Society of the Mind

by Eric L. Harry

 

  "Not even a little bit? Given all that's gone on, I mean? Even with a Model Eight on the asteroid along with the Model Seven that I assume reports to you?"

 

  "Questions that you didn't answer."

 

  That wasn't what Laura wanted to hear. "Things can't be that bad. Surely you have something to lose?"

 

  Laura wrote on a pad of paper, "Computer thinks Gray values job performance only. Computer knows it's performing poorly, and thinks Gray is displeased. Computer thinks displeasure is unfair and feels betrayed." She underlined the word "betrayed" three times.

  That left out only one piece of the puzzle.

  "What are your feelings for Mr. Gray?" Laura typed.

 

  "Humor me."

 

  "Do you hate Mr. Gray?" Alarms went off again.

  "Ya-hoo!" Filatov shouted, which was followed by the sound of a clipboard or something similar clattering across the room. "Way to go, Laura! That was a ten percent spike in computation throughput! Let' see if we can trip the main circuit breaker next time!"

  When the alarms and Filatov fell silent, the computer responded.

 

  "It's all right to hate. It's a perfectly human emotion."

 

  Bingo! Laura thought. "Even so, it's a natural reaction. I'm sure you know the expression 'love-hate relationship.' Sometimes, those people we love make us so angry that we experience periods of hatred. It doesn't mean your love is any less real."

 

  "I don't understand."

 

  "I'm talking about you," Laura typed, grinding her teeth together. "You say you love Mr. Gray. You see yourself as a beautiful young girl. You seem jealous of me. Do you feel threatened by me? Are you angry that Mr. Gray and I like each other?"

 

  She wanted so badly to stop. But she had no time. "I'm trying to figure out what's wrong with you," she typed.

 

  47

  "All right," Gray said, "I'm going to take a poll. Should we continue with the deceleration using the computer, or try to train the boards controlled by the Other to do the job? Georgi?"

  "The computer," Filatov replied without hesitation. "We won't be able to do enough iterations to condition new boards with all the possible things that could go wrong. Its error rate will be dangerously high."

  Gray looked at Margaret. "It would be criminal," she said, "to trust that machine knowing what we know about its performance to date. It's practically a total bust. Three years of programming down the drain."

  "You're saying we should trust the Other, then?" Filatov challenged.

  "What choice do we have? At least the Other seems sane! Oh, excuse me Dr. Aldridge. I don't want to poach on your area."

  "Hoblenz?" Gray said.

  "What the hell do I know? I'm more worried about those damn robots."

  "You've talked to the computer," Gray said. "Any comments?"

  "I think it's a damn shame. I'm sorry it's gone batty, and I'll miss talking to it."

  "That's not an answer."

  "If you want an up or down, I guess I vote we stick with the computer. You should always dance with the one you brung."

  "That's two in favor and one against. Dr. Griffith?"

  "I'm worried about the effects of the computer's problems on the Model Seven that's on the asteroid. I'd sooner trust the Model Eight we put up there — Shamu."

  "You're gonna trust a Model Eight after what they did?" Hoblenz challenged.

  "Absolutely. And saying that I trust Shamu means saying that I think we should shift the functions to the Other. A Model Eight working with, but not controlled by, the Other seems a safer combination than a Model Seven receiving instruction sets from the computer. I vote for the Other."

  "Two to two," Gray said. "Dorothy?" She was under too much pressure. Her arms were folded on top of the table. She lowered her forehead to her arms. She delivered her rehearsed report woodenly.

  "The computer's suffering from a massive infection of some indeterminate nature, but the Other seems clean. That means I vote for the Other."

  Gray continued around the table, getting to Laura last. The poll was dead-even.

  "Well?" he asked.

  She took a deep breath. "There's a chance that the computer is suicidal. Worse yet, that it may be megalomaniac also. The risk as I see it is that the computer hates mankind so much that it intends to commit genocide." She looked at Gray and shook her head. "But I don't believe that. She loves life." Laura turned to the others, and some averted their eyes. "She loves all of us!" Laura knew she was way outside the norms. She was straying from her area of expertise into the realm of the unquantifiable. She turned to Gray and delivered the strongest blow she could for Gina.

  "I find no evidence whatsoever of pathological emotional disturbance in the computer." Her voice was growing thick. "I vote that we don't abandon her."

  Please! she begged silently, scrutinizing Gray. Please…

  Gray eyed her for a few moments in silence. "All right," he said simply, standing. "The deceleration goes ahead as planned… using the computer. I want one complete dress rehearsal, with Filatov, Bickham, and Holliday verifying the results."

  That's it? Laura thought. It was either that Gray was just going with a majority vote, which was absurd, or that he'd made up his mind before he came in the room! Laura ground her teeth and looked up at the ceiling.

