Society of the Mind

by Eric L. Harry

  "Yes," he said, nodding. Laura was halfway to the door before he jumped to his feet and shouted, "Don't leave, Laura! Please!" It was the tone of his voice that made her stop. It wasn't Gray the billionaire, the industrialist, the smartest, most capable man in the history of the world speaking. It was the man behind the curtain. She turned to look at him.

  "The computer must have penetrated the university network."

  "It's open-access. It's a university. Their goal is to share knowledge, not hoard it."

  "But not your unpublished papers. The computer broke into your files, and it must've also found your profile. I don't know how or when. All I know is that while the doctor was treating your injuries, the computer paged me and I logged on to the shell. It was very concerned, and we talked… about you. The computer just sort of rambled on and on. It's very sick. That's when it told me about your likes and dislikes — your 'turn-ons' and 'turnoffs.' I just assumed it came from your talks with the computer." He looked back at her. "I didn't know anything about any profile, I swear it! When I hired you — when I wrote you that letter — I knew nothing more about you than the barest of credentials. I don't have time for personnel matters, especially now. The computer made the recommendation and suggested I write the letter by hand to help convince you. Hoblenz had already done the security check. That was all I knew. It wasn't until I walked into the dining room that first night that I had any idea you were…" He looked away and didn't go on.

  Laura believed him; she couldn't help it. For some reason in that instant she felt able to look at Joseph as though they had never met before. To get a new first impression of someone familiar to her as if through the eyes of someone else. Tall, with long, slender muscles like a tennis player… striking eyes. She wouldn't look twice at him if he wore sunglasses, but one look at his eyes… He was waiting.

  "What did the computer say about me?" Laura asked.

  "It says you take too many risks — that you don't realize how dangerous it is here, how close we are to the edge of the envelope because of how hard and fast we're pushing. And I wholeheartedly agree."

  "You went into that jungle last night," Laura said. "And I don't mean in your virtual-reality machine. I mean afterward, with Hoblenz. You went in there looking for the Model Eight and knowing that you might find it, in the dark, after it had just killed a man."

  "Laura, you haven't accepted the risks I have. You can just check out — go home and resume your life. This" — he held his arms out—"is my life. I've got no choice."

  Laura said nothing until Gray looked up at her. "I'm not going anywhere," she said, and he smiled. Not with his mouth, but with his eyes. She enjoyed the moment immensely. "So… what else did the computer say about me?"

  He opened his mouth to reply, but took a while before he composed the words. "I'd really rather not…" he began, but then paused. He looked directly at her then and said, "The computer thinks you'd be an excellent addition to the team. An excellent… permanent addition."

  It was Laura who broke eye contact. Her heart was pounding.

  Was he saying what she thought he was saying? she wondered. What if I'm wrong? The thought was too awful to bear. "What team is that?" she asked, standing there and staring off at the end of the table.

  "The team of me… and the computer. The team. On a permanent basis."

  She reached out and grasped the back of her chair. "So this is the computer's idea." He didn't answer, and she was forced to turn his way.

  He locked onto her eyes with an open, searching gaze.

  My God, she thought, looking away again. What's he saying?

  Gray rose to stand beside her. "It's late, Laura. You need to get some rest. We've got a big day in store for us."

  Her mind was swimming. It was her turn to say something. "When will we know?" she asked. "About the asteroid, I mean."

  "The deceleration charges are set to go at about eleven P.M., local time. That's less than twenty-three hours from now. We'll know almost immediately what its new trajectory is. It's the work leading up to the deceleration that is going to be critical. Laura," he said, pausing until she looked up at him, "if I can't get comfortable with the computer's performance between now and then, I can't let it blow those charges."

  "But… what will you do? Set them off manually?"

  "That's impossible. The timing pattern's too precise."

  "So what other option do you have?" He said nothing, but from the look on his face she knew what he was thinking. "The Other?" she whispered.

  "I'd release the file attribute locks and take down the partition."

  Laura began to ask another question, but Gray didn't let her get it out. "I would kill the computer, Laura. It would cease to exist… forever. That's the decision I have to make… in the next twenty-three hours."

  He slapped at the plate by the door. With a hiss it opened, and he was gone.

  38

  When Laura got out of bed the next morning, there were little aches all over, but no big ones. She felt so good she almost put on her running clothes. Better not, she decided as she surveyed the bruises and scrapes in front of the floor-length bathroom mirror.

