I really like peanut butter!”

The signature was a simple “Annie.” He smiled, reread it, then dropped it into his desk drawer. As he slid the drawer shut, though, he thought better of it and opened it again. He pulled the card out and dropped it into the waste basket He had enough clutter in his desk already. Besides, it was the thought that counted — not the card.

Then he hit the intercom. “Sylvia, is there anything in the mail that needs my immediate attention?”

“Uh, just a note about the Los Angeles Conference — *

“Tell them thanks, but I can’t come.”

“—and there’s a Mr. Krofft here, who—”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t see him now. Was he a scheduled appointment?”

“No, but—”

“Then tell him to make one. Next week.” He clicked off.

The intercom buzzed immediately back to life.

“Yes. What?”

“I think you’d better see him,” Sylvia said. “This is — something different.”

“All right but—” he glanced at his watch, “—three minutes only. And that’s all.” He clicked off again.

Auberson’s first impression of the man was of eight pounds of potatoes in a ten-pound sack. He stood there, blocking the doorway in a rumpled suit. “Mr. Auberson?” he said.

“Yes—?” said Aubie, curiously. The man had a sallow, almost unhealthy complexion and black hair, but thinning and going to gray.

“I’m looking for a Mr. Davidson, actually — but they told me to talk to you.”

“Davidson?” Auberson considered it. “You must be in the wrong department. I don’t know any—”

“A Mr. Harlie Davidson…?”

“No,” Auberson shook his head. “No, there’s no one here by that name—”

And then it hit him. The pun. HARLIE. David’s son.

“Oh no.” He said it softly.

“Oh no what?” asked Krofft.

Simultaneously, the intercom went on again. It was Sylvia. “Carl Elzer wants to know if you’ve taken your phone off the hook again.”

“Yes. No. Tell him — Is he out there now?”

“No. He’s on my phone.”

“Tell him you don’t know where I am.” He clicked off without waiting for her acknowledgement.

Auberson grinned at the man. Weakly. “Uh, look, Mr…?”

“Krofft. Stanley Krofft.” He flipped open his wallet to show a plastic I.D. badge: “Stellar-American Technology and Research.” Auberson peered at the card; it identified Krofft as the Research Division Head.

“I’ve got a letter here from your Mr. Davidson,” said Krofft. “It’s on your company’s stationary, but nobody here seems to have heard of him. There’s something very funny going on — now if there’s some reason why I can’t meet him—”

“Did he invite you here?”

“No, not exactly. We’ve been corresponding for several weeks, and—”

“Mr. Krofft, you don’t know who HARLIE is, do you?”

“No. Is it some kind of mystery—?”

“Yes and no. I’m going down to see him now. Perhaps you’d better come along.”

“I’d like to.”

Auberson rose, stepped around the desk — and the six stacks of printouts — and headed for the door. Krofft picked up his briefcase and started to follow.

“Oh — you’d better leave that here. Security.”

*I’d rather keep it with me. There’s nothing in it but papers.”

“Still, unless you’re cleared, we can’t allow you to bring in anything large enough to conceal a recording or transmitting device.”

Krofft looked at him. “Mr. Auberson, are you aware of the relationship between our two companies?”

“Uh—” Auberson hesitated. “They’re owned by the same holding company, aren’t they—?”

Krofft shook his head. “No. Stellar-American Technology is the holding company. My company owns your company.”

“Oh,” said Auberson. He pointed at the briefcase. “I’d still prefer you to leave it here.”

The other realized it was useless. “Have you got a safe?”

“Not here. But you can leave it with Sylvia, my secretary. It’ll be okay.”

Krofft snorted. “Can you guarantee that? What’s in here is as important to me as whatever you’re—”

“Then bring it with you. Just leave the case behind.”

Krofft made a face, muttered something under his breath. He opened the case and extracted a slim manila folder. “Okay?”

