Society of the Mind

by Eric L. Harry

  They looked just like the objects in the robot nursery she had toured with Gray.

  Something moved on the steep hillside above the terrace. The tops of a fern had shaken out of sync with the gentle swaying of the tall grass.

  With a rising sense of unease, Laura stared at the slope, which rose to a small plateau covered in white blossoms.

  A man climbed slowly into view up the mountain. He wore heavy protective gear like a space suit, and he labored under the weight of a heavy load. But he was too large, Laura realized. His movements were too mechanical and uncoordinated. Her skin began to crawl, and she felt her world suddenly depressurize — the air sucked from her lungs.

  For it was not a man in a cumbersome suit, she admitted to herself finally. It had two arms, two legs, and a head, but it was not a man at all… and it was frightening beyond description.

  The robot rose slowly to full height but then tripped and fell flat on its face. Laura's panic was eased by her laughter, and what remained was intense curiosity. She watched the mechanical monster push with one arm, then the other, succeeding merely in rocking itself from side to side. It rose to the push-up position, and then lowered itself — finally kneeling on both knees to look around.

  The robot had to be young. But its "baby-proof" terrace was hidden. It was a nursery for the new anthropomorphic robots — Gray's latest, greatest, and most secret.

  Laura rose to her feet to get a better view. She could see no structures that might house the robots' facilities. That could mean only one thing. Those facilities had to be inside the great central mountain buried, hardened, and secure.

  Questions ricocheted through Laura's mind at a dizzying speed. Why are the new robots being kept secret? Why is the computer facility built like a fortress? Why are there nuclear power plants, and launch pads and strange goings-on all around?

  How could I have been so naive? she chided herself angrily. Gray doesn't keep secrets because of some quirk or eccentricity! He keeps secrets because what he doing is wrong! And I'm helping him, she concluded with a start.

  The robot below finally struggled to its feet. When it rose to full height and resumed its climb, Laura saw that the machine was enormous.

  And it was not alone. Two clones of the juvenile walked out onto the terrace. But they moved quickly and [garbled] with a grace and ease not shown by the robot on the hill. Once in the open, the new arrivals stopped side by side and looked up at the struggling juvenile.

  It's escaping, Laura thought. The two others were its more responsible elders! At least that seemed a reasonable working assumption.

  The escaping toddler had reached the plateau, and it had knelt in the tall grass on one knee. It held its hand out at waist level, and began running it in slow circles through the brush. The robot seemed so intent on its project, that Laura squinted to try and see what it was doing. The wind blew, and the white blossoms beneath the robot's palm swayed gently through the air.

  "Do you know where I am?" Laura typed. She leaned back against a smooth outcropping of rock. The computer was nestled snugly in her lap. A bloated red sun now hung low over the dark waters, and Laura felt the first hint of a chill in the gusts that lapped at her perch. It made her glad for the warmth of her portable.

  The main computer's reply was still sluggish.

 

  "But I came here in a Model Three. Don't you know where the car took me?"

 

  Laura felt a rush of anxiety on reading the computer's response. "You didn't send a car for me.

 

  The whistling wind sent a rush of goose bumps across Laura's skin, and she hugged her elbows tight against her sides as she typed.

  "I'm on the side of the mountain opposite the Village," Laura typed, "and I'm looking at some sort of new-model robots. They're anthropomorphic, and appear to be about twice the size of a human."

  There was no response.

  "Hello?" she typed, and hit Enter several times.

  the computer replied. The word [PROCESSING] appeared, and it flashed for much longer than a second.

  The computer finally said,

  "Yes. And the terrace has a high concrete wall and simple geometric objects like in the Model Sevens' nursery."

 

  Laura agreed with the computer completely. Her sweater glowed in the reflective light of the laptop's screen. Plus, she remained troubled by the issue of the cars.

  "Can I ask you something?" she typed, "This morning Mr. Gray and I jogged down to the reactor. When we were returning, I got a cramp. A car arrived out of the blue, and I was wondering whether you sent it?"

 

  So the computer was in control of the cars then, Laura thought, when the errors were running rampant. But now that it no longer controlled the cars, the errors had mysteriously disappeared.

  Gray had yanked the cars out of service, then resumed their use just as quickly. It was all connected somehow.

  There could only be one answer, she realized. She knew of only one other force inside the computer. The Other must now control the cars!

  That left two other questions. Why did Gray trust the Other with the cars? And why did the Other bring Laura to see the new robots?

  A new line of text waited for Laura on the screen.