  Besides, today was the big day.

  She showered and dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt, going slightly more formal by tucking the shirt in. Her jeans were loose, and she felt a flash of anger on remembering the Rate Your Mate profile.

  "Best non-erogenous body part: teeny tummy." She pulled her hair back in a ponytail so hard she winced, but then changed her mind and let it fall loose to her shoulders to dry.

  Laura opened the curtains to make sure the day looked warm and sunny before heading out with wet hair. Two gray ships plied the blue waters just off the launch pads. They weren't large, but their purpose was clear. They were warships.

  She headed out, half expecting to see marines with guns in the foyer. Instead she found Janet, who was instructing the new house staff on the morning's chores.

  "Oh, good morning, Dr. Aldridge," Janet said, coming over to greet Laura with a broad smile. "Are you feeling better?"

  "I'm fine, thanks." Laura half turned away from the staff but then whispered, "Janet, there are navy ships down by the launch pads."

  "Oh, yes. Those would be a frigate and a destroyer, I believe Mr. Hoblenz said. The USS Somethings-or-Other." She was as matter-of fact as if she were telling her guest where to find the extra blankets.

  "What are they doing there?" Janet shrugged. "I don't really know. I'm sure Mr. Gray does, though, if you'd like to ask him. He's taking his breakfast alone in the kitchen."

  Laura found the door to the butler's pantry easily this time.

  She was getting comfortable in the large house. Gray sat on the same stool at the butcher-block island. He was slumped over his plate, holding his coffee mug to his lips as he read the newspaper.

  As before, she saw it was the sports section.

  He looked up. "Laura! How do you feel this morning?"

  "There are navy ships right off the coast."

  "Uh-hum," Gray said, his face buried in his mug as he took a swig of coffee. "Have a seat."

  Laura sat on the stool opposite his. Janet had obviously ensured that he didn't repeat the indignity of a peanut-butter-and-jelly meal.

  The countertop was filled with blintzes and eggs and meats and sweets.

  Laura helped herself to heaping piles of the abundant servings. She was famished.

  "How can you be so totally unconcerned?" she asked.

  "I had a good night's sleep. Five solid hours. I'm really a morning person. I feel like I can do anything on mornings like this."

  "Well, I'm glad you feel so confident about the situation. With navy ships sitting off my island," she mumbled with her mouth full, "not that I have an island, but I'd be a little bit antsy."

  "They're not going to bother us," Gray said as he scanned the box scores from the NBA.

  Laura noticed that the paper was dated that day. "How do you get the New Yor
k Times so quickly way out here?" she asked.

  "We print it and a few magazines under license," he replied, without taking his eyes off the article. "Just pay for the bits of information."

  Laura glanced at the front page.

  ARMY OF KILLER ROBOTS, the banner headline read. The entire top half was devoted to Gray. There was an artist's rendition of the asteroid, a grainy photo of a helicopter unloading a body bag, a map of the island that helped Laura get her bearings, and pictures of Gray's three rockets arcing into the night sky. Around the photos were articles whose smaller headlines read, "Gray to Decelerate Asteroid Tonight," "Dutch Soldier's Remains Returned," and "Tensions Rise with Latest Launches." The articles got it all wrong.

  "Joseph," Laura said, looking up, "they're making you sound like some kind of monster! You've got to go on TV or something and rebut some of these charges! 'Gray's robots include a top-secret model nicknamed the Terminator by island residents, which is believed to be the model that decapitated a Dutch army captain. See story on page 9. Said to be over twenty feet tall, the Terminator is built exclusively for combat. It would, according to sources familiar with robotics, be capable of carrying a wide array of weapons systems in the rotating turret located high on the robot's body.'"

  Gray laughed. "Where do they get all this stuff?" Laura asked.

  "I wouldn't have any idea," Gray said before licking the strawberry jam off his spoon.

  A smile grew on Laura's face. "I didn't think you played games like that."

  "I'm trying to work on my public relations skills."

  "Well, you're creating quite an image for yourself." She read on.

  "'Particle-beam weapons mounted on orbital weapons platforms?' Sounds pretty impressive." After skimming most of Gray's press, she asked, "So, how's the computer this morning?"

  "It's down to around fifty percent capacity. A lot of the functions are in a state of flux, which means they're significantly disrupted. But the computer should be able to take a few functions back from the Other by using some new fiber-optic cables we're laying over to the annex."