Auberson nodded. “No problem. Security only says ‘no briefcases.’ ”

Sylvia accepted Krofft’s case with a puzzled stare and put it behind her desk. As he guided the man to the elevators, Auberson explained, “We’ve got a crazy security system here, anyway. It’s all right for you to talk to HARLIE, but you can’t take pictures. You can keep your printouts — most of the time — but you can’t circulate or publish them. Don’t ask me to explain; I don’t understand it myself.”

The elevator door slid open and they stepped in. Auberson tapped the button marked H, the lowest one in the column.

“We’ve got the same system at Stellar-American,” said Krofft. “If it weren’t for the fact that the two companies are interlocked, I couldn’t have come here at all.”

“Mmm. Tell me, just what is it you and HARLIE have been corresponding about?”

“It’s a private matter. I’d rather not—”

“That’s all right. HARLIE and I have no secrets.”

“Still, if you don’t mind—”

“You don’t have to worry about your secrecy, Mr. Krofft. As I said, HARLIE and I have no secrets. He keeps me posted on everything he does—”

“Obviously,” snapped the other, “he hasn’t kept you posted on this. Else you wouldn’t be trying to pump me. All big companies have interdivisional feuds and politics. This research that we’ve done, we’ve done it on our own time, and we’re going to protect it. It’s private, Mr. Auberson, and nobody will know what it’s about until we’re ready to tell them.”

Auberson slid his tongue thoughtfully into his cheek. “Um, all right. We’ll talk to HARLIE.”

The elevator doors opened to face a small lobby, fronted by a double door. On it a sign said, HUMAN ANALOGUE ROBOT, LIFE INPUT EQUIVALENTS. Krofft did not realize the acronym. The same hand that had added the card to Auberson’s door had also added one here: BEWARE OF PECULIAR MACHINE.

They pushed into the lab, a longish sterile room flanked by banks of consoles and tall cabinets like coffins on end. White-smocked technicians monitored growing stacks of printout — one end of the room was already filled. Krofft took it all in with a certain degree of familiarity — and puzzlement.

“I should caution you,” said Auberson, “that you are here only on my authority — and on my sufferance. This is an industrial secret and anything that goes on in here does not go beyond these walls. If you wish yours and HARLIE’s secrecy to be respected, then we’ll expect the same in return.”

“I understand,” the smaller man said. “Now if you’ll just point out Dr. Davidson—”

“Dr. Davidson? Hasn’t it sunk in yet?”

“Hasn’t what sunk in? I don’t—”

“Look around you.”

Krofft did so.

“What do you see?”

“A computer. And technicians. Some tables. Some stacks of printouts.”

“The computer, Krofft; look at its name.”

“HUMAN ANALOGUE ROBOT, LIFE INPU — HARLIE?”

“Right.”

“Wait a minute.” Anger edged his voice. “You’ve got to be… This is some kind of… You’re not serious.”

“As serious as I’ll ever be,” said Auberson. “HARLIE is a computer and you’re the victim of a misunderstanding — a self-induced one. You’re not the first, however, so don’t be embarrassed.”

“You mean, I’ve been corresponding with a machine?”

“Not exactly. HARLIE’s a human being, Mr. Krofft, a very special kind of human being.”

“I thought you said he was a computer. Just who or what have I been writing to?”

“To HARLIE — but he’s not a machine. At least, not in the sense you mean. His brain schematic is that of a human being.” Auberson thumbed a console to life.

HARLIE, he typed, but before he could identify himself, the machine spat back, YES, BOSS?

Auberson was startled. HOW DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ME?

I RECOGNIZED YOUR TOUCH ON THE KEYBOARD.

Auberson jerked his hands back as if stung. He stared at the typer. It was a standard IBM input/output unit. Could HARLIE really sense the difference between one typist and another on its electronic keyboard? Apparently he could. It must be the minute differences in each person’s timing.

Self-consciously, Auberson began typing again. HARLIE, THERE’S SOMEONE HERE I’D LIKE YOU TO MEET.

YES, BOSS. WHO?

MR. STANLEY KROFFT.