  Laura felt her face redden. She'd been caught faking, and she wondered whether Gray had noticed, too. "Well, that's because in putting so much weight on my right foot after my calf cramped, I hurt it also."

 

  "You were spying on me?"

 

  Laura was angry now. "You have no right to intrude upon my privacy!" She used words she knew the computer was programmed to respect.

  There was a pause.

 

  "Cut the crap, okay?"

 

  It was almost pitch-dark now. "Let's go back to the beginning," Laura typed. "I just saw what I assume are some new generation of robots. When I told you about them, you seemed surprised to find out that I had seen them. Why?"

 

  Model Eights, Laura thought. The new and improved version.

  "But why are you hiding them?"

 

  That's it, Laura thought. It made so many things so much easier. He wasn't concealing some dark secret. He was doing the socially responsible thing! "Mr. Gray is 'quarantining' his technologies, isn't he?" she typed. "Is he worried that people can't handle them safely?"

  AC
CESS RESTRICTED flashed across the screen in bold, red letters — just like before.

  "Shit!" she hissed, hitting the Escape button over and over.

 

  "I got another of those access restricted messages."

 

  A new thought occurred to Laura — a stab in the dark. She decided to test it out. "You mentioned back in the computer center that only when the phase-three enters my world will I know how much you fear it. Are you implying that computer viruses can somehow infect humans?" She hit Enter.

  ACCESS RESTRICTED.

  Laura felt a brief thrill at her latest discovery, but her excitement was replaced by fear. The possibility of computer viruses infecting humans seemed absurd. Was Gray mad or was the world at great risk?

  Laura hit Escape again, and waited. the computer replied.

  "Why do the Model Eights have two arms, two legs and a head? Isn't there a better design for a robot than one so much like human being?"

 

  Laura nodded and looked down at the road below. She could barely see the car, and she suddenly felt all alone — alone in the world of the Other.

  "You seemed concerned that I get to the other side of the island before dark. But you also said Mr. Gray liked to watch sunsets from here."

 

  One last question, Laura resolved. "When the Model Eight I was watching got to the top of the hill, all it did was run its hand over some flowers. Why would it do that?"

 

  25

  After inquiring inside the computer center, Laura went in search of Gray. "Launch Control Center, please," was all she said.

  The electric motor sprang to life, and the car pulled away. The curbed roadbed began to speed by as the car accelerated toward the assembly building. Laura had no idea where she was headed.

  The sight of Launchpad A dominated the dark jungle to her left.

  The rocket and gantry were bathed in bright light. Laura stared at the scene until it was eclipsed by the assembly building, which the car rounded at its usual breakneck speed.

  The number of trailers parked at the base of the walls had grown, and all the entrances were blocked by striped orange barricades.

  Inside, Laura knew, roamed only Gray's robots. At least she hoped they were controlled by Gray.

  The car swept Laura past the cluttered rear yard and raced noisily out onto the wide gravel road. Before reaching the fork that branched off to the three pads, the car slowed and turned right onto a paved roadbed. A striped crossing guard at the edge of the jungle opened.

  The Launch Control Center was yet another concrete bunker, this one with metal hoods protruding high above the roof. Inside the hoods' openings were the reflective lenses of numerous cameras. They were all pointed toward the island's three launch pads. The car door hissed open, and Laura got out into the darkness. She stood at the top of the stairs leading down into the bunker. The white roadbed made a tight loop just in front. There were no lights other than the dim bulbs lining the steps. The dark jungle wall rose straight up all around her.

  Laura headed down to the dull metal blast door, which began to open even before she reached the bottom. The howling gale from yet another duster irritated Laura's eardrums. But when the inner door slid open, she entered the church-like quiet of a large and dimly lit room. Every position along row after row of consoles was filled with men and women wearing headsets and boom microphones. Large high-def screens lined the front wall of the darkened room, their pictures clearly shot from the Launch Center roof. Some had crystal-clear close-ups of the rocket on Launchpad A. On others was the silhouette of an empty gantry.

  Gray, the captain, walked down rows of workstations on his bridge, pausing here and there to speak quietly to an operator.

  "I have an emergency!" someone yelled. Colorful lights flashed on panel after panel, and muted alarms rose from every corner of the room.

  The noise and activity level of the operators rose instantly — all punching keys or calling out reports in a controlled panic. Gray continued his calm stroll from chair to chair.

  "Yaw is minus two point seven! Dynamic pressure alarm!" someone shouted over the growing buzz. "Automatic Destruction System failure!"

  "I recommend abort! CAP."