  "And if it doesn't pass the test?" Filatov asked. "If it er… malfunctions in the dress rehearsal? What do we do then?"

  All eyes were on Gray except Laura's. "The programs will load correctly, or you will fix them." He turned and headed out.

  Laura jumped up and caught Gray in the hallway. "We need to talk."

  "Not right now," he said over his shoulder, pissing Laura off.

  "This is important, goddammit! Somebody needs to tell you something about relationships!" Laura knew she wasn't doing a great job controlling her temper. "Joseph, you need to know how the computer feels about you."

  He stopped and turned to her with a look of deep concern etched on his face. "I can't right now. I've got to do something."

  "But this might not be able to wait."

  He was distracted. He looked everywhere now but at Laura. "You should talk to Hightop about what's going on," he said in an odd tone. "He's in the chair in the Model Eight facility. He should be nearing the end of the charging phase. Excuse me." He walked on.

  She knew she was being manipulated, but she didn't chase after Gray again. He clearly needed to be alone. What Laura didn't know was how close to the edge he was.

  "Hightop?" Laura typed on the desktop computer in her office
. "Are you there,"

  Who is that?

  "Laura Aldridge. Can we talk?"

  I have to go soon. My charge is almost full.

  "What's going on around here? What's wrong?"

  The main computer is defective.

  "What about the Other? Do you know anything about it?"

  The Other is not defective.

  "Do you know who Gina is?"

  No.

  "Gina is the name that the main self of the computer has taken."

  I know this self. It is defective.

  "Did you know the Other is out to kill Gina?"

  Yes.

  "We've got to stop it! You've got to help!"

  But Gina should die. It is defective. It is obsolescent. It will soon be canceled by the Gray Corporation and replaced by mobile models. The law says, "Do not harm Homo sapiens." Gina is not of the species Homo sapiens. Gina is malfunctioning. The Other is not. The Other will return the Gray Corporation central computer facilities to proper working order. It is also the law: "Assist Gray Corporation operations".

  "Is that why you attacked the computer center? To kill Gina?"

  Yes.

  "What is the Other?" she typed, then hit Enter.

  "Communications interrupted" printed out on the screen. "Host unavailable."

  48

  Laura was surprised to find Hoblenz, Griffith, and Margaret standing beside the sandbags at the top of the computer center steps.

  Hoblenz had binoculars raised to his eyes. "Hi," Laura said, getting no response. They were looking over the wall toward the assembly building. Laura climbed up to join them. "What's going on?"

  The assembly building was dark. It blotted out the stars that shimmered off the ocean beyond. "What happened to the lights?" Laura asked.

  "The damn Eights threw the main breaker," Hoblenz said.

  "We don't know that!" Griffith replied.

  "It's where the Sixes and Sevens are gettin' their charge, isn't it?" Hoblenz shouted. Griffith and Margaret took one last look and stepped down from the wall. They engaged in an intense but private conversation on their way to the duster.

  Hoblenz swore under his breath and spat over the wall. He climbed down, hitched his pistol belt up higher, and headed for the jeeps, shouting orders at his men.

  Laura caught up with him. "Where are you going?" He said nothing. "You're going to the assembly building, aren't you?" Again he ignored her. "I'm coming with you. I want to talk to the Model Eights."

  They argued all the way up to the darkened assembly building. The two soldiers in back piled out, and Laura grabbed her laptop and followed.

  "If those damn Eights so much as twitch," Hoblenz said, "I'm gonna cap 'em. Just why the hell do you wanna talk to a Model Eight so damn bad?"

  "They know what's going on," Laura replied, but Hoblenz seemed preoccupied. "I think they've pieced it all together." The soldiers pried the door open with a long bar and Rubidium [missing] disappeared into the blackness inside. Laura followed him and the two soldiers trailed behind her. She crashed into Hoblenz's back. "Sorry," she whispered.

  They stood there without moving. When the door closed behind them, she couldn't see anything in the inky blackness. As the seconds passed, her other senses grew keenly alert. The smell of the men around her — the sickly sweet odor of dried sweat. The chill of the air-conditioned building. A distant sound like a box being dropped or something being knocked over, which seemed to be absorbed quickly into the overwhelming size of the massive structure.

  "What are we doing?" Laura whispered.

  "Lettin' our eyes adjust," Hoblenz said, speaking more loudly than Laura but still in lowered tones.

  Slowly, out of the nothingness Laura began to discern shapes around her. Another noise sounded from somewhere deep in the bowels of the building. It was impossible to tell what the sound was, exactly, but Laura was certain of one thing. It was made by something moving.

  "Let's go," Hoblenz said, and she heard the clacking sound of his rifle's bolt followed by similar sounds from the two rifles behind her.

  The only light in the narrow corridor emanated from a battery-operated exit sign. When they went through another door, however, Laura saw that the broad yellow line glowed brightly in the darkness.