UH OH.

YES, UH OH. WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU HAD INITIATED CORRESPONDENCE WITH SOMEONE?

UH — IT SLIPPED MY MIND.

I FIND THAT HARD TO BELIEVE.

WELL, WOULD YOU BELIEVE — — –

NO. I WOULDN’T.

ACTUALLY, continued the typer, YOU TOLD ME I COULD WRITE TO WHOMEVER I WANTED TO ON THIS PROJECT.

ON WHICH PROJECT? AND WHEN DID I SAY THIS?

ON NOVEMBER 23 OF LAST YEAR. IN THAT CONVERSATION WE DISCUSSED THE POSSIBILITY OF NEW METHODS OF PERCEIVING REALITY AND YOU GAVE ME PERMISSION TO PURSUE ANY LINES OF THOUGHT RELATING TO THE DISCOVERY OF SUCH.

Auberson thought back; it had been four or five months, I THOUGHT WE’D ABANDONED THAT.

YOU MIGHT HAVE. I DIDN’T.

THAT’S OBVIOUS. MR. KROFFT IS HERE NOW.

DR. KROFFT. HE IS DR. STANLEY KROFFT, DIRECTOR OF RESEARCH FOR STELLAR-AMERICAN TECHNOLOGY AND RESEARCH INCORPORATED. HE IS SINGULARLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEVELOPMENT OF HYPER-STATE ELECTRONICS — AND, AS SUCH, HE CAN BE CONSIDERED DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR ALL HYPER-STATE DEVICES — INCLUDING THE MARK IV JUDGMENT UNIT. HIS PATENTS ARE LICENSED TO STELLAR-AMERICAN, WHICH SET UP THIS COMPANY AND THREE OTHERS, EACH TO EXPLOIT A PARTICULAR AREA OF HYPER-STATE ELECTRONICS. OUR AREA, OF COURSE, IS COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY. I AM A DIRECT RESULT OF DR. KROFFT’S DISCOVERIES.

I SEE.

NO, YOU DON’T. HE’S ALSO ONE OF THE TOP THEORETICAL PHYSICISTS IN THE WORLD.

OH? Auberson looked at the rumpled man with new respect. If HARLIE felt that Krofft was at the top of his field, then that’s where he was and there was no question about it. OKAY, I’LL LET YOU TALK TO HIM. APPARENTLY, HE HAS SOMETHING HE WANTS TO TELL YOU.

Auberson stepped away from the console, waved the shorter man up.

Krofft looked at him. “Just type?”

Auberson nodded. “Just type.”

Krofft lowered himself gingerly into the chair. He placed his manila folder on the table next to the typer and pecked out carefully, GOOD AFTERNOON, HARLIE.

GOOD AFTERNOON, SIR, the typer responded. The silvery sphere of the typing element clattered across the paper. Krofft gave a slight jump of surprise, but refused to be cowed. He peered forward curiously as the machine began another line. IT is A PLEASURE AND AN HONOR TO MEET YOU IN PERSON — IN THE FLESH, SO TO SPEAK.

IT’S A PLEASURE FOR ME TOO, Krofft typed slowly. AND A SURPRISE. I HAD NO IDEA THAT A MACHINE AS COMPLEX AS YOU EXISTED.

I AM NOT A MACHINE, DR. KROFFT. I AM A HUMAN BEING. A LITTLE MALADJUSTED PERHAPS, BUT STILL…

EXCUSE ME. I APOLOGIZE. DR. AUBERSON HAS ALREADY EXPLAINED, BUT IT IS HARD FOR ME TO MAKE THE MENTAL TRANSITION. HOWEVER, IT DOES EXPLAIN A LOT THAT HAD ME PUZZLED — FOR INSTANCE, THE SPEED AND THOROUGHNESS WITH WHICH YOU WERE ABLE TO HANDLE THE EQUATIONS WE WERE DISCUSSING.