  "Abort concur!"

  "This is range safety controller, aborting mission now!" the woman right in front of Laura announced. She flipped open a striped red cover. Inside was a switch that looked like a large circuit breaker. She pulled hard, and after brief resistance something inside the mechanism snapped with a loud noise. "Mission aborted!" someone reported.

  All was quiet now. The operators rocked back in their chairs and stretched or rubbed their faces. The rocket on the television screens still sat securely on its pad.

  "We just lost the flight, people," Gray said in a raised voice. "Does anybody know what you did wrong?" There was silence. "You waited too long to abort. With an airspeed of five thousand feet per second, we'd lose that vehicle with a yaw of just six degrees off-center. We were halfway there — only a second or two away from complete disintegration when we executed the destruct command. Now I know we're all out of practice, but we've got to get really good at this, really fast." He turned to a man in the back of the room — his eyes landing on Laura. "Run the next simulation," Gray ordered.

  The glowing readouts on the banks of equipment changed in unison, and everyone went back to work. The crowded room was silent save the sounds of a countdown and a few well-drilled reports. Gray walked up to Laura. She expected him to be preoccupied with his work, but he approached her with an easy smile. "Hello, Laura."

  "What's going on here?" she asked.

  He surveyed the room from her vantage. "It's only a precaution. If the computer gives any sign of erratic behavior tonight, I'm going to bypass it and activate our old mission control system."

  "You mean control the launch manually?"

  "Well, 'manually' is a bit of a misnomer. It's all controlled by digital computers, but the oversight function would be provided by these people here instead of the main computer. Unfortunately, they haven't manned their positions for more than an occasional exercise since the computer took over the launches about a year ago. But they'll be all right."

  "I have an emergency!" one of the controllers yelled, and Gray paused to monitor their performance. This time they recovered and continued the mission.

  When Gray turned back to her, he said, "I suppose you're here to talk about what you saw at the overlook this afternoon?"

  "Well, yes, as a matter of fact. Did the computer tell you about it?"

  "About the 'escapee'?"

  Laura nodded. "I think your interpretation's a little melodramatic."

  "I saw what I saw. Plus the computer doesn't trust those new models."

  "Yeah, well… that's another story."

  "Mr. Gray," she began, but then quickly said, "Joseph, I don't think the computer controls the Model Threes anymore." His squinting, tired eyes suddenly shone keen interest. "I think they're controlled by the Other, whatever that is. The same Other that the computer says is the cause of all its problems." He listened but said nothing. "And I think you know all this already. You knew it this morning when you put the Model Threes back in service." He clearly had no intention of responding. "This… Other is battling the computer for control, isn't it?" The sphinx merely tilted his head to one side, his eyes remaining fixed on Laura.

  "Look, Joseph, if the computer is beginning to lose control of the robots, it could be very… dangerous."

  "Life… is dangerous," Gray said, then fell silent again.
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  "Joseph, those robots looked huge! They could crush somebody."

  "They are huge. They're ten feet tall and weigh in at around a thousand pounds, exclusive of optional equipment. But, like I said, I'm not worried about any malfunctions with the Model Eights. There's no evidence of any trouble with them whatsoever."

  "But…" she sighed in exasperation, "look at all these precautions you're taking with this launch! And you've ordered the assembly building evacuated. Your computer's going haywire! What makes you think its control of the Model Eights is somehow immune from malfunction?"

  "Because the computer doesn't control the Model Eights."

  Laura cocked her head, not certain she understood. "So the Other has control over them, too?"

  "No. Nobody controls them. They're autonomous."

  Laura stared at him in disbelief. "You can't be serious," she said in a low voice. "Surely they're not completely independent." He pursed his lips and nodded. "You mean they make all their decisions on their own?" Gray nodded again. "Joseph, they're ten feet tall and weigh a thousand pounds. Do you have any control over them?"

  Gray shrugged. "I tell them what to do, and they do it. But I was thinking that I may have another job for you one day. I had thought actually about hiring a sociologist or an anthropologist, but this is really cross-disciplinary. You see, the Model Eights are developing a social order. Many of their rules bear a striking resemblance to ours, but others are unique to their world. For instance, it's crucial that their batteries not run down. Their neural nets are unrecoverable if they do. We obviously programmed them to avoid that happening. But we found ourselves reprogramming them over and over to limit how far they'd go. Some would destroy doors, walls, whatever separated them from the recharger when they still had hours of charge left. They don't take chances with their power supplies, and the other Model Eights seem to consider that perfectly normal behavior."