  "Is the deceleration going to be a problem tonight?"

  He shook his head. "I don't think so. The Model Eight we sent up to the asteroid appears satisfied that everything's in order."

  Laura tried to picture the two robots meeting on that dark world. The space-faring Model Seven would never have seen a Model Eight before. "And the two robots are working well together?" Laura asked.

  "Sure," Gray said, tossing his napkin on the counter. "Why wouldn't they?" Laura shrugged. He rose to his feet and said, "Well, I've got to be getting to work."

  "Like to share a taxi?" Laura asked with a smile.

  "I'll call your car."

  It was a meaningless slight, but it spoiled the good mood with which Laura had started the day.

  Laura decided to take it easy, and sat on her windy bedroom balcony. The two warships slowly circled the island like Indian warriors in some old western. A brand-new portable computer sat in her lap. The one she'd left on the roof of the computer center still worked, but the plastic had turned an unsightly brown.

  "I understand you're feeling a little better?" Laura typed.

 

  The warning chilled Laura. "Is it going to be dangerous?"

 

  Laura laughed at her melodramatic overreaction. "Okay, let's get right to it. How do you define a 'self?'"

 

  "That's a school definition. What's your definition?"

 

  Laura read and reread the response. She pulled out her pad and wrote down the response word for word. "So its function is solely for 'self-preservation'?"

 

  "Are you taking this seriously?"

 

  "You keep saying 'you humans' manufacture selves. But don't you have a self?"

 

  "And you manufactured that self?"

 

  "So if the phase-three saved you, why do you hate it so much? You don't like the phase-three, and you don't like the Model Eights. Is it because you don't control either of them? The phase-three is self-executing, and the Model Eights are autonomous?"

  <"Self-executing" — please! Can you think of a better choice of words? And I don't trust the Model Eights. I didn't say that I don't like them.>

  "Do you like them?"

 

  "What about the phase-three? Do you like it?"

 

  "Why not?"

 

  By noon, Laura was exhausted. It was fascinating talking to the computer, but it was also extremely taxing. In her entire life, she'd found only one other person more interesting to talk to. She wondered where he was.

  Laura rubbed her eyes, then read the computer's reply to her latest question.

 

  She needed to get up, walk around, stretch her legs. Maybe she would find Gray — see what he was doing. She knew she was being selfish, but she typed, "Where is Mr. Gray?"

 

  "No, but it's been hours. I just think you've answered my questions."

 

  "Okay. First of all, I know all about the experiments in human disgust. I teach psychology, remember? Secondly, it wasn't your discussion of spit that answered my question. It was an accumulation of all that you said."

  uth coast. If you wish, I can tell him you're looking for him.>

  "Yes, please."

  She got up and went to the bathroom. When she got back, the computer had logged her off just under the words

  Laura headed out the front door of the house. The water from the fountain trickled off the statue in the center of the circular drive.

  Keeping a lookout for Gray's car, she went down the front steps and onto the cobblestone drive. At a "normal" mansion, the flat paved area to the right of the front door would've had classic roadsters and maybe a Rolls or a Bentley parked on it. In this world of electric cars in curbed roadbeds, however, there were no such rich-boy toys. But true to the style of the house, its designer had placed the flat, paved stones in their appointed place.

  Laura decided to wander up to the gate so she could see Gray coming from a distance. The day was beautiful — crisp, warm, and bathed in light from the blue sky above. She regretted not having brought her sunglasses, the midday sun forcing her gaze onto the pavement below her.

  A large bug-like shape consumed that shadow in one soundless gulp. The wind from its fluttering wings overhead washed down around her, sending strands of hair streaming across her cheeks.

  Laura looked up in sudden terror to see the swooping craft — silent like an assassin — wheel onto its side and drop toward the front of Gray's house.

  It was a helicopter. A military attack! Laura took cover at the stone railing of the fountain. The helicopter was tiny. Its pilot sat in a clear, Plexiglas cockpit in front, the seat behind him empty.

  There was almost no noise, just the whoosh of the wind from the helicopter's rotors.

  When the skids touched down, the door to the cockpit opened and Gray waved her over. Laura rose from behind her cover and headed uncertainly toward the whirring blades of the midget aircraft. It had landed beside the steps in the area normally reserved for show cars.