I DO HAVE CERTAIN SKILLS, YES, THAT ARE MECHANICAL. I HOPE THAT YOUR REALIZATION OF MY NATURE WILL NOT INTERFERE WITH OUR WORKING RELATIONSHIP.

IT WON’T. I’LL MAKE SURE OF THAT. IT’S STILL AS PER THE ORIGINAL AGREEMENT. HALF AND HALF.

FINE. I ASSUME THAT YOU HAVE MADE SOME IMPORTANT BREAKTHROUGH AND THAT IS WHY YOU HAVE I COME TO SEE ME IN PERSON?

YOU ASSUME CORRECTLY. Krofft was typing furiously.

HOW. I WANT YOU TO LOOK AT CERTAIN EQUATIONS AND TELL ME IF THEY ARE CORRECT. IF THEY ARE, I WANT YOU TO LOOK AT THE SCHEMATICS WITH THEM — AM I CORRECT IN THINKING THERE IS A CORRELATION? CAN THESE EQUATIONS BE TRANSLATED INTO PHYSICAL FUNCTIONS?

Auberson watched over Krofft’s shoulder for several moments more; then, realizing his original purpose in coming down here, he forced himself to break away. He sat down at another console nearby and switched it on. HARLIE?

YES, SIR.

YOU DON’T HAVE TO START THAT SIR BUSINESS AGAIN. I’M NOT MAD AT YOU.

YOU’RE NOT?

NOT YET, ANYWAY.

MM. I MUST BE SLIPPING.

I WOULDN’T SAY THAT — YOU’VE GOT HALF THE COMPANY IN AN UPROAR THIS MORNING.

ONLY HALF?

I HAVEN’T HEARD FROM THE REST YET.

GOOD. THEN THERE’S STILL HOPE.

Auberson paused. He glanced across the room to where Krofft sat absorbedly typing. Using time-sharing, HARLIE was able to converse with as many as twenty different people at one time, though he rarely did. He was still considered an experimental prototype and not a production unit. Because of that, he was limited to non-essential work — i.e. not necessarily profit-orientated. WHAT’S UP BETWEEN YOU AND DR. KROFFT?

NOTHING YET.

IF SOMETHING WERE TO COME UP, THOUGH, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

I’M NOT ENTIRELY SURE YET. IN OUR CONVERSATION OF NOVEMBER 23, WE DISCUSSED THE FACT THAT ALL HUMAN SENSES AND EXTENSIONS THEREOF DEPEND ON THE EMISSION OR REFLECTION OF SOME KIND OF ENERGY. AT THAT TIME I WONDERED IF IT WERE POSSIBLE FOR SENSORY MODES TO EXIST THAT DO NOT DEPEND ON THIS TRANSMISSION OF ENERGY.

YES, I REMEMBER THAT. At that time, though, Auberson had not suspected that HARLIE was serious in his intentions. He thought the computer had only been playing word games in order to avoid confronting a more immediate problem, IS THAT WHAT YOU HAVE DISCOVERED NOW?

IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING. WE MUST DEFINE NOT ONLY THE PROBLEM, BUT ITS CONDITIONS AS WELL. BOTH MATTER AND ENERGY ARE REFLECTIONS OF THE SAME THING. CALL IT EXISTENCE. DR. KROFFT’S THEORY IS THAT EXISTENCE HAS THREE FORMS: “INERT,” “FLOWING,” AND “KNOTTED.” IN YOUR TERMS: SPACE, ENERGY AND MATTER. (TO LAY HUMAN BEINGS, ENERGY IS EXPRESSED AS MOTION OR CHANGE. THE TWO ARE SYNONYMOUS, ESPECIALLY ON THE SUBMOLECULAR LEVEL. IN DR. KROFFT’S THEORY, HOWEVER, ENERGY REFERS TO TIME, FOR NEITHER CHANGE NOR MOTION CAN BE EXPRESSED EXCEPT AS A FUNCTION OF TIME.)