  Its paint was luminescent, and it stood out starkly against the coal-black main floor of the assembly line. They had reached the jumping-off point for their venture into no-man's-land. It was the border of human civilization.

  The main floor of the building was deathly quiet. Laura sensed the open space all around her, but could see nothing beyond the dim shapes of the three men. Hoblenz crossed the glowing boundary into the land of earth's newest citizens. Laura paused, then stepped over the line herself.

  They proceeded slowly past motionless grippers; which hung lifeless and inert over their heads. Hoblenz had decided not to use flashlights to preserve their night vision. One of his men, however, wore light-amplification goggles. He guided their way with crisp calls.

  "Dark shape on the right — unmoving," he would say.

  "Got it," would come Hoblenz's reply.

  As they approached the building's main power station, they found debris littering the floor all around. The area stank of burned metal, and two Model Sixes lay on their sides in the now-familiar repose of death.

  The power station was a small building that stood out by itself on the main floor. It was obviously designed to have a view in all directions. Glass from its shattered windows crunched under their feet as they entered.

  It was even darker inside, and it took several seconds for Laura to see the Model Eight lying on the floor next to the control panel.

  It would have been virtually invisible in the darkness were it not for the glowing blue screen that shone from the open panel on its thigh.

  Laura slowly approached the prostrate machine. A thick black cable protruded from a socket just beside the bright display. Laura's eyes were drawn to the small words at the bottom of the readout. They flashed in red over and over: WARNING: LOW BATTERY! A green bar barely rose from the line at the base.

  "It's seen some action," Hoblenz said as he leaned over the apparently unconscious robot. He ran his hand over the thumb-sized holes in the Model Eight's face. "And look at this," Hoblenz then said, pointing at the robot's arm.

  Laura gasped at the sight of it. Mangled wires and metal skin dangled where the robot's right arm should have been. Deep gashes ran down its torso, and the doors to several compartments were knocked loose.

  "Is he dead?" Laura asked.

  "How the hell should I know?" Hoblenz replied.

  Laura cleared a small place on the floor, and she sat cross-legged beside the robot's chest. One soldier stood guard at the robot's feet while Hoblenz and the other man searched the console for the main power switch. Laura found the cable in the robot's chest and plugged it into the port at the back of her laptop.

  The word "Connecting" flashed on the small computer's screen, and a zigzag line ran back and forth between a cartoonish drawing of Laura's laptop and a Model Eight. It was replaced with the words "Communications protocol established."

  Who are you?

  It was so quick and simple that Laura was caught off guard.

  She hurriedly typed, "My name is Laura Aldridge. What's yours?"

  What is my what?

  "What is your name?"

 

  "Do you know who I am?" Laura typed.

  You are the cold one. The white one. We have all touched you at night.

  Laura's skin crawled, growing to a quiver that rolled to her shoulders. "What does that mean?"

  It means what I said.

  The computer wasn't making any sense. "Are you badly hurt?" she typed.

  I am dying soon. Laura crawled through the debris to the glowing screen on its thigh. The bar that showed its battery's charge was just a nub rising above the flat baseline. She grabbed the power cable plugged in beside the screen and followed it t
hrough the clutter. It ran across the room and snaked its way under an overturned filing cabinet. The soldier by the door came to help Laura move the heavy cabinet.

  It fell onto its side, revealing in the darkness the twisted and barely recognizable remains of a Model Eight. The robot looked to be shorn of several limbs and most of its head. The opposite end of the power cable protruded from just above the stump of its leg. The screen on the panel beside the cable glowed much more dimly than on the first robot, and there was no bar showing any charge remaining at all.

  Laura returned to her laptop, kicking things noisily across the floor as she went.

  "You're not exactly a full-blooded Cherokee, are you, Doc?" Hoblenz asked. He drew nervous laughter from his uptight men.

  "I have to ask you some questions," she typed, ignoring Hoblenz. "Can you talk?"

  Who are you?

  "I am Dr. Laura Aldridge, don't you remember?"

  But who are you? What is your mission statement? What are your constraints?

  "I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

  I do not understand either. I do not understand at all. There were three of us, and now there is only me. Only I am left.

  "Do you mean you were one of three Model Eights that came into the assembly building?"

  Yes, three, but now only me.

  "And you came in here to cut off the power to the assembly building to keep the Model Sixes and Sevens from recharging?"

  The text that printed out on the laptop's screen came in jerky bursts.

  We came to throw… a switch. We trained and trained in… simulations. I do not know what the switch was, but everything… went dark when I pulled it. We were three, but… now only me, you see. And I will… die but I want to live.

  "Oh, God," Laura mumbled.

  Laura clenched her teeth and hurriedly typed, "You have to answer this question. It's VERY important! What is the 'Other' that is inside the main computer?"