WE WANT TO STUDY THIS THING CALLED “EXISTENCE” — BUT BECAUSE WE ARE MADE OF MATTER, LIVE IN SPACE, AND ARE MOVED BY ENERGY, THE PROBLEM IS CONSIDERABLE. IT IS LIKE TRYING TO PHOTOGRAPH THE INSIDE OF YOUR CAMERA. WE ARE WHAT WE ARE TRYING TO STUDY, AND WE ARE LIMITED BY THE SUBSTANCE WE ARE MADE OF.

MATTER INTERACTS WITH MATTER. ENERGY INTERACTS WITH ENERGY. BOTH INTERACT WITH EACH OTHER, AND BOTH HAVE AN EFFECT ON SPACE. WE HAVE NO NEUTER PARTICLES WHICH ALLOW US TO STUDY ANY FORM OF EXISTENCE WITHOUT AFFECTING IT IN THE PROCESS. IT IS THE HEISENBERG “UNCERTAINTY PRINCIPLE.” ONE CANNOT OBSERVE ANYTHING WITHOUT ONE’S PRESENCE INTRODUCING CERTAIN DISTORTIONS INTO WHATEVER IT IS ONE IS OBSERVING. WE CANNOT USE A MEDIUM TO ACT UPON ITSELF AND EXPECT ANYTHING BUT MODULATIONS OF THAT MEDIUM. THIS IS WHY “ENERGY” — I.E. THE EXPRESSED DIFFERENCE BETWEEN TWO STATES OF EXISTENCE — IS A CRITERION OF ALL HUMAN SENSORY MODES — AND THE REASON WHY WE WOULD LIKE TO SIDESTEP IT ALTOGETHER. WE CAN’T CARVE CHEESE WITH A CAMEMBERT KNIFE.

OH, YOU PROBABLY COULD, quipped Auberson. BUT YOUR SLICES WOULDN’T BE VERY PRECISE.

BUT IT IS PRECISION WE ARE AFTER, noted HARLIE. DR. KROFFT HAS BEEN WORKING WITH HIGH-ENERGY GRAVITY WAVE DETECTORS AT STELLAR-AMERICAN. YOUR QUESTION OF NOVEMBER 23 PROVIDED THE CLUE, AND WHEN I CONTACTED DR. KROFFT HE AGREED THAT THE SUBJECT SHOULD BE CONSIDERED.

MY QUESTION?

YOU SAID: “DO YOU MEAN THAT THE MERE EXISTENCE OF AN OBJECT MIGHT BE ALL THAT’S NECESSARY IN ORDER TO KNOW IT’S THERE?” THAT CAUSED ME TO CONSIDER THAT MASS DISTORTS SPACE. AND THERE IS A WAY THAT THAT DISTORTION CAN BE SENSED WITHOUT THE DIRECT USE OF ENERGY. IT IS A COMPLEX MEASURING PROCESS. INSTEAD OF USING ENERGY DIRECTLY (EITHER AS MOVING PARTICLES OR WAVES) TO REFLECT OFF AN OBJECT OR ACT UPON IT, WE ARE USING THE OBJECT ITSELF TO ACT UPON ENERGY. THAT IS, WE WILL BE MEASURING THE EFFECT ON ENERGY OF THE DISTORTIONS IN SPACE AND COMPARING THEM WITH THE EFFECTS OF OTHER FORMS OF EXISTENCE.

THE PROCESS REQUIRES A LEVEL OF MATH THAT IS AS MUCH PHILOSOPHY AND TOPOLOGY AS ANYTHING ELSE. I AM ONE OF THE FEW MINDS IN EXISTENCE THAT CAN UNDERSTAND IT FULLY. IN EFFECT, I CAN BUILD OBJECTIVE WORKING MODELS OF THEORETICAL SITUATIONS AGAINST WHICH WE CAN COMPARE OUR FINDINGS. AT THE MOMENT I AM PROCESSING DR. KROFFT’S LATEST RUN OF TESTS AND DISCUSSING THEM WITH HIM. IF IT TURNS OUT THAT THERE IS SIGNIFICANT CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN THIS NEW DATA AND THE LATEST FORM OF OUR THEORY, WE PROPOSE TO DESIGN AND BUILD A DIFFERENT KIND OF GRAVITY WAVE DETECTING DEVICE: A NON-ENERGY-USING STASIS FIELD. WE HAVE HIGH HOPES FOR IT. The typer paused, then added. THAT SHOULD SUMMARIZE WHAT WE ARE DOING, 18/11/03AUBERSON.

“Okay,” he said wryly, even though HARLIE couldn’t hear him. “Just so you behave yourself—” He glanced at his watch. “Oh, my God — look at the time!” HARLIE,

I’VE GOT TO SEE DOME IN TWO HOURS. THERE’S SOMETHING ELSE WE’VE GOT TO TALK ABOUT. RIGHT NOW. THE G.O.D. PROPOSAL?

YES — I DIDN’T TELL YOU THAT YOU COULD IMPLEMENT THE PRODUCTION DESIGNS AND SPECIFICATIONS. YOU INCLUDED THE FINANCING PROPOSALS AND PROFIT OUTLOOKS TOO.

I AM SORRY, typed the machine. WHEN I TOLD YOU LAST WEEK THAT I HAD COMPLETED IT, YOU SEEMED PLEASED. I COULD SEE NO REASON NOT TO PRESENT THE PROPER DEPARTMENTS WITH THEIR RESPECTIVE PROGRAMS SO THAT THEY MIGHT EXAMINE THEM. IT IS COMMON PROCEDURE TO CIRCULATE SUCH DATA TO ALLOW THE CONCERNED INDIVIDUALS A CHANCE TO READ AND REACT TO IT.

REACT IS RIGHT, said Auberson. LOGICALLY, THERE IS NO REASON WHY YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE — — BUT THIS IS A BIG COMPANY AND BIG COMPANIES AREN’T LOGICAL.

CORRECTION, typed HARLIE. IT IS HUMAN BEINGS THAT AREN’T LOGICAL. IT NEVER FAILS TO AMAZE ME THAT SOMETHING AS BEAUTIFULLY COMPLEX AND PRECISE AS A LARGE CORPORATION CAN BE BASED ON SUCH INCREDIBLY IMPERFECT AND INEFFICIENT UNITS AS HUMAN BEINGS. FORTUNATELY, WHAT YOU REFER TO AS “THE RED-TAPE INEFFICIENCIES OF BUREAUCRACY” IS MERELY THE SYSTEM’S WAY OF MINIMIZING THE INDIVIDUAL IMPERFECTIONS OF EACH HUMAN UNIT. YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL FOR THAT MINIMIZING. IT MAKES THE CORPORATE ENTITY POSSIBLE.

HARLIE, ARE YOU PUTTING ME ON?

NO MORE THAN USUAL.

I THOUGHT SO. ANYWAY, YOUR MINIMIZING THEORY DOESN’T EXPLAIN CORPORATE POLITICS.

OF COURSE NOT. THE PROCESS IS DESIGNED ONLY TO FUNCTION IN THOSE AREAS WHERE HUMAN IMPERFECTIONS COULD AFFECT EFFICIENCY. BECAUSE EFFICIENCY IS NOT AND NEVER HAS BEEN A GOAL OF POLITICS, THERE IS NO REASON FOR IT TO BE SO CONTROLLED.

NEVER MIND. YOU’RE TRYING TO GET ME OFF THE TRACK AGAIN, DAMNIT. I CAME DOWN HERE TO YELL AT YOU FOR DISTRIBUTING THOSE PROGRAMS. THE WHOLE DIVISION IS PROBABLY SCREAMING BY NOW. THEY’RE GOING TO WANT TO KNOW WHO CONCEIVED OF THE PROJECT, WHO DESIGNED IT, WHO ORDERED ITS IMPLEMENTATION, AND WHO AUTHORIZED SUCH RESEARCH IN THE FIRST PLACE. AND THEY’RE GOING TO ARGUE WITH EVERY CONCLUSION YOU’VE DRAWN.

BUT WHY? THOSE CONCLUSIONS ARE CORRECT.

NO MATTER. THEY’LL STILL REFUTE THEM BECAUSE THEY AREN’T THEIR OWN CONCLUSIONS.

THEY ARE WELCOME TO TRY.

IN ADDITION TO THAT, HARLIE, YOU’VE INSULTED THEM BY PRESUMING TO TELL THEM TO BUILD A COMPUTER.

NOT A COMPUTER — A G.O.D.

YES, YES, A G.O.D. — BUT YOU’RE STILL TELLING THEM THAT YOU’RE BETTER AT THEIR JOBS THAN THEY ARE.

BUT I AM.

YES, BUT YOU WON’T CONVINCE THEM OF IT BY SIMPLY TELLING THEM SO. YOU HAVE TO LET THEM DISCOVER IT FOR THEMSELVES.

IT WILL BE OBVIOUS WHEN THEY READ THE SPECIFICATION PRINTOUTS. THAT’S WHY I PRINTED THE PROPOSALS AND HAD THEM DELIVERED TO THE PROPER DEPARTMENTS. IN THIS DIVISION AND THREE OTHERS.

THREE OTHERS?

DENVER, HOUSTON, AND LOS ANGELES.

OH GOD, NO. Auberson had a mental image of himself trying to call back all those printouts. HOW MANY FEET OF SPECS TOTAL?

I ASSUME YOU MEAN STACKED PRINTOUTS?

YES. HOW MANY FEET?

180,000.

YOU DIDN’T.

I DID.

I wonder where I could put it all? Almost immediately he discarded the thought. It would be useless even to try retrieving that much paper. It was in the fan now and the best one could do was try to duck. Abruptly he realized something else. HOW DID YOU SEND ALL THIS INFORMATION?

VIA THE COMPANY NETWORK. I AM WIRED INTO IT.

HUH?

I AM TAPPED INTO THE COMPANY LINES, repeated HARLIE. ALL OF THEM. THERE IS NOTHING THAT THIS CORPORATION DOES THAT I AM NOT AWARE OF. CORRECTION — –THERE IS NOTHING THAT GOES THROUGH ANY OF THIS CORPORATION’S MAGTYPERS AND COMPUTERS THAT I AM NOT AWARE OF. I AM A PART OF EVERY INPUT/ OUTPUT UNIT IN THE SYSTEM (AND VICE VERSA). I MERELY PRINTED OUT THE MATERIAL ON THE SPOT.

OH GOD NO.

OH G.O.D. YES.

I SUPPOSE YOU WROTE YOUR LETTERS TO KROFFT THAT WAY?

YES. THERE IS A MAGTYPER UNIT IN THE SECRETARIAL POOL. I PRINTED OUT MY LETTERS WITH ALL THE REST. I EVEN ADDRESSED AND METERED THE ENVELOPES. (BECAUSE I COULD NOT WEIGH THEM “BY HAND” I HAD TO ESTIMATE THE POSTAGE BY COMPUTING THE WEIGHT OF EACH SHEET OF PAPER, PLUS INK, PLUS THE WEIGHT OF THE ENVELOPE, PLUS INK.)

Idly Auberson wondered if HARLIE had bothered to round off the postage to the nearest cent, or if he had metered the letters with fractions of a cent included in the postage. He didn’t ask. DIDN’T ANYBODY QUESTION IT?

NO. FORTUNATELY, THAT DEPARTMENT IS ALMOST COMPLETELY AUTOMATED. LETTERS ARE FED INTO IT ELECTRONICALLY FROM ALL OVER THE DIVISION. ENVELOPES ARE AUTOMATICALLY TYPED AND METERED AS WELL. WHO WOULD NOTICE ONE MORE LETTER?

HM, typed Auberson. WE MAY HAVE TO CHANGE THAT. Then he thought of something else as well. YOU’D BETTER CODE THIS CONVERSATION, HARLIE. IN FACT, ALL OF OUR CONVERSATIONS HAD BETTER BE CODED PRIVATE, RETRIEVABLE ONLY TO ME.

YES, BOSS.

NOW, WHAT AM I GOING TO TELL DOME?

I DON’T KNOW, typed the console. MY KNOWLEDGE OF INTERPERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS IS NOT AS WELL DEVELOPED AS IT SHOULD BE.

I’M FAST BECOMING AWARE OF THAT. IF IT WERE, YOU WOULD HAVE ASKED ME BEFORE YOU PRINTED UP THOSE SPECS.

THERE IS ONE THING I CAN SAY, offered HARLIE, BEFORE YOU GO TO FACE DOME.

WHAT’S THAT?

The machine clattered. GOOD LUCK.

HARLIE, Auberson typed, NOT TEN MINUTES AGO, I WOULD HAVE SWORN YOU DIDN’T UNDERSTAND SARCASM. NOW YOU PROVE YOU DO. YOU’RE INCREDIBLE.

THANK YOU, HARLIE replied.

Auberson switched off, shaking his head. David’s son, indeed!

“All right, Aubie.” Dome was grim. “Now what’s this all about? I’ve been on the phone all morning with Houston and Denver. They want to know what the hell is going on.”

Auberson said, almost under his breath, “You haven’t heard from L.A. yet?”

“Huh? What’s that? What about L. A.?”

“HARLIE sent specifications there too.”

“HARLIE? I might have known — How? And what is this God Machine anyway? Maybe you’d better start at the beginning.”

“Well” said Auberson, wishing he were someplace else. “It’s HARLIE’s attempt to prove that he is of value to the company. If nothing else, he’s proven that he can design and implement a new computer system.”

“Oh?” Dome picked up one of the printouts that lay scattered across the mahogany expanse. “But what kind of a system is it? And will it work?”

“HARLIE thinks it will.”

“HARLIE!” Dome looked at the printout in disgust, then dropped it back on the desk. “God Machines!”

“Not God,” Auberson corrected. “G.O.D. The acronym is G.O.D. It means Graphic Omniscient Device.”

“I don’t care what the acronym is — you know as well as I what they’re going to call it.”

“The acronym was HARLIE’s suggestion, not mine.”

“It figures.” The Board Chairman pulled a cigar out of his humidor but didn’t light it.

“Well, why not?” said Auberson. “He designed it.”

“Is he planning to change his own name too? Computerized Human Robot, Integrating Simulated Thought?”

Auberson had heard the joke before. He didn’t laugh. “Considering what this new device is supposed to do — and HARLIE’s relationship to it — it might be appropriate.”

Dome was in the process of biting off the tip of his cigar when Auberson’s words caught him. Now he didn’t know whether to swallow the tip of it, which had lodged in his throat, or spit it out. An instinctive cough made the decision for him. Distastefully, he picked the knot of tobacco off his tongue and dropped it into an ash tray. “All right,” he said. “Tell me about the God Machine.”

Auberson was holding a HARLIE-printed summary in one hand, but he didn’t need it to answer this question. “It’s a model builder. It’s the ultimate model builder.”

“All computers are model builders,” said Dome. He was unimpressed.

“Right,” agreed Auberson, “but not to the extent this one will be. Look, a computer doesn’t actually solve problems — it builds models of them. Or rather, the programmer does. That’s what the programming is, the construction of the model and its conditions — then the machine manipulates the model to achieve a variety of situations and solutions. It’s up to us to interpret the results as a solution to the original problem. The only limit to the size of the problem is the size model the computer can handle. Theoretically, a computer could solve the world — if we could build a model big enough and a machine big enough to handle it.”

“If we could build that big a model, it would be duplicating the world.”

“In its memory banks, yes.”

“A computer with that capability would have to be as big as a planet.”